#I may or may have not fallen asleep in the process of inking this thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

annaraebananawriter · 4 years ago

Text

Chaos While Shopping

*Breaks down door* Heya, I’m back. Didja miss me?

Anyways...Happy Valentines Day! Or it will be in about ten minutes my time, but I’m posting this now before I go to bed so I don’t forget.

In the morning I’ll make another post announcing my return and what I’ve gotten done while I’ve been offline, but enjoy this oneshot in the meantime! I hope you have a laugh at it as i couldn’t stop smiling while writing it.

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically the UTMV

Characters: Ink (Who belongs to Comyet), Dream (who belongs to Joku) and Blue (Who belongs to P0pcornPr1nce)

Pairings: Intended queerplatonic Drinkberry, but it’s kind of ambiguous, so you can read it as that, platonic or romantic, whatever you want!

Warnings: None, but let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1560

~oOo~

Blue turned from the cart, only to lock eyes with a grinning Ink and the eggplant he was holding up.

"No."

Ink pouted. "I haven't even said anything yet."

"You were going to." Blue shook his head, ignoring the smile twitching at the ends of his mouth. He wasn't going to give Ink the satisfaction of making him smile at a stupid immature joke.

Again.

For the fifth time already.

He gave Ink another look and his squish sighed, a drawn-out Fiiiine. "Thank you." With the threat of the joke out of the way (for now, at least. When they move aisles he was sure there would be another one), Blue glanced at his list. They still needed to get lettuce—but that was right beside him, so he grabbed it now and placed it in the cart, crossing it off. Now all they needed was cheese, milk, apple juice and...that's it.

Great. Then they can all go home, put the groceries away, make Dream drink some water and rest so that he gets sober, maybe even watch a movie before going to bed tonight. That'd be nice. Although, they'd have to find a balance of horror and comedy elements for Ink, romance and sadness for Dream, and adventure for Blue. It'll be tough but—

Hey, wait a second.

Dream was in his thoughts, but a glance around proved that he wasn't in his sights.

Blue froze for a moment. This was like a nightmare becoming reality for him. He should never have let Ink persuade Dream into getting drunk, even if it was funny to watch. If he hadn't, then they wouldn't be out this late getting groceries and one of them wouldn't be wandering off drunk, not thinking rationally and in a very, very vulnerable state—but also.

Ink was supposed to be watching Dream.

...He must've cursed them all when he asked that of him, knowing that his squish didn't have the best memory and was definitely not the best person to put in charge of another living thing.

"Ink."

Ink looked up when Blue called his name. "Yes?"

"Where'd Dream go?"

Ink froze, a deer caught in the headlights vibe coming off of him. "Uh...well...he may have said something about being bored and he may have, perhaps, disappeared out of the aisle?"

Blue stared at Ink.

Ink stared back, sweating.

"So Dream said he was bored and left?"

"Yes."

Blue put his hands together in front of his mouth and inhaled. "Okay, let me rephrase that." His hands fell to point at Ink, palms pressing together harder as his frustration grew. "Dream, who may I remind you is drunk, thanks to somebody, said he was bored, walked away with you knowing he was drunk and that leaving him alone in a store is probably a bad idea...and you let him??"

Ink looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Well...it sounds bad when you say it like that."

"It's bad no matter how I say it!"

"Okay, fine!" Ink threw his hands in the air. "I'm sorry for letting Dream out of my sight, is that what you want?"

"...it's a start."

"Well, there you go. I'm sorry." Ink crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels. "Don't see how that helps right now. Dream's still missing."

Blue blinked. "Right, yes." He turned to grab the cart and started to walk towards the end of the aisle. "Let's go find him." At the end of the aisle, there was still no sign of Dream. Other people were browsing around, but no yellow-clad skeleton with a crown on his head. And a golden blush. And visibly drunk.

Blue turned to Ink. "Are you sure you didn't see where he went?"

"I'm sure. He left my sight when he rounded the corner."

Blue sighed. "Alright." He looked around a bit more before pointing to a random aisle. "Let's start over there—"

"BLUE!" Dream suddenly shouted, making Blue whirl around, only to be met with a mouthful of fur as something was pressed into his arms. He stumbled under the new weight, but wrapped his arms around it and pulled back, meeting the orange eyes of a cat, one that had a distinctly happy expression on its face.

"Where'd you get a cat, Dream?" He heard Ink ask.

Lifting his head, Blue watched as his other squish giggled, replying "At the Pet Shop, silly." As if it was obvious. Which, well...it kind of was. But...

Blue frowned. "The...the Pet Shop down the street?"

Dream nodded happily, seeing no problem with what he was saying.

Blue just stared back.

Ink picked up his thought process. "You left the store? Dream, you weren't supposed to do that."

Dream blinked, tilting his head. "Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

"Yes. But it was only down the street."

"Maybe, but you still shouldn't be walking around by yourself when you're drunk."

"Wait," Blue said, cutting into the conversation, even though he was grateful that Ink took over his lecturing duties for now. "I agree with Ink about you leaving the store, but how did you get the cat, exactly?" With the cat in one arm, he pointed to himself. "I have the wallet."

"I walked in, found Arson, and left."

Ink blinked. "Arson?"

Dream glanced at him. "Yes. That's his name."

"You're naming a cat Arson?"

"The most beautiful thing in the world is watching fire burn." Dream said seriously, reaching to take Arson back.

Blue let him. "But Dream." He waited until his squish looked at him. "I have the wallet. How were you able to leave with Arson if you never paid for him?"

Dream didn't give him an answer, just looked at him blankly while scratching Arson under his chin.

"HEY!" Blue startled at the shout, again whirling around as a woman with two security guards approached. She had an angry look on her face. When they reached the trio, she pointed at Dream and Arson. "That's the guy that stole one of our cats!"

The guards moved to step forward.

Blue raised his hands, stepping between them and Dream. "Whoa, hold on!"

"Don't hold on!" The woman hissed. She was wearing one of the vests the workers at the Pet Shop wore. "He walked into the store and completely ignored us when we tried to tell him he couldn't just walk out without paying."

"I'm sorry about that, but there seems to be a misunderstanding here." Blue stepped forward again as the guards tried to move past him. "My friend here is drunk, and before you say anything, I know it was a bad idea to let him go off on his own, but I'm sure that he didn't mean to steal one of your cats."

The woman sniffed. "Well, if that's the case, if he gives our cat back, or you pay for it, then I guess I can let you go with just a warning." She glared at Blue. "But if he comes into the store alone again, he will be arrested on the spot."

Blue nodded, letting his arms down as soon as the guards stepped. "Okay." He turned to Dream. "Dream, pass me Arson—"

"No."

Blue paused. "What? Dream, we only came to get groceries. I know you know this. Maybe in a few days, we can go back and get him but for now, he should go back."

"No." Dream shifted, clutching Arson back to his chest defensively. "I'm not giving him back. I already took him out of the shop, so he probably thinks he'll be staying. Giving him back would break his heart."

"Dream—"

"Blue." Dream stared at him, eyes looking watery and big, and was his mouth trembling at the corners—

Oh no...not the puppy-dog eyes.

Blue quickly looked over to Ink in a panic, asking him silently to do something. Ink shifted and scratched at his neck, glancing from Dream to Blue to Arson and back to Blue. "I mean..." He smiled sheepishly. "...I wouldn't mind getting a pet?"

Blue's face fell to a neutral position. "Not. Helping." He glanced back to Dream, whose puppy-dog eyes had doubled. Clenching his teeth, he looked down to Arson, who looked to be reflecting his carrier's eyes. Muttering a curse under his breath, Blue broke.

He turned back to the worker and her security.

~oOo~

That night, when they were all back home and Ink and Dream were in bed already (Dream had fallen asleep in the ride home and Ink crashed the minute he laid down), Blue sat down on the side of the bed. He smiled at his two squishes sleeping and looked over as Arson jumped up and settled in between the two.

Dream shifted, subconsciously reaching up and placing a hand on him.

Arson looked over at blue, a smug look on his face.

Blue glared at him. "Yeah, yeah. Don't look at me like that."

With that, he joined the pile and turned off the lights.

~oOo~

The next morning, Dream was sitting on the couch watching a show with Ink and Blue when Arson jumped up and settled in his lap. He blinked down at the new member of the household.

"Hey, when'd we get a cat?"

He was very confused when Ink started laughing, Blue just sighed, and Arson started purring.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #utmv #undertale #dream sans #blue sans #swap sans #ink sans #queerplatonic drinkberry #drinkberry #fluff #this makes...two oneshots i've written be fluff #which means i clearly need to try and balance that out #with all the angst ive done

48 notes · View notes

baconsoupforthesoul · 4 years ago

Text

The Ink Demonth - Day 4 - Denial

The Devil’s Despair

A/N: A heart wrenching piece for the lovely @doberart‘s Rise of Bendy AU. I’ve missed this wonderful sci-fi au and I always love me some angst, so I hope you all brought some tissues.

“No…”

Bendy can feel his whole body freeze, his pie-cut eyes wide as he listened to Joey. He can hear the words coming out of the man’s mouth but�� it sounded muffled almost. As if the things he was saying were just so… so wrong that his mind couldn’t even process them. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Boris’s stunned face and he can hear Alice’s gasp.

“But… but…” Boris’s voice quivered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “But Linda… she was here just a few weeks ago! She even read us a letter he sent her! He can’t be… gone... just like that…”

“This can’t be happening…” Alice whimpered, her voice barely audible as she placed her hands over her mouth. “Henry can’t be… he can’t be…”

“I know it hurts to hear,” Joey told them, his eyes downcast as he looked at the three toons solemnly. “I’m… still coming to terms with it myself.” The studio head ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. “Henry… he knew the risks going into it. With war… not everyone makes it back home at the end of-”

“No!” Bendy’s shouted, his confusion turning into anger. Boris and Alice both gasped at Bendy’s sudden outburst as the little toon’s fists shook with rage. “There’s… there’s no way that’s true! Henry can’t be… he can’t be…”

"Bendy," Joey turned his gaze to the distraught toon. "I know it's difficult to accept… but Henry is-"

“NO!” Bendy yelled, cutting Joey off as he backed away from him. “No, no, nonoNO!” He cried, placing his hands over his ears like a petulant child.

“B-bendy,” Boris’s ears drooped as he reached out a hand for his friend but the little devil batted it away.

“Bendy,” Joey took a step closer, his voice quiet but firm. “I know this is difficult to accept, but Henry is-”

“DON’T SAY IT!” Bendy screamed. “Don’t you even say it! It’s… it’s not true! There’s no way that’s true!”

“Oh Bendy,” Alice took a step closer, her eyes welling up with tears. “I… I know you’re upset… but please… don’t yell at Joey… it’s not his fault.”

“She’s right,” Joey agreed, stepping closer to Bendy. “I know this is devastating news but there’s no need to throw a tantrum, Bendy.” Joey’s eyes turned stern as he looked down at the smaller toon. “What would Henry say if he could see you now?”

“SHUT UP!” Bendy roared, stomping his foot as he glared up at Joey. “JUST SHUT UP! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! HENRY ISN’T DEAD, SO STOP LYING TO ME!” The devil points an accusing finger at Joey. Boris and Alice looked on helplessly as Joey narrowed his eyes at Bendy.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Bendy” Joey crossed his arms, his voice rigid. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. No matter how much you wish it, no matter how much all of us want it to be so, Henry is dead. He’s gone, Bendy. And he’s never coming back.”

“NO!” Bendy screamed, feeling ink dripping off of him, sliding down his face and leaking from his eyes.

“Bendy, please, just listen to-” Alice tried to intervene but Bendy shook his head and backed away from them.

“Just shut up! Leave me alone!” He cried, feeling more tears streaming down his face. It felt like the floor had given out beneath him. Nothing made sense anymore and everything was wrong.

The devil toon let out a heart wrenching sob before he turned on his heels and ran off, paying no heed to the cries of his friends as he fled.

---

It wasn’t true… it wasn’t true… it wasn’t true…

Bendy curled in on himself, little droplets of ink dripping down his face. He felt hollow like someone had scooped out his insides. And all that emptiness inside just left more room for the sorrow slowly pouring in.

After running away from Joey and his friends, he went to the place he’d always went to when he was feeling sad. But being alone in Henry’s office… almost seemed to make it worse. So he snuck up to hide in a nearby vent, away from prying eyes but as close as he could be to the man who created him.

The man he may never see again...

Bendy shook off the thought. There was no way that was true. Whether Joey was lying or just misinformed… there was no way Henry was gone. Bendy… he’d know if his creator was gone… wouldn’t he? The two of them shared such a deep connection, surely Bendy would feel it if Henry had passed on… right?

Bendy flinched as he heard the sound of the door opening below. He scooched further down the vent as he heard two pairs of footsteps enter Henry’s office.

“Bendy?” Boris called out, sounding worried. “Bendy, are you in here?”

“Bendy, we know you’re in here,” Alice huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Come on Bendy, we just want to talk.”

The angel’s eyes scanned the room until she saw small drops of ink dripping down from the vent above her.

“Bendy,” Alice sighed as she approached the vent, Boris trailing behind her. “Bendy come out. We… we know you’re upset. We just want to talk though.”

The devil ignored his friend’s, moving a little further down the vent. He knew they meant well but… he just wanted to be alone right now. He didn’t want to talk about Henry being gone because he wasn’t. No matter what Joey said.

“Hey pal,” Boris called up to him, wringing his hands. “I… I know you’re hurting. Please… we just want to help you, buddy,” the wolf sniffed, wiping away a stray tear.

Boris’s forlorn voice almost made Bendy’s resolve crumble, but he refused to move. Instead, he curled up tighter, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Bendy,” Alice frowned, her voice soft, sympathetic. “We’re here for you, Bendy. You don’t have to suffer alone. Please come out. We’re not mad at you, we just want to help.”

Bendy gritted his teeth as his whole body tensed up. Deep down, he knew Alice meant what she said. They just wanted to help, they just wanted to be there for him. But he didn’t want them right now. He just wanted…

“Just… just go away!” Bendy cried out, angrily wiping the tears from his face. “Leave me alone!”

Alice gasped at his outburst, holding a hand against her chest.

“But… Bendy…” Boris whined, his tail lowered as his friend shouted down at them.

“Why you little,” Alice muttered under her breath, her cheeks puffed out in anger. “You’re not the only one who cared about Henry, you know!” The angel yelled back, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Alice,” Boris tried to step in but Alice was having none of it.

“So you don’t have the right to go off acting like this, you hear!” Alice cried as she hit the wall underneath the vent. “You don’t think me and Boris aren’t heartbroken over this? Knowing that… that he isn’t coming back… that he can’t go home to Linda… that we’ll never get to see him again…” Alice’s voice hitched, her voice lowering as her shouting turned into sobbing. Boris felt his own eyes well up with tears as he watched the angel break down. He wrapped his arms around Alice as she wept, feeling her shoulder’s shake with every sob.

Bendy sat there, frozen as he listened to his friend’s cries. He should go down there, comfort her like Boris was, apologize for ignoring them. But as awful as he felt inside for making Alice so upset, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He knew he was being childish… selfish even… but he just couldn’t do it.

“Come on, Alice,” Boris said softly, patting the angel on the back. “Let’s leave Bendy alone for a bit. I think… he just needs time to process it.”

“Yeah… okay…” Alice murmured, wiping a stray tear from her face as she and Boris slowly made their way out.

Bendy sighed as he heard the door shut. Gosh… what was he doing? Ignoring his friends when they were crying?

He couldn’t go down there though. Talking to them about it meant… accepting that it was real. And he couldn’t… he couldn’t accept that.

He gazed down at Henry’s office below him. There were still a few scattered papers on his desk, scribbles and doodles left behind by the closest thing Bendy would ever have to a father.

Bendy remembered seeing Henry hunched over that desk, walking in as Henry turned to him with the biggest grin on his face, excited to show him what he had been working on. He remembered pulling the man away from his work, urging him to play just one round of tag or hide and go seek. He remembered tackling Henry as soon as he walked in the door, riding on his shoulders with his head on top of Henry’s. He remembered that one night Henry had carried him off to bed when he had somehow fallen asleep in his office. The man who cared for his creations so much, who was always there when you needed him.

Henry couldn’t just be… gone.

Bendy let out a small little sob as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to imagine it was Henry holding him instead.

It wasn’t true… it wasn’t true… it wasn’t true…

Was it…?

#ink demonth #the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim #henry stein #henry batim #bendy #bendy batim #alice angel #boris #boris the wolf #joey drew #rise of bendy #rise of bendy au #spacy writes

99 notes · View notes

paganvamp · 4 years ago

Text

Saving Grace: Chapter Seven

Meet Damon Salvatore!

(Holy shit this a long chapter)

2009 AD: The Other Brother

Elena was soaked, standing chest-deep in the muddy lake as Ric looked on from the woods above.

“Damon! How are you even here?”

“Thanks for the tip, brother.” Damon’s voice, disapproving and frustrated, sounded from his place behind Ric, leaning against the tree trunk next to him. Neither of them seemed too bothered that he had just launched Elena into the water, though Ric did have the decency to look a bit sheepish.

“You sold me out!” Elena accused.

“You think I'd take you to a mountain range of werewolves on a full moon without backup?”

“Get out of the water, Elena.”

“If I get out of the water, you’re gonna make me go home.” Elena protested.

“Yes, because I’m not an idiot like you.”

“Right now, you’re both acting like idiots.” Ric groused, rolling his eyes, and walking further away from the bickering pair.

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Probably won’t be the last.” Grace’s voice could be heard before she came into view, but it was clear from the tone she meant the jibe with affection and good humor.

“You dragged Grace all the way out here just to babysit me?” Elena frowned at Damon.

“He dragged Grace all the way out here because she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Grace responded in Damon’s stead. A moment of silence as Damon and Elena stared accusingly at each other.

“You gave up on him, Damon.”

A klaxon-sounding bell tore Grace from her vision-dream, and she was momentarily too discombobulated to realize it was her own alarm clock. Who the fuck are Damon and Ric? Grace sighed. And why the fuck are they looking for werewolves? She’d just gotten over her strange Stefan vision, and the uneasy feeling of her hand in his. Elena liked him, seemed to trust him, and Caroline thought he was God’s gift… it was only Bonnie who seemed to share Grace’s reservations.

Pulling her phone off the charger, Grace found she had a string of new messages. Navigating to the three-way chat between herself, Bonnie, and Elena (some things needed to be Caroline-free), she noticed that the other two girls had apparently had an entire conversation while Grace was asleep.

E: Any word on the psychic front? Am I gonna win the lottery today?

B: ha-ha. I told you, Grams was drunk. No winning lottery numbers here

E: 2 bad. Aunt Jenna really wanted that new tv

B: Grace, I hope Ur not ignoring us. That’s very rude

E: She’s probably still asleep, Bon. It’s like 5 am

There were more, as well as some texts from Caroline, but all Grace could see was one word floating in front of her eyes: psychic. She’d prayed that Bonnie would show some inclination toward magic, that she would have someone to talk to and practice with. Could this be the first signs of her Tapping into her powers?

Quickly - so quickly her first draft was unrecognizable as English – she typed out a response to Elena and Bonnie.

G: I’m awake. Psychic???

While waiting for a response, she alternated between reading the rest of her notifications and beginning the arduous process of brushing and braiding her elbow-length hair. Strangely, Grace had yet to receive Caroline’s customary ‘good morning’ message, which usually consisted of a precise list of all the plans she’d made for the entire day, and maybe an actual ‘good morning,' if she remembered. She did, however, have multiple texts from Caroline dated the night before.

C: If you notice any new tall, dark & handsomes around town, know I’ve already called dibs – 8:00 PM

C: could you please tell Elena she just needs to jump S’s bones already? She listens to u – 8:30 PM

C: OK srsly, I’m asking — has Vicki always been such an attention whore – 8:45 PM

C: don’t answer that – 8:46 PM

No other texts had come in from Caroline until hours later, when she sent the last message of the night:

C: Elena may be a prude, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get some. Don’t wait up ; ) – 10:30 PM

So, clearly Caroline had run into her ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ last night and taken him home. The last part of the message, ‘don’t wait up ; )’, sent a pang through Grace. She remembered when she was the one sending her friends texts like that. Not now, Grace. It’s school time. Mostly, she was fine, didn’t think of Bryan at all… but sometimes a memory would hit her like a fuckton of bricks. She shook off the sudden melancholy and gathered up the scattered grimoires and spiral notebooks strewn across her room from the night before. No wonder she’d stopped answering messages at 8:00 – after pouring over magical tomes for hours, she had fallen asleep early.

“Grace, hurry!” Aimee’s voice urged from her room across the hall. “Don’t you have practice today?” Oh, shit. No matter how good Caroline’s mystery man had been last night, she would happily skewer Grace over a bonfire if she were late for practice again, and her practice clothes were in her duffel in the school locker room. If she was late to school, she wouldn’t be able to grab them before class, which would mean she’d have to detour before practice to get them and… well. Either way, she needed to move her ass or she’d be late to first period. She winced; It was kind of a habit of hers, unfortunately.

“Shit, Aims, I really have to go! Are y’all ready, or can you get dad to drive you?” ��Y’all,' a phrase reminiscent of her childhood in Louisiana, usually only made an appearance around family members or when she was in a hurry.

“Neither.” Chloe called grouchily from the bathroom, down the hall from her sister’s rooms. She was not a morning person — which was lucky for her, since she’d somehow ended up with study hall (aka an hour to sleep in) first thing in the morning. “Dad left already, which you would know if you ever woke up on time.” Since she didn’t have time to argue, Grace let the snide comment go this once.

“Then get in the car, we have to leave, Chloe!” Where is my damn history book? Grace’s room was a mess of grimoires and textbooks and writings by and for witches. The history book was buried somewhere in the sea of paper and ink.

Chloe’s head popped out from the bathroom, a furiously indignant look on her pretty face. Her hair was to Grace a rat’s nest of clips and curlers and bobby pins, though she was sure it made sense to Chloe.

“Not all of us are okay with looking like Leif Erikson every day, you know.” As mothers are wont to do, Cecile somehow sensed an argument brewing and appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Grace, you go. Take Aimee if she’s ready. I don’t have anything until the afternoon – I can drive Chloe.” As Assistant Curator of the history museum in the city, Cecile worked strange hours and dealt with a fairly lengthy commute every day, but she and Joseph – manager at a bakery in town — felt it worth the sacrifice.

“I’m ready!” To prove her point, the only brunette among them sailed past her mother and sister down the stairs, bag over her shoulder and shoes already on. Shoving her feet into the first pair of tennis shoes she saw, Grace stuffed her history book — found under her bed, for some reason — into her bag and followed Aimee to the car.

Grace needn’t have worried about Caroline’s wrath; when she reached the school, Caroline was nowhere in sight. Bonnie and Elena were, though, so after saying goodbye to her sister, she headed their way, just in time for Stefan to join them.

“Good morning, Elena. Good morning, Bonnie, Grace.” Grace smiled and nodded at him, more focused on Bonnie’s reaction to him than a warm welcome. She hadn’t had any time to see if either of the two girls had responded to her inquiry about Bonnie’s supposed psychic powers, so she’d just have to observe and bring it up later.

“Hey,” the greeting was short and uncomfortable, even for Grace, as Bonnie cast her eyes around for an escape route, “Um, I gotta find Caroline. She’s not answering her phone. So, I’ll see you guys later.” Late and unreachable? Maybe mystery man was more Ted Bundy than Casanova? But before Grace could ask if Caroline really was AWOL or simply being used as an escape route, Bonnie was gone.

“She doesn’t like me very much.” How astute.

“She doesn’t know you.” Elena corrected gently, smoothing ruffled feathers as usual. “She’s my best friend. She’s just looking out for me. But when she does, she will love you.”

“Bonnie’s one of those resistant-to-change types, at least when it comes to the friend group.” Grace offered. She felt awkward, as she agreed with Bonnie but was standing with Stefan.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Uh-oh. That’s her ‘I have a plan’ voice. “Are you free tonight?” Grace didn’t need any powers of divination to see where this was going.

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Dinner; My house, 8:00; You, me, and Bonnie.” Elena turned to Grace, an invitation on her lips.

“Oh, no. I’m not getting in the middle of that. This is Bonnie’s thing.” No need to mention her own reservations, especially if it meant getting out of the sure-to-be-awkward dinner.

“Fine. Stefan and Bonnie will spend some quality time and she’ll get to see what a great guy you are. Mission accomplished.” Elena had quite the self-satisfied smile on her face, as if she’d solved world hunger and not Bonnie’s bad attitude. In the silence, a familiar voice sounded in Grace’s ear.

“….Do, Ty?” It was Matt, clearly, but the words were faint. Grace could only make out a few of them,“…made…choice.”

“…One.” Tyler responded.

“Hey, I didn’t know Matt was here already.” Grace exclaimed, just to say something. Elena gave her a strange look.

“What are you talking about? How do you know Matt is here?” Elena knew Matt’s voice as well as Grace did. It should have caught her attention as well, shouldn’t it?

“You didn’t hear him and Tyler?” It was Stefan’s turn to give a strange look, but this one she couldn’t decipher. She wasn’t willing to read him again, so she was left bewildered at the searching expression on his face.

“…Ty, don’t! Ty!” That was louder, but before Grace could make a comment, Stefan was whirling around to catch the football that had been aimed directly at his head. He threw it back — a good throw, maybe better than Tyler’s. Elena laughed at Tyler’s shocked reaction, but Grace was focused on something else. They’re so far away… Grace had always had good senses — perfect vision, a sometimes-too-sensitive consciousness of smell, good hearing — but that was almost… inhuman. No wonder Elena was confused. She hadn’t heard a thing they’d said. Noticing more students arriving, they made their way inside the school, where Elena was not ready to forget Stefan’s display outside.

“That throw was insane. I didn’t know you played football.”

“I used to.” He looked nostalgic for a moment. “It was a long time ago.”

“So why don’t you try out for the team?” Grace asked. Football player and cheerleader may have been a cliché, but it was a cute one.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Stefan appeared to think the suggestion was ludicrous.

“So, you don’t like football?” Elena clarified. I hope the mixed signals aren’t a Thing with him.

“No, I love football. I think it’s a great sport.” Grace would beg to differ, though she would never tell Matt. “But in this case, I don’t think football likes me. You saw Tyler over there, and we both know how Matt feels.” The word ‘both’ let Grace know she was heading into third-wheel territory, so she told Elena she’d see her at lunch and made her way to her locker, where her worst nightmare had come true.

Tyler and Vicki. Kissing. She supposed the pair were always either fucking or fighting, so no option was great, but at least when they were fighting, they weren’t a unified front. They wouldn’t tag-team to make her day more difficult. In fact, one of them might even go out of their way to make her life easier, just to spite the other.

Maybe she was glad to be single after all.

“Luctor et emergo.” Grace muttered, as she elbowed her way past the writhing couple to her locker. Grace’s parents had insisted on all three of their children learning both Latin and French from an incredibly early age. Back then, Grace simply thought they were classists or wanted to set their kids apart somehow. Now she knew their true motives – Traditional Magic, and its spells, were almost entirely recited in Latin; the witches of the Quarter use Ancestral Magic – a large part of which was in French. Since childhood, Grace had a habit of slipping into another language in times of stress or hardship — similar to her use of ‘y’all’ — which seemed to be happening a lot more lately. Luctor et emergo: I struggle and emerge. A frequently used phrase when walking the halls of Mystic Fall High School. Another thing becoming more common lately was upper arm work-outs — for days, Grace had been shoving every textbook and spiral bound she could into her backpack and lugging it around all day, just so she could avoid the two forces of nature currently sucking each other’s faces off. The one bright spot was that Vicki had seemed to loosen up on her vendetta against all associated with Elena Gilbert.

Slamming her locker door shut, Grace glanced at her phone again. Bonnie was right — not a peep from Caroline. She began to type a message when the warning bell clanged, signaling two minutes to get to class. She would have to locate Caroline later.

Cheerleading practice was the highlight of Grace’s day. There was almost nothing she loved more than the rush that came from flying and tumbling, except maybe magic. Yes, she hated football — basketball was much less boring, without all that stopping and starting — but cheer was worth it. Of course, she’d made her three closest friends through the squad, and it was one of the few subjects she and Chloe seemed to agree on. Then there was the adrenaline rush, as well as the benefits of having to keep her body in such good condition. It didn’t hurt that the uniform was adorable, either; Grace was proud of the body both nature and cheer had given her, and tended to prefer silhouettes and styles that accentuated her curves, complimenting her features — which, of course, the uniform was basically designed for.

After dropping her water bottle and bag at the edge of the field, Grace began stretching near Bonnie.

“Seriously, if you could maybe make yourself look a little uglier next practice, I think we’d all appreciate it.” Bonnie japed, eyeing the cherry-red spandex shorts and black sports bra Grace had donned for practice.

“You’re one to talk.” Dana, doing the splits a few feet away, called to Bonnie. “Like, could you turn down the glow a little bit, Bonnie?” Grace herself dropped into the splits, having loosened up enough, and slowly rotated forward until she was flat on her stomach. She looked up to see Bethany, a fellow senior, inches away doing the same. Beth, who shared Grace’s weird sense of humor, grabbed Grace’s hand.

“Tell my family…” she whispered, as though she were dying. “Tell my family I died well.” She collapsed loosely on the grass as Grace wailed in feigned grief.

“No, Beth! Come back! I’ll miss you!” Before the charade could continue too far, Grace heard Bonnie’s voice from just outside her limited field of vision.

“Oh, my God! You’re here!” She sounded stunned.

“Yep.” Elena! Grace contorted herself as far as she could without spraining something and saw her two friends standing above her. “I can’t be sad girl forever. The only way to get things back to the way they were are to do things that were.” Grace wasn’t sure that made sense. She slowly pushed herself back up into a sitting position and Bonnie and Elena each grabbed a hand to help her up. “Oh, and you're coming to dinner tonight.” This could end poorly.

“I am?”

“Mm-hmm. You, me, and Stefan.” Bonnie gave The Look. “You have to give him a chance.”

“Tonight's no good. Have you seen Caroline? I texted her like a hundred times.” So, Caroline was still missing… Grace was seriously starting to worry. Missing practice was perhaps the most Un-Caroline thing that could possibly happen.

“Don't change the subject, Bonnie Bennett! You're going to be there.”

“Fine. I'll go.” No one could talk Elena out of something when she set her mind to it, not even Bonnie Bennett.

“Good.”

“Can I circle back to the Caroline thing?” This was probably an appropriate time for Grace to circle back to the psychic thing, but anxiety was gnawing at her. “Neither of you have heard from her. Like at all?” They both shook their heads, then all three girls looked around as if Caroline might pop out of a bush.

“Seriously, where is Caroline?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like her.” Grace was already reaching into her bag for her phone.

“I’ll try her again.” Before she could, however, a car pulled up to the field, containing none other than Caroline… and ‘Damon’. Dream Damon. Grace couldn’t equate Caroline’s sexy-bad-boy mystery guy to the obnoxious but lovable older-brother type she’d dreamt earlier.

“Uh…”

“Oh, my God. That must be the mystery guy from the grill.” Grace suggested. Her friends seemed dumbfounded, and some part of her found it good to know they were just as lost as Grace.

“That’s not a mystery guy.” Or not. “That’s Damon Salvatore.” Grace’s head swung toward Elena so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

“Salvatore, as in Stefan?” So, she’d had visions of both brothers within days of each other? Each one an indication of future best-friendships? Caroline sauntered over to them, looking smug as all hell even with that ridiculous scarf around her neck. I’m all for a fashion statement, but at cheer practice?

“I got the other brother.” She said to Elena. Well, that explained some of it. Grace knew about Caroline’s deeply buried resentment of Elena, and the fact that never dealt with it or addressed it — she didn’t need to be an Empath to know that, because Caroline had told her. But even if she hadn’t, Grace could practically smell it radiating off of Caroline, she was so upset. “Hope you don’t mind.” Clearly not true. “Sorry I’m late, girls.” She addressed the whole squad this time. “I, uh, was busy.” That little smirk at the corner of her mouth let Grace know that she wasn’t completely wrong about Caroline’s activities the previous night. “All right, let’s start with the double pike herkey hurdler, what do you say?” The girls quickly formed lines, never willing to risk Caroline’s drill-sergeant-esque wrath, and Caroline began counting. Grace, who was behind Elena, could see the younger girl struggling with the maneuver and wondered if Caroline had chosen it on purpose. “Elena, sweetie, why don’t you just observe today? Okay?” It was never a good thing when Caroline used the word “sweetie," and smoke was practically coming out of Elena’s ears. “Keep going! Okay. Do it again, from the top! And 5…” as she went back to counting beats, Grace and Bonnie threw Elena as many commiserative looks as they could. But Elena’s attention had been drawn to the football field, where Stefan Salvatore himself was running plays. The girls watched as Tyler rammed into Stefan, all his weight behind it, and they went down.

“…Gonna live, Salvatore?” Coach Tanner called to the boy, still prone on the grass. Grace could fucking feel Tyler’s emotions from across the field, he was so worked up; he was pissed that some new guy was climbing the popularity ladder so fast, and though a part of him truly did hate Stefan for Matt’s sake, mostly he was jealous himself. It was moments like this when Grace remembered why she hated Tyler so much. The douchebag is using Matt as an excuse to deal with his Alpha Male Complex. Maybe next he’ll pee all over the school like a dog, just to mark his territory.

Stefan got up, and the boys huddled up again; Grace turned her focus back to Caroline’s instructions.

Grace was not looking forward to the football game. Between Caroline’s pettiness being at peak capacity, Elena’s patience at an all-time low, and Bonnie still refusing to come around and give Stefan a chance, Grace figured every moment spent not cheering would be in mediation. As soon as she arrived, she made it her mission to finally talk about the ‘Bonnie’s psychic’ text that had been hovering around her mind all day. Along the way, she ran into Elena, who had apparently quit the squad, and Stefan, who had apparently joined the football team — not quite the stereotypical couple she’d imagined earlier, but whatever.

Finally managing to locate Bonnie, Grace dove straight into what she’d been itching to ask all day.

“So, Bonnie. Psychic?” Bonnie scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“You know how my Grams will get drunk and then start telling me all these stories about magic and fairies and everything…”

“Yeah, I’ve experienced it a time or two.” Perhaps because Sheila knew Grace herself was a witch, she had even less of a filter when Grace was around.

“Well, the other day she starts going on about how I’m psychic.” As Bonnie explained Sheila Bennett’s drunken rambles, Grace realized what Bonnie had yet to put together. Her Grams was telling the truth – Bonnie was a witch. A powerful one, judging by her lineage and psychic abilities — not as strong as Grace’s, but present enough to mean Bonnie’s powers were likely almost unparalleled. “… I mean its crazy, right?” Bonnie was laughing, but there was the smallest part of her that was starting to think maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all.

“Yeah, maybe.” Grace didn’t think it was quite time to reveal herself to Bonnie, but she didn’t want to be unsupportive either. “But, I mean, I totally predicted the end of that movie the other day, so maybe Grams is on to something.”

“Guys, hello?” Caroline had found them. “Are you going to cheer, or are you going to chat?” The two girls rolled their eyes.

“Good to see you, too, Care Bear.” Caroline ignored them, instead using that freaky talent of hers to hone in on the slightest of imperfections.

“Hey, Tiki, it’s all wobbly. Can you stand straight, please? Could someone please help Tiki?”

Grace had her arms wrapped around Matt, despite his protests that he was fine.

“You’re not fine, you dumbass. You just found your teacher and coach…” She didn’t want to say it out loud. “You’re the one who found him, okay? Don’t pretend that didn’t suck.” They were standing by his stupid truck, the light from the ambulance and police cars throwing strange red and blue shadows over everything. The cab door was open, as Grace had bodily slammed into Matt’s back as he made to get inside and clung to him like a monkey.

“Yeah, Gracie, it sucked.” He sighed. “What kind of animal would do something like this?” Caroline’s mom had made the announcement not long ago – Coach Tanner was the victim of another animal attack, this time right in town. Grace shrugged.

“A starving one, I guess.” But Tanner hadn’t been eaten. Just attacked. Like the others. Matt rubbed his hand down Grace’s back as if he were the one comforting her.

“C’mon, Gracie. I’ll drive you home. You can get your car tomorrow.” He walked her around to the passenger’s side, the door of which sometimes stuck shut, and helped her climb up before finally getting in himself. The air conditioning rattled, a comforting, familiar sound in the silence. Grace toed off her white Nfinities, flexing her aching feet. She’d been an idiot in practice last week and fucked up her ankle during a particularly poorly executed scorpion stunt. She’d wrapped it in elastic wrap her mother had spelled with healing charms before the game, but it was no miracle cure. Matt must have noticed her grimace, because he glanced at her with a disapproving big brother look, despite being a year younger than her.

“How many times have I told you to keep your legs straight?”

“Well, look at you, Mr. Cheerleading Expert.” Grace mocked him, not wanting to admit that he had told her that countless times. After nearly 7 years of watching (and sometimes unwillingly participating) in backyard cheer practice, Matt was somewhat knowledgeable in the sport. Knowledgeable enough to know a stunt will fall if the flyer can’t keep her fucking legs straight, anyway. “Don’t worry, Caroline already tore me a new one.” Damn, had she ever. The moment Grace went down, she’d felt Caroline’s hawk-like gaze on her, even through the bodies of her bases. ‘Stop giving me excuses, Sinclair. It’s been four months! Get it together.’ Elena had been in Grace’s stunt group when her parents were killed, which left the foursome someone bereft of a base when she quit. Caroline had frantically rearranged but getting used to a new base was always an adjustment. Selfishly, Grace was just glad none of this had happened when she was captain.

“Yeah, well Caroline can be a nutcase but this time she’s kind of right.” Grace could feel herself getting defensive, even though he was once again correct, but didn’t want to say something that might stall the effectively distracting conversation. Matt might pretend to be blasé, but Grace was calling bullshit.

“Yeah, I get it mom, I need to be more careful.” By this time, they’d reached Matt’s house and, despite Grace living literally fifteen feet away, Matt drove past his own driveway and pulled into hers. “Seriously, dude?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m a gentleman,” Matt smirked, “sue me.” Rolling her eyes affectionately, Grace moved to unbuckle her seatbelt when she noticed Matt staring toward her house with a strange look on his face. She’d seen that look before. She waited for him to break the sudden silence, but he was lost in thought.

“Matt?” She prompted quietly. She knew what he was going to say, and if talking about it was going to keep his mind off Tanner’s mangled body a little longer, then she’d talk about it.

“It feels weird.” That’s specific. “Looking at… this.” He gestured vaguely towards her house, then back towards his. “I mean… yours is so…”

“Big?” It wasn’t really, not for a family of five — it was actually a completely average house in every way. Two floors, four bedrooms — well, three bedrooms and a converted office — two bathrooms. But next to Matt’s she supposed, it did look a bit extravagant.

“And your car is so…” Again, he trailed off, searching for a nice way to call her spoiled. She didn’t take offense.

“Fancy?” She did drive an Audi - cherry red and the love of her life — but (here comes the justification, she nearly cringed) her father had wanted an Audi for years. By the time they’d saved up enough, they had three little kids and it was impractical. So they kept the savings set aside and when Grace turned 16, her dad finally got his dream car… for her. ‘If you so much as scratch the paint, this car is mine,' her father had warned. Chloe, much to her disappointment, had gotten a Honda as her first car. It was a perfectly good car, but certainly not an Audi. Matt sighed and gave her a sheepish look.

“I’m sorry. I just look at the difference between the two… who knew one yard could feel like such a big divide?” It wasn’t like Matt lived in the “bad part of town” and Grace’s house happened to be the closest. His house should have been perfectly normal, just like hers. But his mother wasn’t the best with finances… Or upkeep… Or mothering. She hated that her family’s good fortune made Matt feel so inferior.

“Well, if anyone can bridge that divide, Donovan… it’s you.” Matt would almost certainly settle quite happily into the small town life, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a better small town life. He smiled at her, shaking off the seriousness.

“Well, it certainly won’t be the girl who can’t even keep her legs straight.” She punched him, both of them laughing. She gathered her shoes and bag and jumped down onto the still-warm asphalt.

“Goodnight, Donovan.” She called, circling around to his side of the truck. “But seriously. If you’re ever not fine…” she paused, searching for a way to end that statement that didn’t sound too smothering. “Well, you know where I live.” He smiled at her, backing out and pulling into his own car port, before waving goodnight as the side door into the kitchen slammed behind him. Making her way inside, Grace was nearly tackled to the ground by her sister, and she suddenly knew what Matt must have felt like when she leapt on him at his truck.

“Oh my God, Gracie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Aims. I wasn’t…” I wasn’t there. But she was there, was just around the corner when a wild animal viciously attacked a man she knew. “I didn’t even…” I didn’t even see the body. But she had, just before the coroner draped a white sheet over her old history teacher and loaded him into a van headed to the morgue. “Matt found him.” Matt had it worse. That’s what she meant. She wasn’t fine, but Matt had it so much worse, so how could she admit that? Maybe that’s what Matt himself had felt, in some form.

“Oh my God, that’s awful.” Her sisters weren’t at the game, thank God, as Chloe had dance rehearsal and Aimee a date. All of their knowledge was second-hand and incomplete, which possibly made their worry worse. Or would, when rehearsal was over, and Chloe checked her phone to undoubtedly find dozens of messages ranging from factual to wild rumor. “Was it really a bear?” Grace snorted. She had no idea what kind of animal had attacked Tanner, but whatever story Aimee had heard probably involved some hulking Goliath of a grizzly storming onto the football field and biting the coach in two.

“I have no idea, Aims. No one saw anything.” So it was probably not a bear. Something stealthier, like a cougar. “Have you spoken to mom and dad?” Their parents were also out on a rare date night and Grace wasn’t sure if the news had reached them yet. If so, they were likely speeding their way home at this moment. But Grace’s younger sister shook her head.

“I don’t think they’ve heard yet. I didn’t want to spoil date night and tell them.”

“What about your date? I’m sorry it was cut short.” It was Aimee’s turn to snort, sounding just like Grace.

“I’m not. He spent the entire time bouncing between checking his phone and his reflection.”

“Yikes.” Grace knew her sister’s pain. “I guess maybe one good thing came out of this evening then, yeah?” Aimee worried her lip, something clearly on her mind. “What’s up, Aims?”

“I just… all these animal attacks… do you know of anything that could help?”

“What, like hunting the thing down?”

“No, doofus. Magically. Are there… protection spells or talismans or something, so I don’t have to constantly worry about you and Chloe and mom and dad?” As the only non-witch in the family — though their father practiced very rarely – Aimee’s knowledge of magic had limitations.

“Um, sure. Probably. But I’ve already got my jet.” To illustrate the point, Grace held her hands out her sister, the black rings sparkling on her fingers. She wasn’t technically supposed to wear much jewelry while cheering, but the thumb ring was inconspicuous and unlikely to cause problems. It was also a security blanket of sorts. The other one, the one she’d bought for herself only a few years ago, she took off right before cheering and put on again immediately after.

“Yeah, I don’t know if Chloe’s into the whole black-jewelry thing.” If Grace was into it, then Chloe likely wasn’t, more out of conscious decision than personal preference, but it didn’t matter. There were other alternatives. Grace sat at the dining room table, sliding her mother’s grimoire to her sister.

“Pick your favorite, then.”

Grace completely fucking forgot about the Founder’s Party. Like, literally, would not have remembered to go if her mom and sisters didn’t scream at her to ‘go get ready because your date is picking you up in an hour’. Actually, they walked into Matt’s house, uninvited — where she had been celebrating the news that the culprit of all the animal attacks had been killed (a cougar, like she thought) — and marched her back home.

When Jeffrey Lockwood-Hamilton had approached her and asked her to go to the Founder’s Party with him, quote ‘because it’s going to be so boring and you might actually make it bearable,' she’d been flattered, if confused. It wasn’t that she and Jeffrey were unfriendly, but they didn’t associate much, what with him being two years younger. Grace supposed that, the times they had hung out had been at other excruciatingly dull parties such as the Miss Mystic pageant, which Caroline required Grace to go to every year for ‘moral support’. They’d entertained each other while their respective ‘dates’ had been occupied, so she supposed it had become somewhat of an unspoken tradition that she and Jeff would hang out at parties.

So, here she was, digging her red party dress out from the closet and wincing as Chloe none-too-gently twisted her hair into an updo. The dress was pretty, standard, just passed the knees with a simple, straight silhouette and thin straps. She threw on some strappy sandals and grabbed a purse right as Jeff rang the bell.

“Ready to have some fun?” He asked sarcastically by way of greeting.

“Cheer up, Jeff.” Grace coaxed. “There’s always champagne.”

When they arrived, Grace immediately spotted a potential problem: Damon Salvatore, looking unfairly handsome in his dark suit, was on Caroline’s arm, and they were chatting with Elena and Stefan. Caroline was still sporting that weird-ass scarf.

“I’m about to be super fucking tacky, Jeff, and leave you alone for a few minutes.” Grace grimaced as she made her excuse. Jeff laughed.

“You’re fine, Grace. Go say hey. Bring me back a glass or two of champagne if you can sneak it past my mom.” He nodded to the corner, where his mother had one eye on the heritage display and one on her son.

“Sure thing.” As Grace approached, Caroline began dragging a wary Stefan onto the dance floor before spotting the older girl.

“Gracie, you’re here!”

“I am! And you’re with Stefan.” It was a question phrased as a statement.

“Damon won’t dance with me,” Caroline pouted, “but apparently Stefan is quite talented.” He looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Well, he’ll have to be to keep up with you, Miss Mystic.” Caroline beamed at the reminder of her potential title and the compliment.

“Why don’t we find out?” Stefan suggested, motioning Caroline forward. That was clearly code for “let’s get this over with,” but Care either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. Grace continued forward to Damon and Elena, who were studying the heritage displays.

“…I just… I hope you two can work it out.” Elena was saying, in her “Elena voice”.

“I hope so, too.” Damon’s tone rang of double entendre, but Grace dismissed it and made her presence known.

“Founding Families, huh?” She asked, looking over the document they were in front of. “Riveting.”

“You make fun, but you New Orleans-folks have your traditions too.” Elena poked fun right back at Grace, the age-old debate familiar and affectionate. Damon turned to her.

“You’re from New Orleans?”

“I am. I’m Grace.” Knowing he was Stefan’s brother, Grace was beyond reluctant to shake his hand and experience that same slimy emptiness, but it would be extremely rude not to.

“Damon.” He extended his arm and Grace placed her small hand in his, hoping she didn’t look as apprehensive as she felt. His hand was warm, but his soul was cold. Cold and dead, like Stefan’s, but there was something else… a warmth not from life or love, but bitterness and hate and malice all festering inside of him. There’s more than this to him. The Damon she had seen in her vision, the one she had been friends with — closer even than her and Stefan would become, judging from the emotions in her vision — was not this embittered, cancerous thing currently in front of her. So, she pushed deeper and deeper, shoving her way past all the black and bad, until finally, finally, there was something else. Something surprising. Insecurity and… longing. Love, or… something he thought was love. Something that maybe used to be love but was now merely the impression of it. Intelligence still glimmered in every corner of this part of his soul, but it wasn’t the cold cunning of before. It was hard won, a lifetime’s worth — several lifetimes worth — of mistakes and knowledge and experience. This was the Damon she would come to know, someone broken but too proud to show it, who used acerbic humor as both a defense mechanism and a show of support for those few he cared for. Suddenly becoming aware that this handshake was starting to become too long to be normal, she pulled her hand away as he looked her over, assessing. Too deep. She’d pushed her powers too far, had already reached her limit and was practically exhausted and out of breath, like she’d been running. She tried to covertly catch her breath, hoping Damon and Elena didn’t notice.

“Have you been? To New Orleans, I mean.”

“I lived there. Once.”

“Really?” Grace’s eyes widened. It wasn’t often she met other people who’d experienced the magic of New Orleans, let alone lived there. “Do you miss it? I know I do.” He smiled a touch nostalgically.

“Well, it was a long time ago.” There was something in his voice as he said "long time,” the same thing that had been in Stefan’s as he said the same words about playing football. Something that implied more. “But it was a hell of a lot fun.” Grace gave him a once-over.

“You know, Damon, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.” Damon’s eyes gleamed with something even she couldn’t quite place.

“I look forward to it, Grace.”

As Damon and Elena headed off toward the dance floor and their respective dates, Grace noticed Bonnie sitting at a table by herself. She knew that she was ignoring Jeff, but she hadn’t spoken to Bonnie all day, and she had the rest of the party to hover by his side. She made her way over, but when she was a few feet away, the breeze blew out the candle sitting as the centerpiece on the table. Bonnie turned her head, focusing her attention on the candle.

It re-ignited.

Grace stumbled, nearly fell over. Bonnie started, blowing the candle out and glancing around to make sure no one saw. From this short distance away, Grace could feel Bonnie’s budding realization that her Gram’s drunken rambles were true, her fear and confusion, her paranoia and loneliness. And Grace couldn’t let Bonnie believe she was alone in this. So, she righted herself, marched over to her friend, and grabbed her arm. Bonnie looked up at her, obviously scared she had witnessed the candle incident.

“I think we need to talk.” Grace pulled her friend out of her chair and away from bustle of the party. “There’s some things you need to hear.”

#saving grace #masterlist #oc #kol mikaelson #damon salvatore #fanfic #the vampire diaries #the originals #elena gilbert #stefan salvatore #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson

3 notes · View notes

biwenqing · 5 years ago

Text

long for you

Wei Wuxian has often been accused of speaking without thinking. This time, he might be overthinking what just needs to come from the heart.

for fytheuntamed on tumblr's untamed spring fest day four prompt: bunnies

Teen | Words: 1568 | ao3

Wei Wuxian sat, looking at the blank paper in front of him. He wanted to fill it, spill onto it everything that was chasing itself around his mind. Maybe if he put the words down, he would be able to speak them without drowning.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up and wetted a brush. Wei Wuxian began only for no characters to reveal themselves. Instead, he began to carefully draw the little bunny nest he had found when he camped beside the road the day before. Three little babies, their eyes still mostly closed and ears so small, curled into a perfect circle of grass. The mother must have been in a hurry for Wei Wuxian to be able to spy them, the tangle of leaves that made up the roof not fully covering the babies.

Once he captured the image, Wei Wuxian wrote around the picture, describing what he had seen. How he had settled on the other side of the road with Lil Apple, and watched for the mother to come back, ready to chase off any fox or hawk that might prey on the nest. He had used some of the Lan meditation techniques to rest while he kept watch.

[That felt fitting, Lan Zhan. I knew that you would have done the same.] Wei Wuxian wrote as he reached the final space on the paper. [I often find you with me, even though you are far from my side. I imagine your reaction to all the people and things along my travels, hear your voice in my dreams. I miss you terribly.]

Signing his name, Wei Wuxian tried not to linger on the words as he waited for the ink to dry. It was only a fraction of what wanted to come pouring out. But there were things that were better said in person, he had to remember. He could only hope that Lan Wangji would understand. He folded it and took it to be sent out.

The woman who accepted the letter raised her brows at the address. “Gusu is only a few hours ride away,” she said but then quickly waved a hand. “Sorry, not my place to comment.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was more forced than normal. “I’m in town for a little bit. I will check back before I leave in case there is a response.”

The woman nodded. “As you say. Have a good day, young master.”

Returning to the inn, Wei Wuxian stopped to make sure Lil Apple was content in the stables. As content as she ever could be anyway. Her bad temper seemed to have gained her a priority spot among the horses and ponies. Wei Wuxian gave her the carrot he had brought and went to find his own dinner.

Wei Wuxian was able to shake off some of the odd melancholy that had been hanging on him like ill-fitting robes, after some wine and joining different tables to collect information from other travelers. Talking with his waiter as well got him the local gossip. There seemed to be some issues with an old well just outside of town, haunted by a spirit of a child who had fallen in long ago. It wasn’t pressing, only harassing those who came too close, so Wei Wuxian decided that he could leave it for the morning. Another unpaying job, but he didn’t mind. It was important to let that spirit rest.

The room he had paid for was small, unlike the lavish ones Lan Wangji had been able to afford when they traveled together. It was a nice break from sleeping rough, and Wei Wuxian was able to order an almost warm bath so he could wash some of the smell of donkey off himself. Letting his outer robes dry after he washed them, he dressed in just his red ones before climbing into bed.

It wasn’t late but the day’s travel had been long. Wei Wuxian fell asleep as soon as he pulled the covers over himself, leaving the window open on a summer night.

The sound of someone landing on the floor, the boards creaking, had Wei Wuxian startling out of bed sometime later. He reached for Chenqing where it rested next to the bed, turning to face the intruder.

Even when lit only by weak moonlight, Lan Wangji seemed to glow. It must have been a bit of a struggle to get through the window. Wei Wuxian blinked slowly trying to process this as his sleep-addled brain seemed to give up functioning by the sudden appearance of Lan Wangji, too much like the dream he had been startled from.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji apparently had no such issue gathering his thoughts. He strode across the room, hand gently wrapping around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathed, trying to read his face despite the deep shadows. It was too dark. “Are you angry at me?”

“If you were to pass by so close without coming to see me, yes,” Lan Wangji said, letting go and stepping back a bit. He waved his hand to close the window, and again to light the two little lamps in the room.

Wei Wuxian looked away and admitted, “I hadn’t decided.” He wanted to make sure he had the right words in the right order before he saw Lan Wangji. This was not the time for his rambling.

“Why the letter?” Lan Wangji asked, then seemed to notice that Wei Wuxian was only dressed in his under layer. His ears turned red, as they did when he was embarrassed, and he focused just on Wei Wuxian’s face. “Why say that you missed me but not come see me?”

Wei Wuxian tried to hold Lan Wangji’s eyes. With the light, he could see that there was a tension around his eyes, in the lines of his mouth. Wei Wuxian felt something inside him sink. “I have made you unhappy.” That was the opposite of what he always tried to do, despite what others may believe of his actions.

“Only in that I miss just as fiercely,” the words came out in a rush and seemed to surprise Lan Wangji as much as they did Wei Wuxian. He didn’t stop though. “Every day I wish you were at my side, or that I was at yours.”

“But your duties...” Wei Wuxian said even as he stepped closer, letting Chenqing rest on the bed once more. Lan Wangji not only let him into his personal space but reached to take his hand.

“Don’t make me happy as Wei Ying does,” Lan Wangji said, eyes searching Wei Wuxian’s face.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what he would find there, but he knew what he wanted. Reaching up his free hand, he gently touched Lan Wangji’s cheek, trying to find the mirror to his own truth. Lan Wangji pressed closer, turning his head into Wei Wuxian’s hand until his fingers brushed the headband.

Wei Wuxian let out a shaky breath but didn’t pull away. He felt silly at the way tears gathered in his eyes, but there was no way he could contain all that he felt. “How can we have only been parted a month, and it hurts this badly?”

Lan Wangji didn’t have an answer, lifting Wei Wuxian’s other hand up and pressing a kiss to his fingers. His voice was rough when he said, “Come home with me Wei Ying. Come home until I am able to travel with you.”

“I will,” Wei Wuxian said, not needing to think it over anymore, not when Lan Wangj voiced what he wanted most in the world. But he had one thing left that worried him. “Your reputation-”

“Is strong and will not be harmed by me finally being happy.” Lan Wangji pressed another kiss to his hand, and it felt like fire being sent through Wei Wuxian’s veins.

Wei Wuxian moved his other hand to run it over Lan Wangji’s ribbon. Lan Wangji didn’t pull away, instead, he began to smile in his way. Wei Wuxian wanted to taste that proof that he could make Lan Wangji happy. “Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Always.”

~*~

The innkeeper was clearly surprised the next morning when two people left the room he had rented to one, but he didn’t comment. Nor did he seem put out by Wei Wuxian saying he wouldn’t be staying another night, especially when Lan Wangji paid and left a large tip. Walking out of town with Lil Apple in tow, they aimed to stop by the haunted well before turning towards Gusu. So much was the same and yet to Wei Wuxian, it felt as if the world had shifted overnight.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

“Did the mother come back?” Lan Wangji asked, breaking their companionable silence.

“What?”

“The bunnies,” Lan Wangji looked over at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian found it was possible for him to smile even wider. Taking Lan Wangji’s hand, he tangled their fingers together. “She did. She fed them and then covered the nest properly.”

Lan Wangji nodded, seeming pleased.

“Lan Zhan, you really do have such a soft spot for bunnies.”

“Mn. And Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, leaning into Lan Wangji’s side. “It’s an honor to be placed so highly.”

“It is the bunnies who should be honored,” Lan Wangji said, and Wei Wuxian knew he was sharing in the laughter.

#untamed spring fest #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxain #the untamed #my fic #idk how i made this fluffy prompt very dramatic #i also wrote something for day three but i don't really like it so it will probably go unposted

63 notes · View notes

slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 5 years ago

Text

Ace of Spades

So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang! Thank you so much to @corpsecro for the beautiful cover art! See end for author’s notes.

Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.

POV: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, The Lilia (OC)

Chapter 1- Whiskey in a Teacup

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched The Wraith set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in kruge. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it irresponsibly,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the kruge every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind.

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. Ludicrous. Categorically asinine.

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

Definitely drunk, Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup.

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room.

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. Air from where?

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water.

“I’d say to the pursuit of kruge,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face.

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said.

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams did tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. Those eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would you be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water pink?”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was her carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more kruge than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. That laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for @grishaversebigbang !!

Check out @6crowgang ‘s GORGEOUS comic strip for this chapter!

Thanks so much again to @corpsecro for this absolute masterpiece of cover art! (GUYS. It moves!!!)

Get a sneak peek of heist planning (ft. an OC of mine) in this beautiful piece by @fishmaid !

This swashbuckling mood board by @ravenclawsandbeak sets the vibe just right!

More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

Next Chapter

Chapter Masterlist

Read on AO3

Meet The Serrated Spades!

Tag List: @velarhysismine @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @knifewifejude

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse big bang #soc #ck #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #kanej #jesper x wylan #kaz x inej #leigh bardugo #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #ace of spades #aos

106 notes · View notes

nikkzwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 2

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence.

Word Count: 5.1k

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Nine hours had passed since Mikkel’s disappearance. A man with an older looking suitcase overlooked the police canvassing. His dirty scruffy face bent down to scoop up a dead bird.

Jonas shot up from his bed. He looked next to him to see Annalise missing. He threw off his duvet. He guessed it must have all been a dream. Tinnitus ringing in his ear caused him to walk towards his mirror. He turned to check his ear to see black liquid flowing out of it. Jonas studied it on his fingers for a moment trying to figure out what exactly it was. It almost seemed like ink or like a waste product of some sort.

“Jonas,” a haunting familiar voice called to him. The boy used his mirror and turned it to be met with the face of his father covered in the black liquid dripping down from him.

Jonas shot up. His breathing was hard and unsteady. He swallowed his breath as he checked his ear to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming again. As he looked down at his hand, he realized there was the sound of soft breathing next to him. He turned quickly to see that Annalise was there. His terror slowly subsided as her gentle energy embraced him once more. His half-lidded blue eyes studied her. They must have fallen asleep not too long ago. As he made a move to carefully leave his bed, Jonas heard a faint whimper.

Magnus stood in the woods. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing there, but he felt like he needed to be there, for Mikkel. He just wanted his little brother back. His heart wounded from despair. He looked up hearing a noise to spy Franziska walking towards him.

Franziska just looked at the boy who stood in her way for a moment. This moment was unwieldy for her. What was she supposed to say to him? What did he want her to say? Those questions rushed around in her head. Instead of trying to dwell on it, she just tried to move past him.

Magnus quickly grabbed onto the smaller girl and pushed her against a tree. “What were you doing there,” he asked angrily.

The girl complained, “Ouch! Are you crazy?” She studied Magnus’s face. It was full of turmoil. A face that was filled to the brim with emotions he didn’t know how to let out and where to properly put them.

“What were you doing,” He rephrased his question.

Franziska pursed her lips for a second getting more annoyed at his questioning. She stared at him and answered honestly, “I heard you guys talking at school. About the caves… And Erik’s drugs… So I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” She looked down at Magnus’s lips then back into his eyes.

Magnus started to shake before he let her go. He just stared at her trying to understand his life.

“I’m sorry about Mikkel,” she said finally understanding the words she wanted to say to him. But in the end, Magnus just turned angrily to storm away leaving Franziska there to watch him go.

Annalise wept as she slept. She kept reliving losing Mikkel in between her fond memories with him. First, she woke up in her bed with Mikkel huddled next to her from the night before. The poor young boy had gotten scared from a horror movie the three teenagers had been watching. Mikkel, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, had tried his other siblings who both turned him away before Annalise had welcomed him into bed. She could still remember his squeaked, ‘Thank you, Lise.’ After watching him sleep gently, the scenery slowly changed around them to the two of them in the woods. Mikkel curled up in the dirt and leaves shivering and crying. He was in the red puffy coat and the silly skeleton outfit that he loved so much. Annalise tried to call for him, but her ears just filled with Mikkel’s cries. He never responded to her but just kept crying out for help. Annalise started to see dark liquid start to drain and puddle around him. His cries became more desperate.

Jonas couldn’t take seeing her crying softly. He gently leaned over her. He rubbed her shoulder. “Annalise,” he whispered her name. He watched as her face contorted into more anguish. Jonas filled with panic. He gently shook her awake and in a harsh hushed voice demanded to her, “Annalise.”

Annalise slowly awakened by a force and voice. Her face was wet. She wiped her eyes and sat up. She looked to her side to realize just what had happened and how close she was to the sweet boy who took her in. She sniffled and scoot back, “sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” Jonas soothed, “I had fallen asleep too.” His lips forced a small gentle smile, “I guess we both are having a rough time.”

Annalise forced a small giggle to escape her. Jonas noticed once more that she wasn’t just muted color like everyone else. Her sunset tones filled him with comfortability even as she teased, “Did you just imply that we wouldn’t?”

Jonas actually smiled and nodded, “Yeah. I guess I did.” He laughed at himself. There was nothing else they could have done, he told himself. They sat awkwardly for a moment. He looked her over again. He didn’t know how to feel when he remembered that Hannah had given the girl some of her own pajamas to borrow while there. They were rather baggy and big on the small-statured teen.

Martha stared at the pictures on the counter as she laid on the couch with her head in Katharina’s lap. “When Dad’s brother disappeared, how old was he,” she asked.

The picture of Mads and Ulrich they had given to Jana in 1986 for Mother’s day sat in between the pictures of the Nielsen’s and another with Annalise with the family for Halloween when they all matched costumes from ‘The Wizard of Oz’ for Mikkel. Mikkel had a cool trick to actually simulate the Wizard’s, Martha dressed as Dorothy, Magnus and Ulrich being the scarecrow and tin man in their respective order, Annalise dressed as the Lion seeming to be having a lot of fun, and Katharina as the Good Witch. They all seemed to be having a lot of fun. Mikkel was right in the center of all of them with a giant grin that he had gotten his family to do a giant group. Little did they know that it was going to be his last Halloween.

Katharina stared at the pictures and said, “Your father was 15. Mads was three years younger.”

Martha looked up at her mother, “And he was never found?”

Katharina started to play with her daughter’s hair hoping to just let the question and the distressing conversation drop.

“We talked about Erik,” Martha continued, “In the forest. Mikkel thought that was the worst. When someone isn’t found.”

Katharina comforted her daughter and herself, “Mikkel’s coming back. Definitely.”

Annalise shifted uneasily under Jonas’s gaze. She asked, “Got a problem Kahnwald?”

Jonas nodded, “Yeah. Those clothes are too big for you.”

This caused the girl to blink. He was just so honest about it. She looked down at Hannah’s sleepwear and asked, “Is it really that bad?” She looked up at him, “I can go change.”

Jonas shook his head, “I think my mom said something about washing the clothes from last night.” He swallowed hard. His mind started to piece together how he was sounding. He blushed and shot up to walk to his wardrobe. He absentmindedly rambled as he looked for some clothes, “I think I have some old clothes that may fit you though. They are from before I went to the hospital so they are a bit too small for me now.”

“You were in the hospital,” Annalise questioned. She started to look around his room. It was messy as normal teenaged boys’ rooms were but something stood out to her. A pill bottle. She studied it for a second before turning her attention back to the blond.

Jonas replied back without thinking, “Yeah. My first day officially back was yesterday.” He finally found what he was looking for and stopped. He turned horrified now fully aware of his mistake.

Annalise blinked, “I thought Bartosz said you were in France.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to put the pieces together herself. It wasn’t long before she gasped and exclaimed, “That’s why you didn’t text Martha or talk to anyone! You couldn’t!” She shook her head then asked, “But, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Jonas slid himself down to sit onto the floor, “Why would I want to?”

Annalise sat next to him. She sighed and rest her head against his shoulder, “I get it. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

Jonas nodded. He let his head fall back to look up at the ceiling, “Thanks.”

They sat there in silence for a little bit. Their breathing synchronized. Time stood still as the two teenagers just tried to process their life leading up to this moment. Being together alone with practically a stranger that was somehow closer than any other person in the world right at that moment.

Jonas spoke up first again, “Do you ever feel like you were just meant to meet someone?”

Annalise looked up at the ceiling with him and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jonas motioned with his hand at nothing, “Just someone that you meet and it changes your entire life. Better, worse… whatever. Just someone who changes you.”

Annalise looked up at the boy and took a deep breath, “My dad used to say, ‘We are lead to those who help us most grow if we allow them and we help them out too.’ So I guess I know the feeling.”

Jonas sighed, “He sounds like a wise man. You must miss him.”

“I’ve missed him every day for a while,” Annalise explained, “My dad died not too long ago too. Probably what drew me to come here.”

Jonas swallowed a breath. Tears started to fall from his eyes, “You think…”He couldn’t complete his sentence. It didn’t seem as though he needed to though.

Annalise nodded, “Yeah.” She turned and reached around to give the boy a hug. She buried her face in his shoulder to hide the fact she was starting to cry as well. She started to laugh though thinking about something Jonas had said the night before. She pulled away from him with a warm smile through tears, “What? Dead dad, bad topic?”

Jonas burst into laughter. His entire body shook with his entertainment. His eye squeezed close from the force of his smile.

Hannah must have heard the laughing from downstairs because she called “How come I haven’t heard either one of you go clean yourselves up yet? I didn’t offer Annalise to stay here for you two to be joking around.” She puffed out her chest. She honestly had taken Annalise in knowing that Ulrich would come to check up on the teenager eventually. It just gave her even more of an excuse to be alone with the man.

Jonas rolled his eyes, “I’ll go first that way I can get the water warmed up for you.” He laughed then walked towards the direction of the bathroom.

Annalise called after him, “That sounds more like you are going to take all the warm water for yourself.”

Hannah looked up the stairs seeing the two teens playfully teasing each other. She rolled her eyes and called to Annalise, “Come here. We need to make a list of what we are going to need to pack from the Nielsen’s to get you moved here for a few days.”

Annalise nodded, “Yes ma’am.” She hurried down the stairs to do the activity Hannah had asked of her.

The cool water was just what Jonas needed to calm down. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to focus on making sure he was clean. As the shower warmed though, he felt his heart start to race once more. Images of Martha and Annalise spun in his head. He could barely concentrate for long. He quickly turned the water off and panted as he looked at himself in the mirror. He quickly dried off, brushed his teeth, changed, and walked out. He called down towards where he heard Annalise’s voice and called, “Your turn! You need help?”

Hannah blushed. She called upstairs to her son, “What would Annalise need help with? It’s a shower! Not a group project.”

Annalise stifled a laugh. Her snort had caused both Kahnwald’s to look at her. Annalise lifted her hand, rushed past Jonas on the stairs, “Sorry. I’m going to go.”

Jonas watched as Annalise closed the door and argued, “To make sure she knew how to use our shower. Some people have different ones.”

“Oh, you think the Nielsen’s have a different shower,” Hannah replied flushed.

Jonas shook his head, “What are you talking about?” He rolled his eyes. The boy used this time to go into his father’s shop. Talking with Annalise finally made him feel ready to be there again. The boy wanted to have some time to himself just surrounded by Michael. He walked in and sat right in the middle of the room.

Warm water refreshed Annalise more than she could describe. She lathered her hair and body in shampoo and soap to get the grime off of her. The feeling of being clean intoxicated her. She hummed happily as the water washed away the forest from her. As the water started to cool, her brain started to fill with images of Jonas. Her heart raced. Her hand rushed to end the shower to stop those thoughts from happening. Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself down. She wrapped her hair up and brushed her teeth. Then she got dressed into Jonas’s old clothes and walked out.

Across town, the bearded stranger walked out of the shower. His things scattered across Regina’s eighth hotel room. He dried off his hair as he kept the memory of his loved one close in his mind. She would have been getting out the shower about now right? He looked over to the time. He had timed it right. He hummed to himself pleased with the little luxury he was able to give himself. He threw the towel for his hair onto the bed then went to look at his charts and diagrams on the wall.

Jonas laid on the floor. His legs crossed. From above he was reminiscent of an angel. As the rain started, he decided to start to explore more of his late father’s workspace. He walked around. As he studied the closet, the boy noticed one of the boards slightly off kelter. He reached up to uncover its secrets to reveal a map of the Winden Caves.

As it started to rain, Katharina found herself outside. She was just standing there her mind wandered through possibilities hoping for her baby to come home to her. The rain had forced Magnus to also return home. Katharina turned hearing the noise of someone walking behind her to see the tormented face of her eldest son. She turned back to look out into the rain.

Magnus walked into his room to lament. He finally allowed himself to let out the agony he felt. He walked to his wall and just kept punching until he could feel something on the outside just as hurt as he felt on the inside.

Martha looked out of her window. She longed for Mikkel just to be there and walk past the view of her window again. She looked down at her phone and sent Bartosz’s call straight to voicemail.

When Annalise walked out, she realized she was completely alone. Jonas completely quiet and on his own somewhere in the house and it didn’t seem like Hannah was still there. The list they made was gone as well. Annalise made a face. She looked at her phone and figured now would be the best time to Face chat with her family. The girl holed herself into the room Hannah had put her in and started the call.

Freida answered quickly and scolded her daughter in their native English language, “What is going on over there?! I got an email from Katharina that you are staying with a family friend because her son Mikkel disappeared?! Please tell me you are okay. You weren’t there were you?”

“I’m fine Mom,” Annalise calmed her mother, “I-...” She looked off into the distance hearing shuffling inside of the house. “Hold on,” Annalise put her phone down and walked out to see what the noise was.

Jonas was trying to scramble into his room without anyone noticing but he heard the door open near him. The boy looked then let out a breath relieved. He smiled, “Hey Lise.”

Annalise smiled, “Hey. I’m on the phone with my mom. Want to meet her? It’s only fair yeah?”

His ears turned red but he nodded, “Yeah. Let me put this in my room real quick then I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll leave the door open,” Annalise slipped her head back into the room. She did just as she said then settled into her bed. She lifted her phone back up. She took a second to remember to speak English again then said, “Sorry Mom. That was Jonas.”

“Oh, the cute one yeah,” Freida laughed forgetting what had panicked her for the moment, “He’s going to come to say hi right? I’ll go get Zayde so he can be here too.”

Annalise blushed, “Mom, really. There is no need.” She shook her head trying to convince her mother not to get her grandfather, “I only wanted him to meet you since it’s only fair because I know his mom and am staying here for a few days.” But it was no help, she had already gotten close to his chair for them to share the screen.

Jonas smiled as he walked in. He laughed and settled in next to Lise leaning his back on the bed. “Hello,” Jonas tried his best to speak English, “My name is Jonas. It’s nice to meet you.”

David looked at the blue-eyed blond boy sitting next to his granddaughter and spoke in German, “Oh, you think I can’t speak my native language?! Fuck you.”

Freida tried to calm her father down and Annalise laughed. She looked at Jonas and said, “I should have warned you that my Zayde is from Winden, huh?”

Jonas laughed and nodded, “Yeah. Rather than the first words out of his mouth being fuck you. I can see why German terrified you.”

“We can hear you,” David replied. He spoke up again, “Anyway kid, this is my daughter Freida and that’s her daughter Annalise. I’m David. Don’t do anything to her. I know people in Winden.”

“Yes Sir,” Jonas laughed. He looked towards Annalise who was just shaking her head.

Annalise spoke up in English, “Anyway, we are safe. You know where I am and who I’m with. I’ll chat with all of you tomorrow. Bye Bye,” She waved.

Jonas stuck his face in once more to wave bye as well. He chuckled. Just as he was about to say something to Annalise her phone made a small text received tone. He didn’t really want to pry but he was right there. ‘He is cute’ Her mom had texted her. He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Annalise’s face started to glow red she quickly texted back, ‘Mom, if he can speak English, what makes you think he can’t read?’ She looked at Jonas and apologized, “I’m sorry about that. She and I talk like every day so Martha had ended up talking to her at some point too and-”

“It’s okay,” Jonas shook his head. He looked at the girl nervously. They sat there awkwardly for a second before Jonas spoke up, “Martha called me cute?”

Annalise pushed him gently, “Go away, Jonas. God. Is that all you think about? Martha?”

Jonas stood up forcing a laugh, “Sure. Why not?” His plan had worked, now he could go investigate the map on his own without worrying too much about Annalise. He walked out of the room and went inside his own.

Hannah pulled up at the police station. She sighed and waited for Ulrich. He had to be back at his work sometime, she reasoned with herself. The woman walked to the waiting area and crossed her leg over the other. She watched the door.

Drenched, Ulrich walked into the station. He was walking to his office when he spotted her. He turned and asked, “What are you doing here?” His hands finding themselves in his jacket pockets.

“I wanted to see you. We have-” Hannah started.

“Come on.” The man interrupted the woman by grabbing her arm and pulling her down to the archives. Once inside he asked her, “What is this? Why are you here?”

Hannah shrugged a bit and replied, “I’m so sorry.” She stood for a second before she sighed. Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close and kissed his jaw. She held him close for a second. She then moved to press their foreheads together. “Have you found out anything,” She asked.

Ulrich had wrapped his arms around her in momentary weakness. He really needed to be held close after everything going on. His youngest son, his Mikkel, was gone with no explanation and no trace. Ulrich simply shook his head and tried to hold back his sorrow. He pulled up his face in a moment of clarity. When he did though, Hannah took that as a sign to try and kiss him. As the woman tried to continue, Ulrich whispered against her lips, “Stop it, please.” He pleaded with her, “Please.”

Hannah pulled her face away in slight annoyance. She took a step back from him and looked up a the tall man.

“I can’t do this,” Ulrich explained, “Not now.” He reached over to move some of the hair out of Hannah’s face. He watched her as she looked around feeling guilty about what had just transpired. His heart still aching, Ulrich reasoned, “I’ll call you, okay?” He pulled away completely and walked out of the room leaving Hannah just standing there.

Annalise used this time to try and text her friend. She really didn’t know what to say other than, ‘I love you. If you need me, I’m here.’ She stared at the picture of her and Martha in her contact picture. Annalise, then, went to the full photo to go and look through the pictures she had with the Nielsen’s. Seeing all of them happy, laughing, completely unaware of the future turmoil made Annalise start to cry again. She zoomed in on Mikkel. He was such a great kid. He had a popsicle stain all around his mouth and a big old cheesy toothy grin. Annalise then allowed more of the picture in the frame to see Magnus holding his little brother up in the air about to toss him back in the water at Martha who was, despite trying to look annoyed, had big sparkles in her eyes. Annalise laughed through her tears.

Jonas’s hands traced over the map he had found in his father’s studio. He carefully started to read all of the text written on it. It seemed as though his father was exploring and trying to make his way through the caves. Something seemed very off to him when he was studying it. His fingers went to the anomaly that read, ‘Where is the Crossing?’

Bartosz was getting frustrated. Martha wasn’t contacting him back. He looked around. The boy hated this feeling. He was alone. Completely alone. He looked at his phone deciding that desperate times meant to do desperate measures. He pressed Annalise’s name and tried to call her.

Annalise stared at the picture only to have a surprising thing happen. Why was Bartosz Tiedemann calling her, she questioned. She declined the call and texted him, ‘What do you want?’

Bartosz stared at his phone. Another straight to voicemail. He growled. He was just about to throw his phone when he saw her text. He walked back to his sofa and texted her, ‘Can you tell Martha to call me back?’

Annalise rolled her eyes. Of course, she thought. She texted the boy back, ‘She hasn’t talked to me either. I’m not there anyway. I’m at Jonas’s.’

Bartosz scrunched his nose. Why was she there, he thought to himself. He shook his head and decided to just investigate and get the answer himself, ‘Why?’

Annalise’s brow furrowed. Did he just, the girl questioned. She rolled her eyes again, ‘Why do you care?’

‘I am worried about my girlfriend, thank you,’ Bartosz replied.

Annalise texted back, ‘I think she needs her family right now. Not either of us. I really don’t think where I am makes a difference right now. Chill out. One of the things she asked us to do is be cordial towards each other so let’s just try to do that and wait for her to talk to us. She will come around eventually.’

Bartosz growled. That girl really knew how to push his buttons. He looked out the window. She’s right though, a tiny voice within him spoke. He shook his head and texted back, ‘Fine. If she texts you first, can you let me know how she’s doing? I’ll do the same for you.’

‘Deal.’

Hannah walked into the house to find both teenagers deathly quiet. She called up that she was home and started to make some food for herself. Footsteps started down the stairs. She turned to see her son standing there. He walked over to the counter and sat on it. Hannah pulled herself up and sat next to him to give him some company after lighting a few candles since the power wasn’t working again.

Jonas started first, “Do you think they’ll find him?”

“I hope so,” Hannah answered her son honestly. She stared at the refrigerator with her hands in her lap.

Jonas looked towards his mother for guidance. He sat in silence for a minute before asking, “Do you think he had a secret?” He thought back to the maps that he found in his father’s studio.

“Mikkel,” Hannah asked confused. She looked towards her son for his input. She wondered if he knew more than he let on.

“No, Dad,” Jonas replied quelling all of his mother’s questions instantly but now creating new ones. Jonas thought of how to ask his question then asked, “Do you think he was keeping something from us?”

“Why do you say that,” Hannah asked Jonas. She was growing more concerned for him. Maybe she had done too much or had him come back home a bit too early, she worried internally.

Jonas sat trying to process everything going on. He let Hannah’s question drop to the floor then questioned, “Do you miss him?”

Hannah lightly sighed, “I think I miss the notion of him.” She didn’t want to lie to her son and tell him she missed someone she really didn’t know if she did. She shook her head and told Jonas, “I don’t know who he really was. Maybe we never know that, what a person is really like.”

Jonas looked at his mother, “Did you love him?” Right when he asked, the lights in the house illuminated once more.

Hannah looked around noticing the lights then let out a small scoff at how ironic everything at this moment was.

It wasn’t too long though before the lights of Winden started to flicker leaving most of the town confused. Birds started to fall from the sky once more. Dead instantly.

The Stranger pinned up the news article about Mikkel on his board. The headline read, ‘Where is Mikkel?’ He stared at it, then the boy in the photo. He reached over to scribble his own inscription. He crossed out the ‘Where’ and replaced it with ‘When.’ He stood back to admire the new headline reading, ‘When is Mikkel?’

Mikkel climbed his way through the caves he was trapped in. He limped his way out of the cave. The boy looked around. Something seemed different about it and it wasn’t just because it was the morning. Mikkel just couldn’t place his finger on it. He decided instead to try and run home. He knew everyone would be worried about him. When he finally arrived, he started to notice other strange things. Vehicles parked that he had never seen before. On his way into the house, he stopped to look at an older fashioned motorcycle. He shook his head. He figured it must have just been people who were there helping his family look for him. Mikkel just tried to continue his way inside. When he walked up and tried his keys, it didn’t work. His eyes furrowed. It wasn’t long before a teenaged boy opened the door. Mikkel looked up at him and asked, “Who are you?”

The teenager looked down at the strange boy with scrapes all over his face and chuckled a bit, “Why? Who are you?”

“Mikkel,” the younger boy answered just as confused as the older boy in all of this, “I live here.”

“Ulrich,” the teen laughed, “And I live here.” He watched as Mikkel swallowed hard, “You going to grow roots? You’re at the wrong house, fool.”

A girl’s voice called him outside. She stood in the driveway, “Hey Ulrich. Come on, we need to go.”

“Yes, Katharina, I’m coming,” Ulrich responded.

Mikkel and Katharina stared at each other. Both of them trying to understand why it felt like they knew each other.

Ulrich interrupted their staring content with, “Are you dense? You don’t live here.” He pushed past Mikkel and grabbed his bike.

Katharina looked at Ulrich and asked, “Who is that?”

Ulrich looked back and laughed. He turned to Katharina to tease, “The Grim Reaper. Can’t you tell?” Katharina gently popped Ulrich in the head causing him to complain, “Ouch! Katharina.”

Mikkel watched as the two drove off. Katharina still looking back at Mikkel every so often. The boy then looked at the newspaper on the doorstep. The headline read, ‘Chernobyl - Half a Year Later.’ Mikkel started to panic as he looked at the date of the paper that read, ‘5. November. 1986.’ His mind focused completely on the year, ‘1986.’

#yesterday once more fanfic #dark fanfic #dark netflix #dark netflix fanfic #dark (netflix)#dark (netflix) fanfiction #dark (netflix) fanfic #fix it fic #break it differently

11 notes · View notes

stainandscribble · 5 years ago

Text

Beyond Words(III)

Let Me Hold You Tight

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen) X Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU; angst; fluff

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper.

Word Count: 5935

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

A/N: Love is a blessing everyone is deserving of, and Jongdae has been blessed twice: with someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and a child, who he himself referred to as a blessing. I wish him all the best. In light of this, I will be concluding this short series in the next part. I will not be writing for him anymore. (I know its march but this is set in December because it fits the timeline and plot)

------------

Space was the nothingness between two things, an unspoken barrier, a limitation that kept you from him. You had told him you needed space. You needed time. Jongdae respected that. He didn’t push you. He had given you as much space as you wanted. You didn’t move back into your shared apartment for three months, until November. You didn’t sleep in your shared bed until December began knocking on your windows with frosty fingers and chilly drafts. He didn’t push, and he hoped he didn’t seem uninterested. In truth, Jongdae was captivated. He had thanked the universe every time you walked out of your bedroom to have breakfast together. He had thanked whichever deities looked down on him every time he could hold you in his arms. The soft hues of his eyes never strayed from you. Since you had told him you still loved him you had watched in glee and relief the way his publisher glared at you. This time, you noticed Jongdae had put a lot of effort into making it work. He sat with you at dinner and indulged in your hobbies, not having you indulge in his. He tried painting with you, and you had hung the pieces above the couch; your piece, drawn and painted with skilled hands and sharp eyes, his with the enthusiasm of a beginner.

“I think this looks quite good, don’t you?” He asked, brown eyes twinkling as he looked over his masterpiece, although incomparable in skill to your own, still in his eyes, it was an achievement. To Jongdae it was a physical manifestation of the fact he was trying, and you had accepted his hard work. He turned his gaze to look at you, lips curled into a Cheshire-like grin, eyes following the trail of yellow paint smeared over your forehead and the pastel pink colouring your right cheek.

“You should go into abstract painting.” You turned to look at him, lips mimicking his grin as your eyes trailed his clear face, bare of the paint you ended up covered in. He turned away from your wandering eyes.

“What do you want to watch now?” Jongdae turned on the TV and started flicking through the channels. There was a lightness in his tone; one that you had noticed only recently, since you moved your things back into the shared bedroom. It was clear he was happy. You would have been lying if you said you were not sharing in his happiness.

“It’s winter sports season. I wanted to watch figure skating championships.” You answered, turning your back to the bright paintings that now decorated your living room. The only other decoration this bright in your home was a vase of purple hyacinths standing on the kitchen island. Since you moved back in, Jongdae had brought you a bouquet every fortnight. You appreciated the gesture, but you were also fed up of the unspoken apology. Your eyes fell on his hand curled around the tv remote, free from any stains. Since he apologised you had never seen him with any ink staining his fingers.

It was something you wanted when you were breaking up because those stains reminded you that you were cast aside and disregarded in favour of his publisher and a pad of paper. It was no longer the case. His clean hand curled around the remote, flicking through channels for what you wanted to watch, and you no longer felt disregarded. You hoped he felt the same way; hoped that he was as happy as you were.

“They are on today?” He asked, walking over to sit on the couch.

“Yeah.” You went to sit on the couch beside him, as he sprawled out, leaning against the armrest. Some moments still felt new, as if your relationship was only beginning, and you supposed in some way it was. It was a new start, a chance to fix previous mistakes, give each other a chance to be better. In some respects, after being away from him for so long, you felt a little shy. That was why you sat a space away from him now.

“Do we have a sport’s channel?” He asked, still flicking through the channels before he handed you the remote in frustration.

“We should have. I was in our deal.” You told him, looking through the channel guide to find the sports channel. When you finally found it the competition was starting, and the first skater was about to go on the ice. Their dress was beautiful, embroidered with gems and sequins on the delicate fabric, and their routine was breath-taking, along with the scrape of blades against the ice rink.

Jongdae motioned for you to move closer, his hand outstretched in your direction, intertwining his slender fingers with yours. With his encouragement, you moved closer, comfortably pressing yourself into his side as his other hand reached for a blanket under the coffee table. He wrapped the fuzzy thing around the two of you, keeping you warm and cosy.

“It’s so pretty.” Jongdae whispered when the skater landed a triple axel. The soft instrumental music in the background was broken by the profound sound of her metal skates hitting the ice. You flinched, and Jongdae smiled, wrapping an arm tighter around you.

“And terrifying.” You whispered, making him chuckle.

The two of you continued watching, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him, enjoying his warmth, and the smell of his cologne. For a moment, you were completely at peace, right where you belong. In Jongdae’s arms.

You were so comfortable in Jongdae’s arms, at one point your cheek fell from his shoulder to his chest, his heart beating steadily in your ear. As the warmth completely consumed you, the last thing you remembered was being wrapped up in Jongdae’s arms as the announcer called out a double salchow. You did not remember going back to bed, nor Jongdae carrying you to bed.

I asked you what love is

And you answered,

That love is many things,

And that I must find love for myself.

Because love to me,

May not be love to you.

During December it had been cold and dreary, having you both in low spirits as you counted the days down to Christmas. Over the holiday period, he wrote all notes and lists with glitter gel pens and stuck them around the kitchen. You thought it was endearing, he thought it was hilarious. For the first week of December, the strange process of waking up beside another person was awkward. Sometimes you woke up on opposites sides of the bed, as far away as the bed would allow. Other times, you woke up in a tangle of limbs with your bodies twisted unnaturally, necks and backs aching for the rest of the day. It was pleasant A change you both welcomed because it meant moving forward, and the pace was irrelevant to the goal you sought out in the end.

Today was one of those days you woke up twisted, sweaty from the thick duvet and body heat. Last night you had fallen asleep on the couch, and now you were waking up in your bed, face pressed into the crook of Jongdae’s neck.

“Mornin’” You muttered. Your eyes, still blurry from sleep, made out the deep brown of Jongdae’s eyes looking down at you, a small content smile curling his lips.

“Good morning.” He answered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Jongdae woke up, the soft rays of cool winter sunlight streamed through the window, kissing your face as he watched. Soon, you stirred awake, eyes half-closed as you murmured a greeting. He kissed your forehead, pressing himself closer.

“I love you.” He murmured into your skin, the confession hung in the air unanswered and heavy as he watched you tentatively, seeing sunlight reflect in your eyes and the morning flush bloom on your cheeks. The split-seconds it took you to answer seemed like an eternity for him, a sweet eternity he was willing to wait every time.

When you answered, there was no hesitance in your voice, and Jongdae thought he was willing to wait an eternity if it meant that at the end he could hear you say it again.

“I love you too.”

The words rattled his bones, like the shaking of reverberating thunder. He had always thought you were a storm. You had always proven him correct. He wanted to stay like this forever, in this moment, and his fingers ached to feel you against them. He stroked your hair, pulling it out from your eyes, giving him a clearer view of your face. His fingers ached for pen and paper too, and it was almost painful not reaching over for it, lying just on the bedside table. He refrained.

You began moving, getting ready to stand up, and he followed you, sitting up, letting the duvet fall.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You asked, getting out of bed.

“Cereal.” Jongdae mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he got up. You walked out into the kitchen, leaving him to make the bed. His eyes kept falling on the notebook and paper lying on the bedside table, his desire too strong to ignore, and before he knew it he was sitting on the freshly made sheets, writing away, the pen gliding effortlessly guided by his hand. The words formed on their own, and he didn’t see you walk in, ready to call him over, before you stopped in the doorway, watching with fond eyes as he bent his back over the low surface. Maybe if he had seen you there would be less guilt eating at him later. Maybe if he saw you, you would be able to reassure him. He was not meant to fit into your mould. You were meant to learn to fit together, each a separate piece of a puzzle that together would form a picture. Jongdae had learned from his mistakes, but he had yet to find the balance necessary for both of you.

--------------

Once he emerged from the bedroom, he avoided your gaze, and you could not help but feel the need to talk. And so, you did. You too had learned from your mistakes and knew that you had to make your desires clear, more forceful.

“Jongdae,” You called , and he turned his head away from his cereal to look at you.

“Yes?” He gave you a small smile, his brown eyes gazing at you softly as he played with the softened cereal in his bowl.

“You don’t have to hide away and wait until I’m gone.” You told him, referring to the incident that had transpired moments before.

The spoon he was playing with fell from his fingers. You could see the dark ink on his fingers, small smudges decorating his hands like constellations. A smile formed on your lips, tight-lipped and rueful, but still, it was a smile, and you were both learning a balance and compromise all over again.

“Just remember you have a life too, outside of pen and paper.” You watched his stare at you with wide eyes, part astonishment and part fear swirling in the kaleidoscope of browns. He leaned back in his chair; the soft smile he wore now replaced with concern.

“I never asked you to stop writing. I asked you to talk to me.” You reminded him, voice firm but soft, as you gazed at his hands as he fidgeted with his fingers, rubbing against the ink-stained skin.

“I feel like that was all I used to do.” He confessed, looking down at his hands. You walked up to him and leaned against the table.

“You are a poet. That’s not going to change. I don’t want it to change.” You took hold of his hands, stopping him from rubbing away at his skin. You could tell he was nervous; you did the same thing when you were. You manoeuvred yourself to sit in his lap and he let you, hands grasping firmly to your sides, thumbs massaging soothing circles on your waist.

“Keep the ink stains.”

His heart leapt in his chest, the strange feeling of guilt, as if he had done something wrong, began to vanish, and with every caress, it lessened as if washed away by water. You pressed a kiss into his hair, murmuring the same thing as before. He reciprocated your affection in kind, kissing you with a newfound enthusiasm as happy tears burned the back of your eyes.

“Keep the ink stains.”

So, I decided to find it for myself,

What made my heart race,

- beating against my ribs like the bars of a cage.

What made my breath shake,

- hitch in my throat and never reach its home in my lungs.

What made my mind reel,

- play the film of you frame by frame like old cinema.

Later that day, as evening settled upon the bustling city, Jongdae busied himself pulling out the contents of your storage space. Behind the hoover and various bits and bobs, you had put away all your Christmas decorations, and now it was the time of year again from Jongdae to make a mess in the corridor by taking them out. He succeeded eventually, and you helped him put everything back in its spot. You two had gone out earlier to get a Christmas tree, a small living one that fir in the corner of the living room.

Jongdae put on the multicoloured fairy lights, as you began putting on various baubles. Some were plastic, others were made of glass, and reflected the light like little mirrors.

Once you were finished, you lit up scented candles and curled up with a mug of hot chocolate on the sofa. Jongdae sat on the opposite end, typing away at his keyboard as he sent out work emails and drafts.

He just finished working on a short story for a Christmas special anthology by his publishing company, along with multiple other writers. Despite the workload, he still baked cookies and helped out around the house and went out on multiple errands like the grocery shop and the post office.

In the background, soft instrumentals played through your speaker. After about an hour, the peaceful atmosphere was broken by the sound Jongdae’s laptop falling to the floor. You rose from the couch and picked it up, making sure nothing had happened to it. Taking a glance at Jongdae, you noticed his closed eyes and even breathing. He had fallen asleep with his laptop on his lap, and it had fallen once he started moving in his sleep.

You put the laptop on the coffee table and pulled out the fluffy blanket from underneath, draping in over Jongdae as he slept. You tried positioning him so that he would lay down fully on the sofa.

“Goodnight.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead before extinguishing the lit candle and walking back to your bedroom to get ready for sleep.

Once you emerged from the bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of Jongdae smiling sleepily at you as he finished putting on his pyjamas.

“Goodnight Y/N.” was the last thing he said before climbing into bed. You did the same, curling onto your side, allowing Jongdae to drape his arm over your middle and thread his fingers through yours.

I found what made my heart ache,

- the look in your eyes when you spoke about the things you love.

What made my breath hitch

- the way your fingers ghosted over my own before your hand found its way into mine.

What made my mind come to a standstill.

- when the film ended and you walked away, and the flowers on the windowsill withered away.

A week passed, and Christmas was coming fast upon the two of you. No real plans have been made, and Jongdae’s parents were insisting you both to visit over the holidays. Your parents said nothing, and since they had never explicitly invited Jongdae to visit with you for Christmas, still being stand-offish towards him. You understood them, and he didn’t push to visit them with you.

Hence why you were now sitting by the table, eating your breakfast and looking over your calendar.

“Are we going to go separately?” Jongdae asked. It was time to decide what you were going to do, as time was ticking, and your parents, both yours and Jongdae’s, had been pestering you for answers.

“I haven’t thought about that.” You spoke, munching on your second bowl of cereal.

“My parents have been asking if I’m taking you.” He told you, pouring himself milk in his first bowl of cereal. He had just rolled out of bed, hair a mess and coffee in hand. You watched him, the winter sun, bathing him in light, making him look ethereal. His features appeared sharper; a morning blush flushed his cheeks. He smiled softly at you as you watched him. He enjoyed having your eyes on him and the feel of your eyes scanning over him, invisible fingers caressing paths over his features.

“My parents didn’t ask.” He heard you whisper, and his heart tightened listening to your hushed voice. He smiled at you, trying to lighten your spirits.

“They still don’t like me?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Watching me live at home for half a year wasn’t pleasant.”

“Maybe we can split it up? One day with your parents. Then one day with mine.” Jongdae reasoned, sipping on his coffee. You nodded, watching him, eyes scanning over his face, falling on his Adam’s apple.

“I’m all yours. No need to stare.” He smiled at you, and you smirked, leaning over the table to peck his lips.

“Have you gotten presents for your mother yet?” You asked him, returning to your breakfast.

“No.” He answered, reaching over to fill his bowl with another helping of cereal. You passed him the milk standing on your side of the table.

“Me neither.” You told him. “What were you going to get her?” You asked, wondering whether you should bring a gift of your own if you were going to split your time between both sets of parents.

“Perfume, chocolates. That is what she likes.” He answered between spoonfuls of cereal.

“What perfume are you going to get her?” You asked, wondering about your humble gift to your mum.

“She likes Chanel, and I know she is about to finish one of her bottles.” He just shrugged; eyes turned to look at you. Your shoulders were hunched as you rested your head in your hands.

“My mum wanted a new electric mixer. One of the fancy ones, since her one is living out it's last days.” You told him, and he nodded, promising to take you to a store that sells kitchen utensils.

----------

Later that day, he walked around with you, sipping on bubble tea as you browsed through the shopping centre, electric whisk in a bag hanging off your arm as you looked for a perfume shop that carried the fragrance Jongdae wanted.

At one point, he left you alone, telling you to go get cake, as he disappeared in the mass of people doing last minute Christmas shopping.

You were left in a Starbucks, finishing your bubble tea and a slice of cake you ordered.

-----------

Jongdae walked away, leaving you in Starbucks as he rushed through the crowd of people towards the jeweller. Once he got into the quiet store, he was greeted by the worker, who happily showed him what he was looking for, before packing it in a pretty box.

Jongdae thanked her, before tucking the box away into his bag, hiding it so that you would not find it.

With a smile on his lips that caused them to turn up at the corners, and turn his eyes into slits, he walked back to where you were waiting, finishing your cake and tea.

You waved at him, ushering him to your table, allowing him to sit down before asking your questions.

“Where did you go?”

“I needed to check if I was getting the right perfume. I didn’t want to get the same one dad was getting her.” He told you, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. His heart skipped a beat when you nodded your head and picked up your bags. You didn’t question him any further, and he was thankful for that.

“Come, we still need to get her present.”

It was all you.

How could you say that what is love to you,

May not be love to me,

When my love

Is you.

Christmas eve rolled around, and the next day you were going to spend Christmas day with Jongdae’s parents. Tonight, you were with your parents. Jongdae was slowly making amends with your mother, as your parents accepted that he was back in your life, and you hoped that this time it was for good.

“Jongdae, would you like some hot cocoa?” You asked, peeking out from the kitchen, watching him set the table as your dad did the last-minute hoovering.

“Yes please.” He called back, setting another crystal glass in front of one of the four chairs.

You helped your mum, taking the dishes to the table, giving her time to change into more appropriate clothes, before your parents and Jongdae and you sat down.

The dinner went by smoothly, the conversation flew by, about your illustrations featured in a magazine and about the nomination of your artwork for some type of award; at one point your mother even commended Jongdae for a literary nomination in the poetry section of a country-wide award. You did not expect her to as civil knowing that she could hold grudges, but then again so could you.

“The spiced cake is lovely.” Jongdae turned to your mother, finishing his last sip of hot chocolate. Your mum smiled at him, turning to look at you, and Jongdae’s arm that draped over the back of your chair, thumb running circles over your shoulder.

“Y/N is a good baker.” She replied and you hid the blush. Baking was something you could always do, and you had been pretty proud of that.

“She is.” Jongdae commended, giving you a small smile, eyes twinkling in the bright light, the multicoloured fairy lights of the Christmas tree reflected in his dark irises. Without thinking, you smiled back, oblivious to the fond look your father had been giving you all evening.

“You are going to your parents’ tomorrow morning?” Your father spoke, and you turned your attention to him, smiling brightly.

“Yes.” Jongdae answered, his arm falling from the back of your chair as he rested it in his lap.

“Wish them a Merry Christmas from us.” Your dad instructed, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes, making you smile.

“I will. Thank you.” Jongdae replied, a small polite smile plastered on his lips.

“Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely.” Your mum turned to him before her gaze fell on the vase standing on the top of the chest of drawers under the tv. It was a bouquet of mixed edelweiss, bluebells and honeysuckle. Silent; Jongdae had told your mother he loved you, and it had brought a smile to your lips every time you thought about it.

“And thank you for the wine.” Your dad added, gesturing to the bottle of red dessert wine standing on the dining table.

“Why don’t we open it tonight, seeing as you are leaving tomorrow?” he asked, and Jongdae turned to you, silently asking if it was okay.

“Sure.” You nodded, going to get a corkscrew from the kitchen.

The rest of the evening went by smoothly, with you ending up in Jongdae’s embrace at the end of the night, warm under your blankets in your old room.

And yet, you were right.

Love to me was unspoken

Love to me was a subtle breeze.

Love to you was something obvious.

Morning came, and neither of you wanted to move. Still, he was the first to get up and shower, and you left to help your mum set up breakfast. Once you finished, you went to shower yourself, leaving Jongdae to talk to your dad over the morning news.

-----------

An hour later it was time to leave, and after a heartfelt goodbye and your parents fretting over if you took everything, you were off on the road, travelling to the next town over where Jongdae’s parents lived.

“Do you think they will be happy to see me?” You asked, looking over at Jongdae as he focused on the road. You were greeted with a white Christmas this year, and so he was being extra careful whilst driving. Snow was everywhere, and you were thankful the roads were cleared out before you got in the car late in the morning.

“They call you daughter in law. Why wouldn’t they be happy to see you.” He answered, a smile tugging at his lips, and you gave him a small smile back, on instinct, despite the fact he never saw it.

The rest of the three-hour journey was peaceful. Jongdae sang along to the Christmas song on the radio, encouraging you to sing along with him as he gave you cheeky smiles and stole little glances your way, doing his best to focus on the road.

It was a miracle you were not stuck in traffic between towns, so you arrived at his parents’ house around one thirty.

“We’re here.” Jongdae announced, pulling into the driveway of his childhood home. His mother was the first to get out of the house to greet him, his father following close behind. You stepped out of the car the same time Jongdae did. Almost immediately he was engulfed by his mother’s arms, caught in a hug so tight you could imagine him turning red.

“There you two are!” His mother exclaimed as she let your boyfriend go, giving you a warm smile in greeting. Despite your relationship with Jongdae being repaired, you doubted you would feel comfortable with his mother embracing you, and so you were thankful for her keeping distance. You came to stand by Jongdae, his hand finding yours in split seconds as he threaded your fingers together.

“Don’t they look lovely together?” His mother asked, eyes falling to your joined hands. You blushed lightly, letting Jongdae lead you into his parents’ house.

“Come in, how about some lunch?” His mother asked, leading the two of you to the already set dining table. Jongdae’s dad was already bringing out the tureen for soups. His mum went and got side dishes from the kitchen, motioning for you to sit down.

“I don’t want to bother.” You responded, trying to politely decline, despite the fact you already knew it was useless.

“Nonsense.” She waved a dismissing hand and went to place the dishes on the table.

“Sit down.” Jongdae’s dad gave you a reassuring smile as Jongdae motioned for you to sit beside him, his arm draped over the chair you were meant to sit in. You had poured yourself a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, and so did Jongdae. The soup was delicious, so much so that Jongdae ended up having seconds. Once the food was done, you helped Jongdae unpack your things from the car, and then went to help his mother cooking. The house was spotless, and the only other thing to be done was Christmas dinner.

You cut up carrots and parsnips as Jongdae peeled and cut potatoes. His mother busied herself with baking a pie.

“I’m glad you two are back together.” She commented over her shoulder as she rolled out pastry. You stopped what you were doing, choosing to let go of the knife in your hand. Jongdae gave you a worried look. He had not told his parents about why you two broke up, figuring that Christmas was not the best time to tell them everything. He had not seen them in a while, seeing as they were away from the country for the last six months because of work. You had agreed to keep your metaphorical dirty laundry private for now.

“I don’t understand why you two broke up in the first place.” Jongdae pursed his lips, giving you a small smile as he looked at his mum.

“We thought we needed some time alone to think things through.” You answered for him. Technically it was not a lie, you had done a lot of thinking during the time you spent apart, and you believed, as did Jongdae, that it had done the two a lot of good. it had given you a much-needed break, and it also released a lot of tension between you.

“I’m glad it all turned out alright in the end.” His mother smiled at Jongdae, and then at you, and you returned the smile, a little less enthusiastically.

“Mum lets leave this topic for a day other than Christmas.” Jongdae butted in before his mother said anything else. The kitchen fell silent as he resumed peeling potatoes, and you managed to give his free hand a gentle squeeze.

------------

Night came quickly after that, and soon you were sitting at the dinner table, dressed in one of your better dresses. The dinner had been peaceful, you walked away stuffed and smiling, eyes falling onto Jongdae every once in a while, admiring the golden tone of his skin under the candlelight.

You walked to the lounge; the large living Christmas tree stood in the corner. It was decorated with opulent ornaments and the fairy lights glowed a brilliant red and gold in the dim lights.

“It’s time for presents.” Jongdae’s mother exclaimed once everyone sat comfortably in the lounge. An old copy of The Nutcracker lay on his father's lap, open to the first page.

His mother pulled out some gifts from under the tree, giving the first one to her son.

“Here you go, darling.” She passed over the colourful package.

“And you too, you are family too.” She said, giving you a serious look as she handed you a small box wrapped in red.

“Thank you.” You told her, looking over at Jongdae as he went behind his father's armchair, pulling out two boxes and a bottle of wine.

"Here you go." He handed his gift to his mother and passed over the bottle to his father.

"What's the third one?" His father asked, setting the bottle aside.

"Y/N thought you would like this, to put up on the picture wall." He handed the box to his father, and he pried it open, revealing a frame with the magazine article featuring Jongdae and his anthology. It was back from a month or so ago, after he received a nomination for the national poetry award.

"Oh, it's lovely." His mother said, picking the frame up.

"She thought it would be nice for you to have a memento of my first success." Jongdae explained, squeezing you hand as you pressed yourself closer to his side. His mother looked at you, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled, murmuring a silent thank you. She proceeded to put the frame up on the chest of drawers below the wall covered in family photographs.

------------

Once you were alone in Jongdae's room, you relaxed a little, unaware until now of how much stress this evening caused you.

Seeing your slumped figure, Jongdae smiled, moving closer, until he was right behind you. He could feel the warmth of your skin and smell your favourite perfume. His heart beat faster, straining against its lining in an attempt to escape the confines of his ribs. He hoped you didn't hear the erratic beating, nor the deep breath he took before speaking. Jongdae summoned all his courage, bracing himself against the storm that you were.

“I have another present.” He whispered, arms wrapping around your middle from behind. You threaded your fingers through his, running your thumbs in circles over the backs of his hands, enjoying the comfort of the moment. Jongdae was warm and solid behind you, his presence allowed you to relax as your shoulders fell.

“Another one?” You asked, and he hummed in confirmation, the vibrations tickling your ear.

“You’ll like it.” He promised, and you could feel the hind of a smile in his voice. He let you go, and you turned around to face him. Jongdae pulled out a small velvet box out of the pocket of his suit trousers.

“Jongdae-” Your breath hitched, but he stopped you before you could say anything more.

“Be mine.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. Not if you don’t want to.” He told you, close enough you could feel his warmth, could imagine the erratic beating of his heart. Or was it simply the echo of your own heart?

“I’m asking you to stay with me.” Jongdae looked you in the eye, his dark orbs smouldering with intensity like ardent flames.

“During the last year I have learnt many things, I learnt that I need to be more attentive, and find a healthier way to come with negative emotions.” He told you, voice gentle as he spoke, your eyes never leaving his.

“I’ve also learnt that I can live without you.” Neither of you flinched or reacted when he said that you both smiled, ruefully, but it was still a smile.

“But I also found that I don’t want to. I want to stay by your side indefinitely. I can live without you, and you can live without me, but I don't want to. I want you. I love you.” He told you, opening the little box he was still holding, revealing the thin band of gold among the dark cushion. A single brilliant pearl sat in the middle of the band, like a moon against the night sky.

You thought back to his anthology, mind catching onto the significance of the ring he was holding.

“I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.”

You remembered the passage from his poem, and tears swelled at the back of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

He had finally given you the pearl he always wanted, finally fulfilling his self-made promise.

“Our love is an inkwell, and I promise to never let it dry again.” He promised, and before you could continue, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sloppy, nothing like the ones on screen, your teeth clashed, and your neck hurt, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the man in your arms; the man who had decided he loved you more than ink-stained fingers, who had kept his promises. It was the man whose ink-stained fingers you learned to love, the same one who brought you flowers and compared you to spring and flowers and the sun, and made you feel like you were all of those and more. You loved him, and you didn’t want to live without him either.

“I love you too, Kim Jongdae.” You broke the kiss, whispering those words against his lips like a prayer.

“I love all of you.” You told him, eyes looking into his own as you let his fingers, stained a deep blue, slide the ring onto your ring finger as your hands wrapped around his neck, keeping his body close to yours.

Is this obvious enough?

Loud enough?

Eternal enough?

I hope it is,

because you are.

16 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

Note

Hi, do you know of any fics about Sherlock confessing his love to John before getting on the plane to his suicide mission?

Hi Lovely!

Ahhhhhh I don’t know any for sure with him confessing BEFORE the mission… I do know of one for AFTER:

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock’s plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he’s being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

But the closest I may have are the fix its for HLV. I thought I made a list of just HLV fics but it actually was a S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics list, so I’m going to give you all of my HLV fics then :P

HIS LAST VOW (Fix-It, Canon and Post) FICS

See also: S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics (March 2019)

Human Error by YakuzaDog (G, 571 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Missing Scene, Angst) – Sherlock goes on a brief shopping trip.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense, Implied/Referenced Drug Use) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. Part 1 of Rifts

Love and Bombs by Spark_Writer (T, 1,696 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, POV Sherlock, Post-HLV, Pining Sherlock) – Love and bombs aren’t all that different, John. In the end, they’re almost indistinguishable. Part 3 of Human Error

Lost and Found by jaradel (G, 1,750 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, John Whump, Est. Rel., Hurt/Comfort) – He’s honestly not sure what’s worse, right now - being where he is, the beaten kidnap victim, or being where Sherlock is, trying to rescue him before it’s too late. Unwillingly his mind offers up the image of Sherlock in a video message, tied to a chair, bruised and bloodied. John squeezes his eyes shut to hold back tears. No, he decides. That would be so much worse.

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV, ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg’s hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

BBCSH ‘Poor Mary’ by tigersilver (M, 1,839 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, Sherlock POV) – As the tin says above, this is a missing scene, set directly after Sherlock awakens in hospital after having been shot by his best mate’s wife. Minor angst, some pining, nothing nasty; please don’t be alarmed unduly.

Loving John Watson by Spark_Writer (T, 2,036 w., 1 Ch. || Canon Compliant, Angst, Falling in Love, Second Person POV, Pining Sherlock) – You discover early on that you want him. Maybe even the very day you meet. (Follows Sherlock’s thought process as he falls in love with John, from ASiP to HLV.)

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he’s been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

Journal of Truths by Goddess_of_the_Night (T, 2,317 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV / TAB, Pining, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Declarations of Love) – When John escorts Sherlock back to Baker Street from the tarmac, he discovers a journal that Sherlock has kept secret…that he has kept secrets in.

It’s a Dummy by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602) (T, 2,574 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Remix, Major Character Injury, H/C, Love Confessions, Mary is Not Nice, 3G Moment) – What if Mary had taken the shot?

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w., 1 Ch.|| Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they’ve been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John’s pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks… Part 3 of Lock and Key

BBCSH ‘Lament’ by tigersilver (T, 2,951 w., 1 Ch. || Implied Infidelity, Angst, Post-HLV, Canon Divergence) – When Sherlock is alone in the flat he still speaks to John Watson.

In the Bleak Midwinter (A Canticle for Advent) by CaitlinFairchild (M, 3,476 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Injury, Missing Scenes, HLV Timeline) – In the autumn of 2014, Mary Watson shot Sherlock Holmes. This is what happened after.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock’s and John’s feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

Play for Me by nothingislittle (E, 6,105 w., 1 Ch. || Ambiguous Ending, Scars, PWP, Masturbation / Hand Jobs, Angst, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Violin) – John had shown up at Baker Street only one day prior, an army duffle slung over his shoulder, the expression on his face like a cracked and ruptured fault line. Sherlock stood aside, holding open the door, and let John ascend the stairs in silence, asking nothing of Mary, asking nothing at all.

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Post-HLV, ASiP Do-Over, Sci-Fi, Time Travel) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Inked in Memory by 221b_hound (E, 9,716 w., 2 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, First Kiss / Time, Anal, Cuddling, Scars, Captain John, Kissing, Switchlock) – John has been back at Baker Street for a year, following the debacle that ended in Mary’s death. Things are good. Back almost to what they used to be. Sherlock might wish they were something else, now, but he only has himself to blame, he thinks. It’s too late, now, for the things he first denied before he’d ruined any chances he might have had. Sherlock also thinks that people who get tattoos are idiots. But perhaps he’s about to learn a thing or two, not least of which might be it’s not as late as he thinks it is. Part 1 of Lock and Key

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

The Meaning of Sacrifice by arts_and_letters (T, 14,101 w., 6/?Ch. || WiP || Angst, Reunion, Hurt/Comfort, Mental / Emotional Turmoil, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock has risked life and limb to protect John Watson, sacrificing his freedom and safety to fulfill his last vow. When Sherlock comes back bruised and battered from his second exile, will John’s love be enough to help Sherlock heal? And will John ever know the truth behind Sherlock’s enigmatic farewell?

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John’s divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that…

Best of Three by SilentAuror (E, 17,473 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, 3G Moment, Porn with Feels, Post HLV, Rimming, Denial, Anal) – “You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John’s divorce. John’s vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Vena Cava by SilentAuror (E, 27,452 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix-It, Romance, H/C, Angst, Infidelity) – Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

To be Loved by You by TwisterMelody (M, 28,775 w., 1 Ch. || S3 Fix It Fic / Post HLV, Angst, H/C, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, Character Death, Background Mystrade, Pining, First Time, Romance) – Too many times they had confessed themselves in the darkness, leaving it there, never to speak of it again. But this is different. This love deserves the light of day.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV/S3 Fix It Fic, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock’s shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away…

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock’s in prison being targeted by a murderer, John’s married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty’s back.

Bedroom Tales by Junejuly15 (M, 49,950 w., 22 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Through the Years, H/C, Military Kink, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Insecure Sherlock, Voyeurism, Post-TRF, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Fix-It Fics) – Bedroom Tales is a collection of John and Sherlock ficlets. They are set at various stages of their relationship and are in no particular order. Some are fluffy, some sexy, some angsty, there is hurt and comfort, romance and love. What unites them is that they all play in a bedroom, but not necessarily the one in 221B.

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w., 10 Ch. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #hlv fics #e-rated fics #s3 fix it fics #gypsy-witch-fangirl #fic rec wednesday

66 notes · View notes

kiraawrites · 5 years ago

Text

2MSS #20: Limbo

From @alexprompts‘ post: “Of course I don’t fear death - she raised me.”

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1450

Constructive criticism welcome!

I embraced the wind as I ran across rooftops. From gap to gap, I leapt. Traversing the town from so high above placed a smile on my face. People milled about below me, some shooting confused or alarmed looks at me. It had been three hours since I left my house and it was time for a break. Crossing my legs and peering over the edge of a building, I made eye contact with a friend. She signalled at me to come down. I grimaced, knowing what she would say. Containers lining the side of the building paved my way to the ground.

Abby studied me with her arms folded and her brows furrowed. “You don’t fear death, do you? You’re always doing parkour in your free time. Can’t believe you haven’t had a bad fall yet.”

I smirked. “Of course I don’t fear death — she raised me.”

“Haha, funny. Come along — I’m grabbing lunch at your favourite place.”

“No, really. Let me tell you about it,” I insisted. “I’ve never gotten to tell my story.”

——————-

My birth name had been Ana Mitrović. My new name was Anna Miler. I still remember the phlegm clogging my itchy throat. Simultaneous hot and cold as I lay swaddled in the blankets of my cot, the raging fever waging a war with my body. Breathing was laborious. My mother’s face — worried, anxious, stressed — looking down at me, wondering how she could make me healthy.

A burning sensation overtook everything. I shivered, an infant clueless of everything but the pain I was feeling. And then it went dark: replaced by chilly water on my back and the kiss of a passing breeze. Someone was wading towards me. I broke out in tears and called for the reassurance of my parents. The only person that came was a lanky woman, clothed in white. Her hair was silk, her skin as pale as milk. Her eyes, however, seemed darker than the deepest night.

She cradled me, placing a hand on my forehead. The warmth came back as she did that. This time, I was unscathed. It was pleasant, like a loving mother’s kiss. An orange glow shone on her palm as she drew it away. A smile turned into an “O” of surprise as she carried me away.

I must have fallen asleep, for I remembered waking up in a room full of cots. My clothes had been changed. I knew I was safe there. The pale woman came in and stood by my cot.

“This is your home now, Ana. Welcome to Limbo. You can call me Mother Death.”

Turning to a woman at her side, she whispered something. The only things I could pick out were, “the fire we’ve been looking for.” Many years had to pass before those words uncovered their meaning.

———————-

The schoolyard was packed with other kids — all having died very young — rushing to their class. Although the dorms were close to the campus, everyone left it to the last minute. A television anchored to the roof of the main corridor blared news from the world of the living. It was like a pair of binoculars to the chaos that Death had saved us from.

In class, the Soul Harvesting teacher pulled out a huge leather-bound journal. It was inked with the haphazard inscriptions of Mother Death herself. We were Mother Death’s helpers in the making. Souls were finicky: sometimes they fled the body too fast, while some refused to join the Underworld. We were taught about the different depths of Hell and where to place the souls of the sinners (in the flames for the malicious, deep in icy water for the deceitful).

At times, we would get a teacher from ten centuries ago. Everyone in Limbo did not age past twenty, but there were girls in 1920s flapper fashion and men in Roman robes. Despite barely having seen anything but the dark cave walls of Limbo, nothing was missing.

———————-

“Ana. Mother Death has asked to see you,” my professor told me. “Now. It’s urgent.”

I nodded, shoving my notebooks into my bag. Faint blue light led my way out of the university campus. I swerved through crowds and inched my way through the Central Market. As I passed by a stall hawking mushrooms, the vendor grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in.

“You can feel it in the air, can’t you?” she whispered, looking around with wary eyes.

“Feel what?”

“Hell is stirring beneath us. It’s been grumbling for years — but recently it’s been getting worse. I thought you’d know. You seem like one of them.”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, but I have to meet Mother Death now.”

“Hold on. Let me check whether my instincts were right.”

Her grasp on my hand tightened and became warmer. The fire. The heat tingled and intensified. A flame rose from my palm. I yelped and jumped back, knocking over a container of wares.

“When you died, did it feel like a flame burning you up?”

“Yeah. I died of a fever.”

She smiled at me and said, “That wasn’t the fever. It was Hell trying to get to you.”

———————-

Mother Death sat at her dining table in her cottage. Even though she headed the city, she loved the seclusion of the corners of Limbo. She poured two cups of tea with nimble fingers and invited me to sit across her.

“I’ve heard that you’re doing exceptionally well in university. You’ll be amazing in the soul research field, my dear.”

My cheeks glowed with her approval. She had returned me the life that was snatched from me. She provided for all.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mother,” I paused before continuing, “There’s something very odd that I heard today from a vendor at the Central Market.”

She motioned for me to continue. I poured out every detail of the encounter, my hands trembling as I held the cup for its comforting warmth. Midway through my recollection, she extracted a notepad from her tremendous desk drawers. With a quill and a bottle of ink, she wrote with a deft hand. Her eyes were keen, concentrated on my every word. Encouraged, I retold the day’s affairs with a fairytale-like flourish.

“That is what I wanted to discuss today. From what you told me, you were speaking to Marie. She sees people’s fates. A wonderful talent that hasn’t grown obsolete.”

“Why does she have that power?” I played with my belt buckle, agitated by what Mother may say.

“The souls in Hell don’t like being in Hell. Every few centuries, they try to break out into the world of the living. She helped me piece together a team for the last attempt.”

The fire we’ve been looking for. I was part of the team. My hands… Their flames! Dancing balls of light that emerged in my moments of vivid emotion. When I failed my Soul Harvesting final… The textbook that burned. My head bobbed up and down in slow acceptance.

“Something’s different now. They’ve been speaking to me in my dreams. I don’t know what they’re saying — the connection’s somewhat garbled,” Mother Death said.

“What do I do? I don’t know anything…”

“You’ll have to return to the Overworld. Use a new name — Anna Miller?”

“And then?”

“Spend some time on Earth. Soon, I’ll come for you again. You’ll have to experience me a second time, I’m afraid.”

“And that’s how I infiltrate Hell? Death under a new identity?”

“Smart girl. I’ll accompany you to the Gate of Rebirth and no further.”

———————-

Abby was dumbfounded, struck by silence. Patting her back, I looked on as she struggled to process it all. Her eyes were locked onto the ground. She drew in her lips and nibbled on them as she delivered her viewpoint, “Damn, Anna. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Let’s go to the restaurant. Pretend nothing happened.”

I helped her up to her feet and we walked to the nearby Italian restaurant. The aroma of food took a load off our shoulders as we pored over the menu. Service was quick; my plate of carbonara arrived seven minutes after ordering. I dug into it, revelling in the rich creaminess of it.

A few minutes into the meal, a headache crept in. I should’ve slept more last night. My chest was fluttering. Too fast. Way too fast. And then it slowed down. A pale woman came to our table and took my wrist. Abby’s eyes darted to her, alarmed, confused.

“Are you ready?” the woman murmured.

MOTHER.

My body shook and then stiffened, everything fading to black.

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

#writeblr #writer #my writing #writers #writers on tumblr #kiraawrites #prose #2 month short stories #2MSS

22 notes · View notes

smuttbunnie · 6 years ago

Text

Softer Days

Member: V

Genre: Smut / Angst

Series: The Moon Child

Theme: Halloween

Part: 7 / {pt.1} {pt.2} {pt.3} {pt.4} {pt.5} {pt.6}

You lifted you hand, and softly tapped your knuckles against the door to the king’s study.

“You may enter,” came the curt reply from inside and you carefully pushed the door open.

From the second you walked into the room, you knew you would quickly grow to love it. It was smaller than the other rooms - most of the space occupied by bookcases. There was a large bear-skin rug on the floor and in the corner a wine-red, velvet chair was lovingly asking you sit. The air smelt musty; like old books, and weathered paper, and warm afternoons, and ink and quiet.

It was the first room that seemed like Taehyung’s presence had graced it - that his footprints were here, that he had touched the room and left a mark of some sort or another behind.

It felt lived in.

“I almost didn’t hear you knock,” Taehyung remarked, seated at a desk with various papers and parchments strewn across it. He didn’t look up from his work and you took the opportunity to examine him;

Downy red strands of his hair teased the nape of his neck and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concentration. You had caught yourself staring at the almost fairytale-like hair many times before, admiring the apple colored locks far more than you cared to admit. Your hands itched and your legs felt unsteady, but despite all the nerves, there was a sort of simmering in the pit of your stomach.

He finally put the quill down and turned to face you in his chair. You quickly glanced away, shame awkwardly balancing over your head like a crooked umbrella. Why was it that he always seemed to catch you staring at him? This was starting to become a rather rude habit of yours…

There was a bandage around his wrist.

“This is my personal study… It’s where I do most of my paperwork when I’m not required to do it in front of an audience,” he explained. “I realized cooping you up in one room wasn’t solving anything… It was no better than putting you in a cage,” he guiltily admitted, fidgeting with the edge of the bandage.

“D-Does it hurt?” you quietly asked. He looked at you a bit lost for a few seconds, before noticing your gaze fixated on his wrist. Giving you a slightly bemused but reassuring smile, the king opened and closed his wounded hand;

“I’m fine, see? My hand works just as it always has.”

You didn’t seem convinced, worryingly eyeing his fingers. You still couldn’t believe your master would do something like that for you and you couldn’t help but feel responsible for his injury. Taehyung laughed stiffly, rubbing the back of his neck; “I feel like we’ve gotten the order of things all mixed up…”

He stood up from his chair, offering his unharmed hand: “Pleased to make your acquaintance - I’m the crown prince, prince Taehyung the third of the Seung-Jae Kingdom.” Bewildered, you looked at his offered hand unsure of what to say. The king had this way of always catching you off guard; just when you thought you had the slightest grasp on him, he slipped through your fingers again like water – reaching and snatching desperately at him and only ever catching drops from the surface.

His proud expression faltered, a sheepish blush crawling onto his cheeks.

“C-Come on, if you don’t introduce yourself back, I look sort of stupid, don’t I?” he mused, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sudden shy face he was making. You gingerly took his offered hand with both of yours – giving it a weak shake:

“I’m-I’m Just Y/N, pleased to, uhm, pleased to meet you!”

A goofy smile stretched across his face and you felt your chest tighten at the way his expression could brighten at such a way – wondering why he would deprive others of seeing such a wonderfully shining smile. He laughed, eagerly shaking your hand and almost making you fall over with the amount of force he did so.

“Welcome to my study ‘Just Y/N’. Let’s try to get along okay?” he grinned.

You blushed, cringing at the poor choice of words you made, but nodding your head none the less. If anything, that’s what you wanted most: to get along with the prince. It wasn’t a grand wish, it was simply that you couldn’t help but be drawn to him and decided that instead of running away you would try your best to learn what type of person Kim Taehyung was.

“If you’d like to read something, there’s plenty of books to choose from,” he said gesturing towards the bookcases. An unwelcome tightness filled your throat and you had to swallow before you could speak again.

“Thank…Thank you very much for the offer,” you smiled but it felt empty and tiring to do so. There was already so much to be ashamed of, that adding yet another mishap to the plate sitting in front of Taehyung would simply be too much. Maybe it was foolish of you, but if you could – you wanted to hide this one secret of yours just a bit longer from him.

You just… didn’t want him to be disappointed in you anymore.

Taehyung lied back in his chair with a relieved sigh, his work finally at an end. Another incident at the borders required him to write up new regulations again – a tiresome prosses that had to be repeated a seemingly indefinite amount of times before Jin would be satisfied.

Glancing over his shoulder, warmth glowed in the pit of his belly; He remembered the first day he introduced you to his study. You were so nervous that you didn’t even dare take a seat – it was only after he had convinced you it would be more troublesome if you didn’t sit down, that you had gingerly chosen the corner of the lavish couch.

But you were never comfortable; always sitting on the edge, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. It frustrated him how conscious you were of yourself. He wondered if you had ever breathed properly, ever once just inhaled and exhaled without timing the process – had you ever once released this breath you had holding your whole life.

You sat curled up in the velvet, red chair; loose strands of snowy hair tucked behind your ears. The dark blue cotton dress spilled over your knees, your feet tucked beneath it like a makeshift blanket. Modest. Humble. Insecure. Words echoed in his head when he looked at you. Precious. He quickly dismissed the last one, caught off guard by the sudden intrusive thought.

Reaching for the spare blanket het kept under his desk, he quietly stood up – making sure not to wake you. Just as he pulled the soft covers over your small frame, your eyes flickered open. For a few seconds you blurrily looked up at him, still half asleep. When your brain finally registered where you were you hastily tried to sit upright but steady hands stopped you; Taehyung’s hushed voice in your ears:

“No, no, please stay where you are, don’t get up. I was just afraid you’d get cold,” he softly explained.

You wanted to persist, but a tiredness had tightly wrapped itself around your body and somehow you just couldn’t keep your eyes open. Snuggling back into the warmth of the blanket, the prince felt a sudden and incredible fondness for you – the unexplainable urge to protect you from any pain or misfortune that might come your way.

As he turned to leave, you grabbed onto the edge of his coat.

“Master, will you stay with me for a while?”

Your voice was so soft and wanting, that Taehyung simply didn’t posses the means to say no. Sitting down in the floor in front of you, a pleased smile graced your lips as you closed your eyes again. How beautiful you looked when you were so peaceful, he thought.

“Taehyung…”

“Yes?” he quietly answered, his hands subconsciously reaching for you, but hesitating at the last second. What if when he touched you, you shivered? You retracted? If you rejected his touch, what then? Rather, was he even allowed to touch you after everything? No… if he thought about it, even so much as coming near you was already asking for too much.

“…I have something to tell you,” you mumbled through the sleep tugging at you to fall back into its embrace.

His fingers clung to the far edge of the blanket, as if he could convey his thoughts through it to you. “You can tell me,” he reassured.

There was a long pause and he wondered if maybe you had fallen asleep. Then, softly and with words drawn out by slumber came a quiet confession he didn’t expect;

“I…I can’t read.”

Taehyung didn’t know what to say, the words just sat limply in his mouth – useless. He struggled to make sense of what you said, his brain unwilling to accept the startling fact. No…that, that doesn’t… that would mean that-… What the hell. You can’t read?

You…You can’t read.

Things clicked into place like missing puzzle pieces; why you never picked up a book, why you avoided questions that required you to read or describe something you had supposedly read, why you always stared at the papers on his desk with such a perplexed look. Why you had looked at the bookshelves so longingly…

Sighing heavily, he cursed under his breath. What kind of life did you have to grow up in? Did your parents just decide that it was an unnecessary skill? What were they teaching you instead? Or was it just that since you were a child you’ve been locked up in god-knows-where, deprived of anything and everything that could have brought you joy.

Looking up at you, you had fallen asleep again. Taehyung raised his hand, trailing his fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket.

“Y/N…. I think I’ve been quite the fool” he whispered onto your unhearing ears. Laughing somberly, he closed his eyes – replaying the events of the first day in his head. “I thought you were just another plaything some country had sent me… god I was so wrong.” He grimaced when he remembered the way he had kicked you. He wasn’t himself that day: the moment your scent had filled the corridors he hadn’t been himself.

Well that was only half true. He hadn’t been himself in years.

“You know, I considered just sending you back… forgetting about you.” Carefully moving his hand closer to yours, he marveled at how much smaller they were – how tiny and fragile you seemed to be. How those small hands hid the strength you had. “But you really do make it hard to just forget about you,” he chuckled; wondering when the last time was he had just sat on the floor like this.

“I think you’re terribly strong, you know that? Enduring all the suffering you were forced to go through… I think you’re much stronger than me…”

Slowly linking his pinky finger with yours, he softly pleaded; “But you don’t have to be strong anymore… you can rely me. It’s okay to rely on me…”

He wouldn’t touch you anymore than this. This was enough for him. Taehyung stayed like that for a long time, just thinking and waiting as the night passed by. And you dreamed. Dreamed for the first time in years without any nightmares. You dreamed of softer days, of books, and tea, and comfy dresses, and warm blankets. You dreamt of candlelight making pictures on the walls and words climbing off of pages to dance with you. The bearskin rug stood up and started to waltz and you laughed and laughed and laughed. It was a silly dream…

And then suddenly a grinning face popped up from underneath the bear’s head. You wondered what Taehyung was doing in your dream. He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t hear him – you were too busy laughing at how ridiculous he looked with the rug draped over him.

When you woke up the next morning, you had forgotten all about the peculiar dream. But Taehyung’s head was asleep on your lap and your fingers were, tenderly intertwined, with his. Sitting there you felt the strangest thing happen. Something twisted uncomfortably in your belly. There was this feeling you just couldn’t quite place.

And your cheeks were inexplicably warm.

~To be continued

[previous chapter]

101 notes · View notes

ambersky0319 · 5 years ago

Text

2068

Warnings : Blood mentions, Injuries, Amputations, Abusive Parent Mentions, please tell me if I should add anything!

This was for creative writing and this ended up being the final draft, and since I'm actually proud of the story, here y'all go!

Masterpost

------------------------------

Silence. It was uncommon but welcomed in the Westbrooke household, a relief to the two young residents. The third, a much older man, hated the silence. It indicated he had finally fallen asleep, and both his children believed that it was because of the punishment his son received.

Micah took in a shaky breath as he stared at his elbows. He could almost feel the rest of his arms, despite knowing that they had been tossed into the dump along with the garbage. His blood sullied the ground outside the bulletin containing flyers of runaway children, people who escaped the hellhole that had become their town. They escaped the cruel law the president was too stubborn to eradicate.

He looked to his twin, wincing slightly as he finally took notice of the dark bruise forming under her eye or the gash along her jaw from a shard of the vase Micah had broken over their father’s head. “You sure you want to go through with this? We can always just stay and if we try extra hard we might… we could maybe survive.”

Olive looked up from her work of putting the finishing touches on the prosthetics. Illegal prosthetics, Micah reminded himself. She glared at him slightly, taking a moment to sign.

You know it’s not possible.

“Right. And.. it was your idea. It’s just, he’s not that bad!” Olive looked at him skeptically. “He was only following the law, if I hadn’t fought back and we had just taken his beating, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” She shook her head, and instead of commenting further, she began to hook the arms to Micah. He inhaled sharply as the cool metal pressed against his still healing skin. She fastened both arms in place and flexed her own hand, gesturing for Micah to do the same.

He did, and he found it strange, being able to see your fingers moving but not actually feeling them. “Where did you even learn to make these?”

Peterson, she signed, about a week before he kicked the bucket.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “So, we ready to go?” Olive nodded, picking up her bag filled with enough food to last them both two weeks. She slung it over her shoulder, and picked up Micah’s bag, passing it over to him. He threw it over his shoulder, and as quietly as they could, they crept out the front door.

Micah looked up from his notebook, away from the memories he’d collected over the course of three months on the run. There was a soft clicking on the ruined tile of the collapsing building, a sound different than the rain or small pebbles falling from the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes and glanced to Olive, fast asleep from a fever in her cot. Micah took a deep breath, reaching for the gun at her side.

“‘Ello?” The voice was croaky, and Micah furrowed his brow, getting to his feet and rounding corner. He held the gun up, training it on the only person he saw. An old man with a cane, small and frail and smiling as bright as the morning sun in spite of a gun in his face. “‘Ello! Are ya by any chance a Westbrooke Twin?”

Micah frowned. “Who’s asking?”

The old man grinned. “Ah, so ya are!” The man walked forward without a care of the gun, holding out a stub where his arm ended at his elbow. The cane he walked with was similar to Micah’s prosthetics, attached at the elbow and extending all the way to the floor. Micah’s grip on the gun faltered, but he refused to shake the stump. “I‘m Matthew Lewis, it’s a’ honor! Truly!”

“And uh, fill me in on what’s going on?”

Matthew’s smile never faded. “I been searchin’ all over for the amazin’ twins that have helped so many like us.”

“Like you?”

“Those who’ve suffered from the law, o’ course! Y’know, the one tha’ caused this.” Matthew tapped Micah’s arms with his cane.”Fightin’ back against those messed up men and sufferin’ the consequences.”

Micah swallowed, pulling his arm away and tucking the gun into his waistband. “I know the one. But what does that have to do with me?”

He noticed Matthew was missing a few teeth as the man’s smile widened. “For the rebellion!”

“Rebellion?” Micah was getting tired of repeating whatever Matthew said, but everything coming from the older man’s mouth only proved to confuse him further. Matthew nodded.

“Yes! Yes! The rebellion!”

Micah scoffed, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Those never work.” He glanced back down the hall, taking notice of how Olive had shifted. “We aren’t going to put ourselves into more trouble than we’re already in.”

Matthew’s smile finally fell. “Oh, but you must! We may have a chance! An’ after, you both can return to wherever home is, and live the rest of your lives without fear!”

He looked away from Matthew again, taking a deep breath. “Do you guys have proper doctors at your headquarters?”

“Yes! Of course! We have anythin’ you need!”

There was a moment of silence between them following Matthew’s words. Hesitantly, Micah reached out.

Olive’s eyes narrowed, gun held tightly in her hands and trained on the president. She was one of a dozen armed, the various others in the room with her and Micah keeping theirs locked onto any guards. Micah remained without a weapon, the violent creations too much for him. They felt wrong in his metal hands. Matthew stood much closer to the president, not a gun but a large knife held tightly in his own prosthetics.

“Now Kingsley, we don’t have all day. I’ll say this once more, and only once. Just sign the bill.” The words felt foreign rolling off Micah’s tongue, the venom dripping from his voice so unlike his usual bittersweet and comforting one. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would turn away from how similar to his father’s it had become. But his following words just left a horrible aftertaste. “We might let you live.”

President Kingsley laughed, nervous but attempting to hide it with frail confidence. “You kids wouldn’t kill me.”

Olive narrowed her eyes, sneering slightly at him and pointing the gun down slightly. She fired, hitting his knee exactly. Kingsley cried out, crumpling to the floor and curling in on himself. Olive scoffed, and Micah glanced away, expression changing to one of disgust. How dare he think that’s pain? He thought bitterly, rage bubbling in his chest. A bullet wound was nothing compared to the blade of a saw, cutting effortlessly through flesh and struggling to break through bone.

Matthew held out the bill for the president, glaring down at the government figure many had come to despise. “You are the one thing tha’s preventing us from ending all this sufferin’,” he whispered. “Now I don’ care if you sign in blood or ink, but you’re signin’ this here paper. And if the fact that ya will bleed to death without help isn’ enough motivation, I won’ know what is.”

Kingsley whimpered, grabbing his leg and putting pressure on the wound. Matthew slapped his hand away, and shoved the paper forward with a bit more force. “You’ll get medical attention after ya sign,” he hissed.

Kingsley took a shaky breath, looking around the room. Stalling for time, maybe a last-minute rescue. The one person with the power to eradicate the cruel law was hesitating to do so. A chance to put an end to people quite literally losing their hands for fighting against abusive parents, and he was hesitating. That alone was the most disgusting thing about Kingsley to Micah.

Slowly and with a trembling hand, Kingsley signed the bill in his very own blood. Cheers erupted around the room, someone snatched the bill from Matthew’s hand and raced to the window. They opened it and waved to the gathering crowd below, and the echoes of their own cheers made their way up to them.

It was finally over. Micah’s shoulders slumped for the first time in his whole life as he processed this. It was finally over.

#amberskywrites #ambersky original writing #ambersky #writing #short story #blood tw #injury tw #blood mention #threats #abusive parent #amputation

6 notes · View notes

criticalthinkingedu-blog · 6 years ago

Text

The Last Leaf

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."

At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."

Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.

"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"

"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.

"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"

"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."

After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.

She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.

As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.

"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.

Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."

"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."

"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."

"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."

"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.

"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."

"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.

Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.

Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.

"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy."

"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."

"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."

Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.

"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.

Wearily Sue obeyed.

But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.

"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."

"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"

But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.

The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.

When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

The ivy leaf was still there.

Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.

"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."

And hour later she said:

"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.

"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."

The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."

And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.

"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

#the last leaf #o`henry

4 notes · View notes

surveysonfleek · 7 years ago

Text

939.

You’re at least a little bit cold right now. You would decline if the last person you kissed proposed to you. You’ve shaved your legs in the past 24 hours. The last person you called knows your parents. ‘I love you’ was said in your last relationship. Your best friend is in love. There is food in your room right now. Your friends like your current bf/gf/crush. You always forget to put your seatbelt on. You text the person you like. Your birthday is past the 10th of its month. You’ve had a bf/gf forget your birthday. Chicken soup really does make you feel better when you’re sick. You celebrated the one month in your last relationship. Your best friend has had their heart broken recently.

You usually eat supper with your family. You’ve fallen for a friends’ bf/gf before. You’d rather eat fries over salad. You’re a really good gift buyer. You’ve had a cat/dog who had kittens/puppies. You accept every friend request whether you know them or not. You can’t sleep without a blanket. You need very particular conditions to sleep. You’d be comfortable going to the last person you kissed in sweats with no makeup and your hair a mess. You bought what you wore today in the past couple of weeks. You’d be able to name all of Santa’s reindeer. You’ve spent HOURS getting prettied up for someone. It takes you forever to pick out outfits for dates. You’ve been friends with someone who moved to a different country. Cafeteria food really is gross. You’ve given someone a hickey before. If you could, you’d start your life over right now. You’ve cried in front of the person you have feelings for. There is someone who makes you smile just thinking about them. You’ve found a friend’s mom/dad very good looking before. You’d rather live without TV than without makeup. You’d rather live without your parents than without your siblings. Someone has once told you you’re the most important person in their life. You’ve worn a matching Halloween costume with someone before. Your hair is in need of a wash right now. You know that someone has feelings for you right now. You believe you’ve met your soul mate already. You know what you’re being for Halloween already. Someone calls you cute/beautiful/etc on a daily basis. There were other people there during your last kiss. You’ve kissed someone right after they smoked pot. You’ve dated someone at work, broke up, and had VERY awkward times there. You can see some kind of liquid from where you’re sitting. You’ve been set up on a HORRIBLE blind date before. The last person you hugged is single. You’ve seen the last person you texted drunk. Your last relationship was ended pretty much mutually. You wouldn’t date someone much younger than you. You know someone but only their last name - that’s all anyone ever calls them. Your grandparents are way too nosy. You’ve talked to a huge bitch in the past 24 hours. The last person you laughed with is in love. You have blonde streaks through your hair. You often wear ripped jeans. When going out, you wear really low-cut shirts. You’ve cheated before. ^And it made you realize how much you loved your boyfriend. You’re extremely blunt. You’ve been known as a tease. You’re not a bitch unless it’s necessary. You take things really personal sometimes. If a guy screws up one time, you say you’re done. You have hair extensions or have used them before. You wear heels with booty shorts. You have out-played a player. You wear glasses at night. You’ve intentionally made a significant other jealous. ^By getting another guy’s number in front of him. You’re really short. You and your mom are really close. You have been hit by a guy. You have been hit by a girl. You stand up for your friends no matter what. After a break-up, you haven’t been able to move on for a really long time. You’ll dance anywhere at any given time. You’re obsessed with pickles. You’ve been hit on by a guy who already had a girlfriend. You’ve been fired from a job. You always speak your mind, no matter how bitchy you may seem. You find it easier to give up in tough situations. When going on vacations, you pack your shit in garbage bags instead of a suitcase. You call yourself by a nickname that has to do with a celebrity. You scream to get your point across the majority of the time. You’re always in other peoples’ business, and you don’t care. You’ve been guilty of cock-blocking before. Fun is not something you’re a fan of. I’m related to my best friend. I love getting inked. Almost every song reminds me of something/someone. I haven’t traveled much in my life. I have a dailybooth account. I hate when people act like whoever they’re around. Get fucking real. I don’t like taking showers at night. Procrastination is my middle name. I watch My Life as Liz on MTV. I recently got something back I lent to someone. I’ve been to the beach within the past week. I fell asleep watching a movie last night. I really like the band Circa Survive. I use my Twitter everyday. No one ever asks me anything on formspring. I can roll joints like a pro. I’ve been taking a lot of pictures lately. I love seeing cute guys. I don’t like it when people get drunk and call/text me. I hate when my stomach growls in a quiet room. I burp all the time, I don’t think it’s gross at all. I’m missing someone I know I shouldn’t. I watch Intervention. I need to start working out. I hate seeing someone I used to know and having to make awkward small talk. Honestly, I don’t give a shit about politics. The tattoo healing process sucks balls. I’m allergic to my pets. I need some food, pronto. I don’t obsess over celebrities. I don’t look like any celebrities. I like rap music, but I’m not all about it. Going to concerts or shows doesn’t really appeal to me. Someone recently texted me that I’ve been avoiding. I don’t really like having a boyfriend, I like being single most of the time. I hate when I see someone I knew and they completely avoid me. I look a lot different now than I did in middle school. I listen to A Skylit Drive. I watch the show Hoarders, and I’d cry if I lived in a house like that. I can easily relate to people’s situations. Every time I say or hear the word ‘situation’ I think of Mike “The Situation”. ^ I’m a fan of that on Facebook. The thought of contacts makes me want to gag. I think I need glasses. I have driven under the influence I have quit a job I have dyed my hair a completely different color from my natural I have stayed on the phone longer than 3 hours with a boyfriend I have used a Snuggie I have stayed up for more than 48 hours straight I have had a close friend turn into a complete bitch I have read the books Crank & Glass I have been utterly disgusted by what I saw in the mirror I have worn Bullhead jeans I have painted my nails neon colors I have bobbed for apples I have cried just from wanting something to happen so badly I have researched about drugs on the internet I have done more than 3 drugs I have worn a fur coat I have lived in the same country my whole life I have spent an entire day and night on the computer I have stayed up late working on something for school I have creeped on Facebook/MySpace I have had a fake ID I have rode around late at night with a bunch of friends, drunk/high I have worn clogs I have worn Uggs I have eaten banana pancakes I have owned stuff from Bath & Body Works I have worn a scarf during the spring or summertime I have hooked up with a random guy while on vacation I have eaten fried Twinkies I have eaten fried Oreos I have ridden a roller coaster I have woken up with a really dry or sore throat I have hiked a mountain I have rock climber I have gone skydiving I have pretended to like something I didn’t I have pretended to like someone I didn’t I have been nice just to spare feelings I have jogged 2 miles straight I have stayed in my pajamas all day long I have failed an important class I have drank something other than champagne out of a champagne glass I have watched ‘80s TV shows I have beaten a high score on a video game I have been taller than 5'4” I have carved my name into something. I have played at a playground over the age of 13. I have gotten a ‘brain freeze’ I have been to Cabela’s I have been to Ron Jon’s Surf Shop I have written longer than a 5 page paper I have intentionally started a fight with someone I have seen a comedian live I have seen my favorite band live I have organized everything in my room before I’m on the phone. I’m on the phone with a guy friend. My hair is wet. My hair wrapped up in a towel, turban-style. I just got out of the shower. I’m in the living room. The TV is on in the room I’m in. A reality show is currently on. I have a hair tie around my wrist. I am not texting anybody. I’m wearing pajamas. I’m not listening to music. I’m on a laptop. My laptop is plugged in and charging. My toenails are painted. My fingernails aren’t painted. I’m wearing deodorant. I’m drinking water. My cell phone is within reach. I’m not hungry. I’m not sleepy. I’m thinking about someone. I laughed within the past few minutes. I’m on my period. My house smells like coffee. I’m wearing a white shirt. My pants are plaid pajama pants. I’m not wearing socks. I’m not wearing a bra. I’m not wearing a bracelet or necklace. Something on my body itches. I’m procrastinating. I have a zit on my back. I’m sitting on the sofa. My mom is within my line of vision. The light is on in the room I’m in. I should be doing something else. I should be doing school-related stuff. Today is Thursday. It’s night time. It’s dark outside. I’m thirsty. I’m sitting in a comfortable position. My ankles are crossed. My hair isn’t in a ponytail. There’s a song stuck in my head. I’m looking forward to something. My lips aren’t chapped.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

1 note · View note

twinklefaerie12 · 7 years ago

Text

Azriel Fan Fiction, Chapter 15

Here’s the chapter you all wanted :) Forgive me if it isn’t the best. It wrote this really quickly in my own excitement over it. Next chapter coming soon!

Amara rushed through the house, carrying a slip of paper in her hands as she ran into the library. She frantically burst open the doors and started pulling any and all books of relevance from their shelves. Quick footsteps sounded behind her, chasing after her as her eyes scanned through each book title, throwing it down onto the desk beside her.

The footsteps paused at the door, watching her fumbling open the paper with an envelope. Her hands shook as she flew open page after page of the books, scanning the words written for anything of use. Her eyes scanned so quickly she only processed half of the words, nothing relative showing up. She screamed in annoyance, slamming her hands down onto the table and panted.

She didn't know how much more she could take of this. Searching for answers and never finding anything but small little pieces that led to no where. The amount of research she had put into mating bonds and what might break them, if you could reignite them, anything at all. How to find a mate but nothing helped.

The footsteps started again, softer and slower than before as someone approached her. Gentle hands pressed against her shoulders and for a moment she had almost thought they were Azriel's.

"You need to stop this." Mor said softly, standing over her as she cried over the ancient books. Her tears splattered over the pages as she cried in frustration.

"I can't just let him go Mor, I can't-" She sobbed, balling her hands into fists as her eyes squeezed shut. Why did nothing work? Why couldn't she find anything to help her find him?

"Amara, it's been six weeks. We don't even know if he's alive anymore." Mor said, her voice almost cracking as she softened her voice to keep herself from crying. Amara pulled her shoulders from her grip, looking over at her with wide eyes. She was hysterical, full of pain and emptiness.

"He isn't dead. I can still feel him, somewhere deep down. I know he's alive I just need to find him." That was a lie, she felt nothing of him anymore. There was nothing tied between them and she didn't even know how she was alive with how hollow she felt. But he had to be alive, she wouldn't accept anything else.

Mor sighed, looking down at all of the books splayed over the desk she had drawn out. She turned grim as she looked down at the note. "This has to stop. You are driving yourself mad with grief." She said and picked up the letter that had been placed in Amara's bedroom the night Azriel hadn't come home. The night she had lost everything.

"You can't keep carrying this around like it ties you to him. We have tried Amara but we haven't found him!" Mor gripped the letter and Amara frowned. "Give it back." She growled, looking down at the note. It was the only thing she had, the only clue leading her to Azriel.

"I'm putting an end to this you-"

"He is my mate! If you loved him, if any of you loved him you would still be searching!" She screamed so loudly her throat burned. Mor went wide eyed with anger, looking over at Amara as she sobbed in anger.

"Don't you dare accuse us of not loving him. He is our brother Amara!" She advanced on Amara, towering over her. "You know damn well we searched hard for him. We exhausted all of our resources, our alliances. Everything and we still didn't find him."

"You shouldn't have given up," She said with a silent calm. Ripping the letter out of her hand and stormed from the library. She would never stop looking, fighting for Azriel and hoping that he was alive. She would not give up hope and she would search until she found him or died trying.

She ran into their bedroom, clutching the letter in her hand and locked the doors. She sighed, pressing her back to the door and shut her eyes. She sobbed, slumping down onto the floor. The hole in her heart reminding her, day and night what was missing. The piece of her that may never be brought back.

I love you rang in her mind. The last thing he had ever said to her. The last thing that had floated into her mind before she had fallen asleep that night.

She should have stayed, should have joined him. At least then she could have saved him, protected him. She hugged her knees to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked down at the letter in her hand.

You took something from me, now I have taken something from you - EV

The note had been left sitting on her vanity when she woke up, the bond severed between them. She had stared at the letter over and over again when Feyre had brought it to her. She thought back to that night, her heart breaking again at the memory.

Feyre burst into the room, Amara curled up and sobbing in the center of the bed clutching her chest. Murmuring 'he's gone, he's gone' over and over and over again until her throat was sore.

Feyre rushed over to the bed, pulling the girl into her arms and tried to soothe her. "What are you talking about?" She asked carefully, looking down at her as she sobbed.

"H-he's gone. I c-can't feel him anymore. Azriel, Azriel is g-gone." She sobbed into her arms, stuttering from the tears violently falling down her cheeks.

Feyre called for Rhys who quickly entered the room with a frown. "What's going on?"

"Something's happened to Azriel."

"I'll winnow to him, see if he knows anything." He said and winnowed away in his night clothes.

Amara sobbed into Feyre's arms and couldn't calm down. She was too distraught and her chest was full of pain. As if someone had physically cut the bond between them with a knife.

Feyre looked around the room, noticing the small envelope on the vanity. She stood, releasing Amara for only a moment to pick up the letter and frowned. "Amara, what is this?" She asked walking back over to her.

Amara shook her head, looking down at the letter and tried opening it. Her fingers shook too violently and the envelope had been waxed shut. Feyre had to open it for her, pull out the paper and unfold it, reading it aloud to her.

She stared down at the same letter, brushing her fingers over the now smudging ink. No one knew where Azriel was. Most people guessed he wasn't even in Prythian anymore. His spies couldn't find him, found no whisper about him or his whereabouts.

She picked up the envelope that had been sliced open, looking down at it and turned it over. A large, green glob of wax had sealed the envelope shut. She frowned, bringing the wax seal closer and noticed a small design in the wax.

Her eyes widened in realization, jumping up and ran out of the bedroom. She ran down the hallway towards Rhys's study, clutching the envelope tightly in her hand. Why hadn't she noticed that before? The small, tiny seal in the wax. It had to be a hint, it just had to be.

She stormed into the study where everyone was sitting, obviously discussing something. Feyre stood slowly, looking over at her with sad eyes. She went to move towards her but Amara didn't even look at her as she rushed over to Rhys. She shoved the envelope into his face. "What is that seal?" She asked.

He stuttered, looking down at the envelope and looked at the wax. "I don't-"

"Just tell me who the seal is from." She demanded, running out of time to find Azriel. Even if he was dead, she would make those who killed him suffer far worse than her mate had.

Rhysand sighed, moving over to his desk and picked up a small magnifying glass. He studied the seal and frowned. "It's not one I recognize. Not as old as all the crests of the High Lords or Hybern, something far newer, I've never even seen it before." He said and she looked over at him.

"Have the spies go search for it. Ask around about the crest, anywhere just see if anyone knows of it." She must have looked frantic because everyone in the room looked at her with pity and sadness. Not knowing whether to coddle her or to shut her down.

"Amara-"Rhysand started.

"Please, I just need to know." She said quietly, gasping for breathes as she looked at her High Lord, pleading with him to do what she asked. She just needed closure, needed to know who took him and what happened to him.

Rhysand sighed, nodding his head and pushing his hands off of the desk. "I'll have them study the crest then go ask about it. I cannot promise they'll find anything." He said softly, one of the two people who understood what she was going through. Knew what that pain was when your mate was ripped from you.

Amara nodded quietly, whispering a 'thank you' and walked out of the study. Her face was pale and her body felt tired as she walked back to the bedroom. The past six weeks had been nothing but frantic research, running around, questioning and hoping for something. Now she finally had a small clue and it had been sitting in her lap the entire time.

She walked into the bedroom, staring at the bed they had once shared and sighed. She turned her head, seeing her reflection in the mirror.

She didn't even look the same. Her hair tossed up into a frantic bun, her cheeks sunken in and her eyes red and swollen from her tears. She looked smaller, more frail and broken than her past appearance. Not as the warrior she had once looked, but as a broken woman with nothing left to live for.

What would become of her, if Azriel truly was dead? How would she even process living a life without her mate? She knew many mates lived without each other. Pushed through their lover's deaths and moved on, but she didn't think she could. Knew she wouldn't make it if he had died.

She walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge just as she heard the door click open and shut. She raised her head, heart beating quickly in hopes that it would be news of the crest. She sighed in disappointment when she saw Feyre holding a tray of food walking into the room.

"Were you expecting someone else?" She asked, a soft smile on her lips as she walked further into the room. She sat down beside her, sitting the tray in her lap. "You should eat something."

Amara stared down at her lap, nodding slowly. She knew she should, her strength had been waning since Azriel had been gone. Too caught up in searching to bother training or eating much.

Feyre placed the tray beside her, sighing as she looked over at Amara. "I know it's hard. I know how you feel and I understand why you want to keep looking for him." She reached her hand over, grasping Amara's in her own.

"What if he's dead Feyre? What if-what if I've lost him all because I didn't just stay with him?" A sob escaped her lips as she sucked in a tight breath. "What if it's all my fault?"

Feyre pulled her into her arms as she sobbed, surprised she even had tears left. She buried her face in Feyre's neck, her body shaking from her tears. Feyre hugged her body, trying to soothe her. "It's not your fault. He knew what he was getting into, he wanted to keep you out of it."

The door opened, rushed footsteps echoing through the room as Rhysand approached. Amara pulled away from Feyre, staring up at him with wide eyes. He looked down at his mate and Amara, biting his lip as he clutched a parchment of paper.

"We know where he is."

Amara froze, her sobbing ceasing now. "Where is he?" She said quickly, needing to know where he is. Rhysand looked to his mate, as though he needed approval to tell her. "Rhysand tell me now." It almost came out as a growl, glaring at her High Lord. Her mate's life was hanging by a thread if he was still even alive. But if they knew they had gotten the details of his location, whoever had taken him could disappear before they got there.

Rhysand sighed, holding out the piece of paper to her. "The spies came back with this. The exact location of the family crest." He said as she snatched the paper from his hands, standing and looking over the details. "He's in the continent."

Amara scanned her eyes over the location over and over again. Before anyone could say anything else she snapped her fingers, summoning her armor onto her body and already started running out of the room.

"Where are you going? You can't just run in there. You'll be killed!" Rhysand yelled rushing after her.

She knew it was dangerous but she didn't care. She had to get him out of there, save him and she would die trying. She just needed to see him one more time. "I don't care, I'm getting him out of there." She said, grabbing weapons and strapping them across her body.

Rhysand gripped her arms turning her around and stared down at her. "You will do no such thing. I am your High Lord and I forbid it. You will go when we have all prepared a plan and are ready to get him out together!" He wasn't going to watch another friend of his die.

Amara frowned, sucking in a breath and ripped her arms from his grip. "Fine," She huffed out and he relaxed with a sigh. "The others are waiting in the study. We'll figure out the best way to get him out and then we will go. Besides you're in no shape to fight."

Amara looked down at her scrawny body, hating herself for not eating and training more. She wouldn't be able to handle any sort of fighting. But-she just couldn't wait. All she could think about was Azriel being tortured and waiting. Thinking no one would ever come to save him, like they had all just forgotten him.

"I'm sorry, I can't wait." She said looking back up at her High Lord then winnowed away.

Amara looked up at the house, glaring at it as it was entirely silent. She had expected screams, anything and silence scared her. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she stormed up to the house. She wasn't thinking straight, not taking any sort of precaution as she walked up to the front doors.

The silence made her footsteps faster as she shoved open the front doors and glared at the two guards that had already started running for her. She summoned a knife from one's belt, throwing it at his chest. She pulled out the sword strapped to her back and sliced it down the others torso.

She didn't even wait until their bodies hit the ground before she was sprinting down the hall. There weren't as many guards as she had expected, saving the strenuous fighting for when she killed whoever had taken Azriel from her.

She walked down the hallways, finding more and more guards as she went along. Security only growing thicker and she needed to know where he was being kept. Needed to know which room he was in.

She turned the corner into another hall, seeing a larger guard and she cursed. He was tall, taller than Cassian and far more built. She was in trouble, never had she been able to best Cassian even at her best. She was weak, already winded from the small amount of fighting she had already done. Maybe Rhys had been right, she should have waited.

The guard spotted her, grinning like a mad man and unsheathed his sword. "Look who finally joined the party." He voice was low, rough and could have made the ground tremble. She pulled out her two swords, standing ready trying to look strong. There was no way in hell she would be able to take him down with strength.

"Where is my mate?" She hissed, rage building up at his words. He only chuckled and that made her impulses worse. She hurtled her sword at the man and he side stepped it. Rage made her reckless.

"He waited for so long for someone to come." He laughed,"and look who came. Such a disappointment."

That was the last straw. She ran at him, using almost all of her magic to summon whatever power she had, summoning spears she had passed, weapons left on dead bodies. Anything she could use against the bulk. She flew the swarm of blades and wood at him, watching him dodge and block only a few of them. The rest slammed into his body, slicing his skin.

The guard only laughed, still standing and already pulling a few of the swords out. She was running, picking up a blade and thrust it into his knee cap, sliding between his legs. Her eyes spotted a blade, thin and short strapped to his belt and she growled. That was her mate's blade.

The summoned it into her hands, stood up behind the brute and slammed it down into his massive spine. "Where is he?" She hissed, hearing the cracking of his bone under her mate's blade. He growled in agony and she twisted the blade. "Tell me!" She screamed, her throat burning and her chest heaving for breath.

The brute fell to his knees, stopping his efforts to pull the last spear from his gut. She didn't stop twisting, rotating the blade in circles until she got an answer. "Damnit tell me!"

A low chuckle echoed in the hall and she frowned. "He's in the main hall. She has been waiting for you." He said and she went wide eyed. "Who is she? Tell me!" She pulled the sword from his spine and he fell to the ground. He didn't respond, eyes glazed over and she roared with anger. She slammed the blade down into his throat, glaring down at the brute.

She huffed, panting and pulled the sword back and cleaned off the blood with the brute's clothing. Her muscles already felt weak and she didn't know how much longer she could stand steady. She sucked in a deep breath, walking down towards the main hall.

Everything went silent again. No sounds of footsteps or clanging of swords. There weren't even any more guards in sight as she approached. As though the woman had planned it to be so. That she had to kill everyone else before she even got close to her love.

The door was cracked open and she could hear the crackling of flames from a fire. She gripped Truth-Teller in her bloodied hand, approaching the cracked wooden door. She carefully, slowly opened the door looking around for the woman. She leaned against the door for support as she opened it, growing more and more tired with each step.

Her eyes scanned around the room and stopped when they came across a figure. Slumped against chains that held him to a wall, a dried pool of red beneath him, already staining the stone of the floor. His wings, pinned to the wall and sliced with precision.

Amara flung herself into the room, running across the long distance between them until she fell to her knees in front of him. His head hung low, dried blood staining his face and clothing. She dropped truth-teller, cupping his cheeks into her hands as she cried.

"Azriel? Azriel I'm here. Wake up." She said to him, voice echoing off the tall walls of the hall. She searched his face for anything, any sign that he was all right. His eyes didn't open and his body didn't move. Especially not his chest.

She frantically searched his body, looking for a pulse, movement, a heart beat, anything. When she didn't find anything she crumbled back onto her legs, staring up at the dead body in front of her. "No," She whispered. He was gone, he was dead and had been since the moment she felt the bond snap.

Amara sobbed in front of his body, footsteps softly starting to echo in the room. She didn't move, hands limp at her sides as she scanned Azriel's face for any sign of life. Unable to let go of her hope.

The footsteps grew louder, a female voice tsking from behind her. "What a pity, he had brought me so much amusement before his death."

Amara whirled her head around, staring at the tall woman behind her. She stared at the fireplace, lit with red flames that illuminated her face. She was pale, whiter than the snow of the Winter Court. Her hair a deep raven and her eyes a vibrant red.

"You killed him." She hissed, moving to her feet slowly. Picking up Truth-Teller again in her hand.

The woman turned her head, her face blank as she looked at the bloody mess of a girl that approached her. "I did. But my dear, why do you even care?" Her voice was filled with venom, mocking her with each word.

"He was my mate!" She screamed and put the last amount of strength into her limbs as she ran towards the woman and slammed the blade down towards her, aiming for her neck.

The blade found stone, slamming into the mantel above the fireplace.

"It took you so long to get here. He screamed your name when I would cut his wings. He thought you would come to save him."

Amara whirled to turn around and she was thrown against the opposite side of the room, her back hitting the wall. She groaned, falling to the ground and tried pushing herself up. She had to stand, to grab a weapon and get Azriel's body home.

"He cried, oh how he cried when he finally knew no one would ever come." She slowly walked towards Amara, grabbing her jaw with her thin hand and picked her up to her full height. She dug her nails into Amara's skin. "Look at him Amara. Look at the man you left to die." She turned her head back to Azriel's body, able to hear his screaming in her mind.

"No, I didn't." She whispered and the woman shoved her against the wall. "Oh but you did," she threw her again. Her body slamming against the furniture and she sobbed. She heard his screams, echoing in her mind as he called for her. The pain too much to bear any longer as his wings were sliced and his body mutilated.

"Do you understand the pain now Amara? Do you understand what it's like to lose the one you love most?" She hissed, circling her as she laid on the ground. "I have been waiting for so long. To watch you suffer as I have suffered."

Amara only looked at Azriel's body, her vision starting to grow blurry from the pain. She felt a hand pulling her up to her feet again. "You killed my only son. Do you not even remember?"

Amara did not respond, knowing not what she talked about. The woman's eyes were no longer narrowed, but wild and filled with rage. "You don't remember how you cut down and murdered my son? That you did not even bury his body!?"

She was thrown against the mantle, her head making contact with the stone and she fell to the ground. She could feel the fire at her back as blood dripped down her forehead and she coughed up more. Her memory was hazy, the woman walking towards her. But that face, she knew that face.

The memory came back quickly. It had been years ago, when she was still no older than 100. She had been reckless, stupid. She had been walking through the continent on a vacation of sorts. She had wanted to look around the lands. One night, very late at night, she had been walking alone in the forest. A man came up to her, frantic and shoved her into a tree. He had a knife in his hands and she had been scared. They had struggled and in the end he ended up dead instead of her.

"He had been trying to kill me." She groaned out, her voice hoarse. She noticed Truth-teller sitting on the ground close to her as the woman appeared in front of her. She picked her up again and she groaned, barely able to keep her eyes open. "You kill me son!" She screamed then smirked like a mad woman, "So I killed your mate."

Amara summoned the blade into her hand, shoving it through her chest and watched her face grow blank. "And now I have killed you." Amara hissed, panting as the woman's face and body went limp and then she fell to the floor.

She fell to her knees, bleeding and her body was weak. She wouldn't be able to get out, to get back home. At least now she could be with Azriel again. Her eyes had started to shut, already half lidded when someone pulled her into their arms.

"Amara, Amara open your eyes." Feyre said to her and her eyes stayed half lidded as she looked up at her friend's face. "Feyre," She whispered. "Azriel he's-"

"We know, Rhysand is getting him. Let's go." Feyre said and helped her friend stand. She kept an arm around Amara’s waist, her legs tired and unstable. She could barely even stand as Feyre held her up. Blood coated most of her body, Feyre unable to walk her through the room with how limp she was.

Amara looked back over to Azriel's body, limp hanging from the chains and went wide eyed. The body hanging wasn't Azriel. There were no wings, the tunic he had been wearing at the wedding replaced with haggard rags.

It had all been a glamour over someone else's dead body. She let out a sob, looking over at Feyre. "Where is, Azriel?" She managed to say as Cassian came running into the room. He pulled Amara into his arms and started carrying her. "Where is he?" She whispered her eyes almost fully shut. Sleep was tugging at her and she couldn't fight it off much longer.

"I’m taking you to him." Cassian said, body limp in his arms. She rested her head against his chest. She could hear him trying to speak to her, to keep her awake as he walked them through the halls down towards the front doors.

Everyone stood there, Rhysand holding a limp Azriel up on his feet as they approached. “Amara,” Azriel said with wide eyes as he looked at her and she sighed.

“Azriel,” she whispered.

#Azriel #Shadowsinger #Spymaster #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Hope you guys enjoy this #sjmaas #a court of wings and ruin #acomaf #acowar #Illryian #prythian #feysand #Amara #stay strong until the next chapter

32 notes · View notes