#a constant reminder of his inhumanity and how hurting people is in his nature

[articskele]

Hc that Adam has cold hands. He’s definitely the kinda guy to jab people with his cold hands when they least expect it bc he’s a lil shit like that- But even when the heater is on and he’s covered in blankets, even when he's constantly wearing finger gloves, there’s just this warmth missing. Adam tells Sarah that he's an alternate, and they get into a horrible argument. He tries to reach out to Sarah before she can storm off, but she flinches at his touch and slaps his hand away. “Just go away. You’re cold.”

[t4tower-of-t4terror]

But If I Know You, I Know What You'll Do

Malleus x reader fluff

It gets harder and harder to sleep during nights at Ramshackle. You don't mind your semi-shitty bed and ratty blankets. You've learned to ignore the constant draft and the ghosts and the fact that Grim snores like a vacuum cleaner. You couldn't really do anything about any of that.

It was your dreams that kept you awake. They were often prophetic, showing a drawn-out story like an animated movie playing for hours. You didn't know how they could perfectly mimic your real-life events.

But between these prophecies were something far worse. You dreamed of your old life. Your old home.

Sometimes you woke up crying, longing for the world you left behind. Sometimes you woke up crying because you know that this world, where you will forever be an outlier, is better than that one. Either way, you were tired of crying. You were tired of pulling Grim close to you solely because you needed to know that you weren't alone.

And so sometimes you would walk. Walk outside of Ramshackle. Walk until your feet took you somewhere new. Walk until your thoughts were gone and your tears left weird tracks down your cheeks.

Here you were now, standing in front of Diasomnia. You had walked to the mirror chamber and ended up here. Why here?

You knew subconsciously that you had a fondness for Malleus. But it was just a fondness. That is all it could be. That is all you would let it be.

And yet.

Here you were, in front of the fae prince's doorstep. You had walked through their stone gates. Somehow the large wooden door in front of the dorm had opened for you, as if it knew who you were searching for.

Your feet dragged. It was late, but you knew he would be awake. He always was at this hour. You trudged to his door, knocking against the wood.

When Malleus opened it, he was shocked to see you, of all people.

"Child of man, what are you doing in Diasomnia?" Malleus asked, before noticing the tear tracks. Noticing how you shook, not from the ever-present chill of the dorm, with it's neon green flames.

He ushers you into his room. Into the soft green candlelight. He looks so pretty in the moments where you can feel the tenderness in his gaze. The flickering light emphasizes his inhuman nature, carving out the valleys of his sharpened cheekbones. You understand why so many revere him, especially in this environment.

"Are you alright?" you can hear the soft concern in his voice.

And then the dam breaks.

He is the prince of Briar Valley, and yet he holds you so close. You feel like glass in his embrace, like you will shatter if he lets go of you.

You cry about the way you don't want to go back to that old world. You don't want to see those people again. It's so much kinder to live in an existence where your past cannot get you. Where the people who hurt you don't even exist.

But it's ironic to you that the world where you are forever outcasted is the kinder one. The world where you are forced to clean up other people's messes, to put others back together after they fall apart. Overblots and kidnappings and more fucking overblots! And nobody can even comprehend why you're so tired.

And Malleus, tall beautiful faerie prince Malleus, listens to every word. And he pulls you close and runs his hand through your hair. And he tells you that he will make this world kinder for you if he needs to burn it all down and start it all from scratch.

But when he takes your hand, he winces. When you pull his fingers away, you realize your ring had scorched him.

"My apologies for my reaction. Is your ring by any chance made of iron?" he asks, his voice smooth and rumbling like thunder in a summer storm.

You nod, not trusting your voice. That ring was wedged deep in your pocket when you had showed up here. It was one of your only reminders that your old world had even existed, besides your existing memories.

"Ah. Iron tends to burn fae folk like myself. You by no means have to remove it, I just thought you would benefit from the knowledge"

And you slid it off of your finger in that instant. You stand before a man who promised to make you safe and happy, and he expects you to hold onto the things that harm him?

The metal clatters against the dark hardwood. It says more than any words exchanged between the two of you could possibly convey. You take his hand into yours and lift his palm to brush your lips against the wound. You both are aware of your lack of magic, but Malleus swears he has been healed in that moment.

Malleus pulls you to his bed. His covers are the most beautiful smoky purple you have ever seen. They feel lavish. You sink into the warmth. He sinks beside you.

When you are comfortable beneath the sheets, you are pulled to rest on Malleus' chest. He holds your hand while you lay, with one arm around you.

The two of you have all the time in the world for words. All the time this universe will provide to ask each other what was to come of this. But tonight you would let the soft scent of briar roses and smoke lull you to sleep.

[perse-persecution]

more dream smp skin symbolism

I can go on and on about this, and so I will! I’ve already talked about how Tommy, Sam, Dream, and Quackity have skins that highlight who they are, especially in the prison. But it’s not just them that have this, it’s almost everyone in the SMP!

Some characters have stayed fully human throughout the SMP, never gaining wings or scars or anything that was permanent, like Tommy or Tubbo, or even Niki, really. There are others too! (Tubbo really was just hurt emotionally, he stayed human even though he made bad choices, and never really went too far[I’m counting Ghostbur as a human even though he was see-through because it’s Ghostbur. His skin is a ghost.]) And some characters have inhuman traits like wings (this is only Phil but y’know) or horns, or they just don’t have any human attributes on them except for their faces.

And some just have glasses that hide their faces, or roses that change color. Or a mask!

Niki- You might call me out, saying that ‘Niki wanted to murder Tommy with Jack and has no inhuman traits, so your idea is flawed!’ but Niki got over it. Niki is baking again, Jack burned his house down. Niki may not be Tommy, but she’s never gained horns or covered her face.

Jack- Jack has his headset and that comes with glasses, and that hides his eyes. That’s what makes him inhuman to me, and we never see his eyes. He’s always hidden from everyone, even slightly, and he’s not human. His response to Tommy’s death is great and very human, celebrating and then realizing it really wasn’t what he wanted-but then again, he still clawed his way back from hell through pure spite and anger. That is not human.

Eret- Eret has glasses as well, hiding their face, and that plays well into the ‘never meant to be’ bit, but might not work in the long run, but it still does! Eret is still lost in the past, really, trying to make up for it. He’s built a museum and wrote books upon books and apologized so many times, but the glasses are her way of keeping the betrayal with them, always reminding them of the fact. They aren’t human, they’re still trying to make up for battles long gone through keeping the past from being long-gone, and such they are the past.

Hannah- Hannah definitely isn’t human, the roses on her arms changing colors and being attached to her being the main reasons why, though there is still some symbolism even with that. With the Egg, Hannah tried to fix the egg with roses, taking stacks and stacks with her. She tried to give them to it, and was trapped in a hole. The symbolism here is that Hannah uses nature to fix her problems, and fixes the nature that’s wrong (fixing the server!!) and adds to it in ways that pleases her (all the red roses). She tries to fix everything with them, and when they all turn against her she goes with them into the Egg’s control.

Badboyhalo- The devil skin is a bit literal, considering the events of the Egg, but it still works before that too! Bad’s always been the ‘devil’ to Tommy and maybe Quackity I guess, shouting at them when they curse and never playing into some bits. But when the Egg takes control, the red accents on his skin turn white, and that shows that he feels like he’s doing the right thing, that it’s all to help Skeppy, but the devil skin shows that’s it’s not, and he’s the real devil here.

Skeppy- Speaking of Skeppy, he’s always been just a diamond with a derpy face, and that sums up everything that Skeppy did before the Egg perfectly. He’s bright and pretty sharp, in some ways, but but still hilarious and comedic to a fault. Diamond with a derpy face. But then the egg came along, and one, changed his skin from blue to red, and two, got rid of the highlights that made the diamond itself pop. There’s much, much more red on him that any of the server members, Ant, Ponk, and Punz just getting red eyes, and Bad having none at all, the red on him turning white. It makes sense for Skeppy, the one with the most red, to be the most under the Egg’s control, and for Bad, who has no red, to be angry at Skeppy, later, for spending so much time with it. But the highlight removal made Skeppy look just like the Egg. Made him pretty much just fade into it, become one with it. The derpy face is still there, though, symbolizing Bad’s hope for the blue Skeppy to come back, though the rest of Skeppy seems to symbolize the opposite.

Technoblade- Techno has always been an anarchist in royals garb, and throughout everything on the server it shows that he has one goal (anarchy) and he will do everything to get it, even be used as a tool and ‘just as the blade’ (the Red Banquet) (also being in royals garb). He’s inhuman because though he has had character development, from mocking Quackity at his execution setup even though it was, like, his execution setup, to complimenting Sam on the prison, even though he knew it was a trap. Even though he claims to be closed off, he’s become such great friends with Ranboo and cares too much about Carl and his wolves than he says he does. He calls Dream a sentimentalist, but even though he knew he would be getting out of the prison, he still gave hope to Dream by means of the toilet. That shows another part of his inhuman-ness. He’s a pig. Pigs are friendly, sensitive, and intelligent, according to Google, and this fits Techno well. He tries to give hope to Dream, was friends with Tommy, is friends with Phil, Ranboo, and Niki, and that goes into the next bit. Sensitive. Technoblade is very sensitive to being used just as the blade, and it goes vice versa as well. He was genuinely touched when the Syndicate through him a birthday party and Ranboo gave him the new axe to replace his last one. He’s also very intelligent, using a Totem to get out of death and collecting mass amounts of withers ‘just for decoration...for now’.

Ranboo- Ranboo is pretty easy, like c’mon. Enderwalk and Ranboo, the white side and the black side. Easy. BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE. The white side is more commonly as the friendly side (even though enderwalk is just Ranboo with different motivations) and yet the white side has a red eye, a color that literally gets people riled up. It shows that even when Ranboo is not in Enderwalk, he’s not happy-go-lucky. There’s something dangerous with him, and Wilbur picked up on this! He didn’t want to talk to Ranboo, comparing him to ‘the weird neighbor kid’ who ‘had something in his basement’ and was ‘going to put a spatula right through my skull!’. There’s something off about Ranboo even when he’s not Enderwalking, and that’s shown by his red eye and what people like to refer to as tear scars on that side of his face (even though the enderman side would be the one burned by it) But speaking of Enderwalk, the black side has a green eye, Tubbo’s color, and the color that is used as friendship a lot. It shows that, for Ranboo, Enderwalk isn’t some evil being, he isn’t plotting to kill people, he might be meeting with Dream, but so was Techno! And he’s not inherently evil. And Wilbur adores Dream! And Ranboo stated that he wasn’t inherently evil. Enderwalk is just Ranboo with different motivations. He was Enderwalking through the whole Disc War finale, holding his fourth book, but made no move to help Dream-but he made no move to help Tommy and Tubbo. (Enderchest was also in Dream’s possession vault, so Ranboo obviously wasn’t fully trustworthy to Dream) He stared up at Dream as he rose to go to prison, but that was it. And Enderwalk Ranboo was also at the Banquet! He was holding an axe at some point (maybe when the lava came down, I can’t remember) but he never interfered. He was just up on the balcony. Ranboo wouldn’t interfere either, he’d be to scared too, he’s a people pleaser. Techno, Quackity, and Purpled aren’t. Enderwalk isn’t Ranboo in what he does, as Ranboo doesn’t really remember it, but they are the same in their reasonings and how and when they would do something.

Phil- Phil had wings in the first moments when he joined the server, and then protected Wilbur with them and so they were damaged. Phil had a very warped idea of what had gone on before he came through Wilburs lies, and I feel his inhuman-ness spans from that, and the fact the he kept that warped idea and went too far with it. He thought that Wilbur didn’t want L’manburg to exist, because he thought that Wilbur won the election, and so even after he was dead, and after the whole Butcher Army, Phil’s instinct (as well as Techno’s) was to just blow it up, get rid of it, because that was what his son wanted and it would send a message to the people. He said himself, to Jack, that he started blowing up countries when he was forced to kill his own son, but he could have stepped away there, because Wilbur really wasn’t the constant in the situation. Wilbur hadn’t chosen to blow up the country because he didn’t like it anymore, he was going to blow it up because Schlatt ruined it for him, and that Phil didn’t understand. That’s why he’s inhuman, since he chose to kill Wilbur, he wasn’t forced. Phil’s gone against peer pressure and orders before when he saw that they were wrong, and that was also by a relative, Fundy. He loopholed his way out of house arrest, he could have jumped away from Wilbur, or just put him in stone so he wouldn’t die. He’s inhuman because he made choices that were because of events that didn’t exist, because he was living in an alternate world, really.

Wilbur- Wilbur doesn’t have inhuman features. A clear face, no scars, and a beanie. His jacket and morals have rotted in the dark, but he’s still pretty human, though his opinions on Dream and L’manburg change every second. The white streak in his hair is supposed to represent stress, I think, and well, it’s Wilbur. He made a fancy revolutionary outfit and never washed it once, because he was too devoted to L’manburg to let go of it, or anything connected to it, for a single second. Then came Pogtopia, where he ditched everything in favor of clothes that blended in with the cave walls. He insulted the revolutionary outfit, and kept the trench coat until he died. Then, Revivebur had the bandage across his arm because he ran to the train too fast, showing how desperate Wilbur was to get out from death. He’s changed so much, and his changes are real, unlike Dream’s, as Dream has kept the same skin, but Wilbur hasn’t. He’s changed physically, and has gotten more and more torn outfits every time.

Ponk- He has a face mask that hides everything but his eyes, and I feel that shows his way of making sure you never know if he’s joking about something or not. He joked about how much time Sam spent with him, even though Sam hated the egg, and still tried to keep a keycard even after Sam was going to chop of his arm (and did so) for them. He has a chaotic nature to everyone, trying to prank Foolish right now and wearing red contacts only so the Eggpire would leave him alone. He made a Road Trip joke as his toast at the Banquet, and it was totally in character! His mouth being hidden makes it so that he can be joking and you’ll never see it coming.

Schlatt- The-the guy has horns. He’s a goat. Loud, (the EMPEROR of the GREAT NATION) cross eyed, (Schlatt is drunk for his introduction and his death, he is totally cross eyed). I’ve also seen people put him down as a ram, and that reckless ‘they want me to get them president, I’ll be my OWN president!’ and then tearing down the walls, executing Wilbur and Tommy, things that were so surprising and came out of nowhere they just about-they jus-they just rammed into us head on! He’s inhuman because he wants to be powerful (the BIg Man Gym) and wants to use the people around him to show his power, and is so reliant on them that he has no power at all.

Fundy- He’s a fox, and ha been compared as a ‘backbiter’ and ‘foxheart’ many times, and while those are viable ways to go, other parts on his skin, earlier, show some other things. In L’manburg, Fundy was the only person who had a different outfit from the others (at that time) and didn’t get any position in L’manburg at the end of the war, just being called Wilbur’s ‘little champion’. He had a crayon suit, and wasn’t respected by Wilbur at all, and when Schlatt came along and finally seemed to recognize him as someone who was valuable, Fundy shed the revolutionary garb quick, burning and building and leaving Niki quick as well. He might not be constantly switching his skin, like Wilbur, but after L’maburg he never was on aside for long enough to get a uniform other than L’manburg, his regular skin, and the aprons for the Butcher Army. He’s a fox that switches boat, and that makes him inhuman because everyone else is firmly on a side, against sides as a whole, or the thing everyone hates and is on his own side (Which is Dream).

Karl- Karl is very human, as he has a funky sweater and a normal human skin. But that skin changes when he gets back from time travelling, and when he is in the Tales. He’s like a chameleon, his skin fitting the environment in the Tales and the Inbetween, but the important bit is that when he gets back to the present he’s a very bright, multicolored blob. In the Inbetween he has an all white skin, in the Other Side it’s all black, and in the Masquerade specifically he kept to blues and purples, I think, as those were the colors his mask was. Him being a chameleon in the Tales also fits well with how he just fits right into the story, like an added fisherman, or a cameraman, or just another guest-the only ones he doesn’t fit in with are the ones that are closely tied with the real present. The Haunted mansion had Connor and Glatt in it, and Karl really just interrupted their fun. In The City That Went Mad, Karl was the narrator, and The City That Went Mad has been mentioned SO many times, Quackity being a descended from Helga and Ponk being descended from Jack the potato farmer. In the present, Karl stayed with Schlatt through the Pogtopia era after being the judge of the debate, and I have no idea why other than because he didn’t know what to do.

Purpled- Purpled is pretty much implied to be an alien, but for all skin measures he looks perfectly human, ignoring that everything he wears, and his eye color, is purple. I like Purpled, and the fact that he switched sides the same way Punz did, and used almost the same words Punz did, but he’s still so much different and more human? In a way? Than Punz, in how he reacts to being called a hero by Foolish, or joining Pogtopia the second he was going to be killed, since Manburg didn’t line up to his ideals anyways. Purpled isn’t the hero, he’s really just a background character for most of the lore, coming up a couple of times, but he’s not really too important, and he and Quackity know this, Quackity used it against him to try and get him to join Las Nevadas! He tries his best to be a hero and always falls short, not being able to save Foolish, having to join Las Nevadas, and that’s what makes him inhuman, because he’s trying. He tries his best to be the good guy, unlike Tommy, really, right now. Tommy knew breaking into the prison to kill Dream wasn’t the right thing to do, he said it himself! Tommy said he didn’t want to be a hero in response to Techno, but he’s still the protagonist. Purpled is trying, and we’re starting now to see that in full, and see how inhuman he really is because it’s not paying off.

Punz- Punz is like Purpled, until he’s not. He was hired to Manburg to fight for Schlatt and he did! He did fight for Schlatt, and had no qualms with it. He betrayed Dream to help Tommy and Tubbo, and then joined the Egg. He’s not the most human character, despite looking it, and he’s quite inhuman in the fact that he’s never been the hero. He was bribed by Tommy to help give him pearls and blaze rods in the first disc skirmish, and now was bribed to save them from Dream one last time! Punz wouldn’t do that if Tommy hadn’t given him money, he would have stayed neutral, and I feel that shows his inhuman-ness.

I’ll be doing Puffy, Connor, Calahan (maybe), Alyssa (maybe), Antfrost, and others as well as some more analyses soon!

[midnightsvns]

Now I see daylight — a Twilight fanfic

summary: Edward spent his life so long in a ninety-year midnight. Now, all he sees is daylight. A short story about Nessie’s first prom. “How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.” words: 8,280.

AN: so. i was absolutely wrecked after reading the very sad note on which midnight sun ended. to lick my wounds, i wrote this fic, set 12 years after breaking dawn, on the day of nessie’s prom. 404 plot not found just fluff of edward & bella being happy with their now adult daughter. title/summary inspired by the t.s. song daylight. full text under the cut!

Bella and I walked with hands intertwined in the woods behind our house, on our way to the cottage a few miles away that served as our daughter Renesmee’s “room.” When she turned seven, we decided she deserved a space of her own, a space that was removed from her supernatural family who could hear every move she made even if she had a whole floor of the house to herself. It was not unlike the first cottage the three of us had lived in together, back in Forks, in the first year of Bella and I’s marriage. To me, those days seemed as close as yesterday—in reality, twelve years had passed like the blink of an eye. Our daughter was all grown-up now, about to graduate high school for the first time, and today was her very first prom.

We walked at human pace, enjoying the lights and the sounds of early morning in the forest. Before Bella, I would have hated moving at such a glacial pace, always wanting to reach my destination as fast as possible, never lingering under the sunlight long enough to contemplate the diamond-like sparkling of my marble skin. A constant reminder of my inhumanity. But now I relished having the chance to see my wife in the light of day. I knew that all the poets and philosophers who, for two thousand of years, had tried to define beauty, to describe it, had irrevocably failed—because none of them had been fortunate enough to witness Bella smiling and shining under the golden rays of sunlight. I squeezed her hand and chuckled to myself.

Bella, of course, noticed my jocularity. “What are you thinking about?” she wondered.

“I thought that was my line,” I replied, grinning at her. Bella easily controlled her gift now, raising and lowering her mental shields at will. Except in special moments of communication, her shields were always up. She could maintain shields around other people, too, granting peace for me and privacy for my family. The quiet that resulted inside my head was a balm; I could be thankful for it for a hundred years and it would not be enough.

She sighed, and her eyes were suddenly downcast. “Well, I’m glad one of us is cheerful enough to laugh today.” She stopped walking, let go of my hand, and sought shelter under the shadow of a large evergreen tree. I regretted seeing her move away from the sunshine.

Her mournful tone surprised me. “What’s wrong, love? You’ve been looking forward to Renesmee’s prom for weeks now.” It was all I heard the ladies at the house discussing as of late. Alice, our very own literal visionary, was making all their dresses, works of art that were sure to rival even the most revered of Paris’ haute couture scene. Rosalie was browsing our family’s sizable collection of jewelry—composed of heirlooms from our human lives and the very many anniversary gifts from over the decades—for the perfect sets of accessories that would go with Alice’s creations. Esme was renovating and redecorating the front room, the staircase, and the porch, in preparation for today’s sure-to-be endless photo opportunities.

Bella looked up at me, her golden eyes looking regretful. “I just… can’t help but be a little sad that she’s grown up so fast. She’s only twelve, Edward. I spent more time as a clumsy, awkward human child than I’ve spent as her mother,” Bella said, sighing again. “And now she’s graduating and going off to college for the first time? She’s not an adult! How are we even sure she’s fit to be by herself in the human world already? How is she gonna eat? How will she hunt? What if she needs us, or she gets hurt and Carlisle can’t get to her in time? She can’t just go to a human doctor!” Her voice got more and more agitated with every worry she voiced. “And what if she starts dating? And she doesn’t tell us because we’re not there?! She says she’s not interested in anyone romantically now, boys or otherwise, but it’s her first four years in college! She’s bound to catch the sights of some… some no-good jerk who—”

“Stop, Bella,” I said gently, interrupting her before she could spiral any further. I had to resist the urge to laugh at her tirade. It reminded me of the time I went on a very similar, equally anxious rant. Emmett had thought I was a crazy person, worrying about the myriad things that could wipe the human girl I loved out of existence. This time, though, these worries were much easier for me to assuage than when I was fretting over Bella’s mortality and her uncanny ability to attract danger.

I joined her under the cover of the tree and held her marble face in my hands. “Love, I understand wholly all of your anxieties. They’re mine, too. But we need to put a significant amount of trust and faith in our daughter if we want to stay sane during the next four years,” I said earnestly, cracking a little smile, and then started addressing Bella’s concerns one at a time.

“I’m also sad that it has been just twelve short years, and already, we have to let her go. And as much as we may not like it, she is an adult now. She has been for five years. I know she grew up too fast, but if that is the small sacrifice that makes the miracle of her existence possible, then so be it. And she’s had no problems being around humans since she started high school with us when she was eight. As for her eating habits, well, I am worried about the amount of junk food she’ll consume once she is left unsupervised. And she doesn’t need to hunt as frequently as we do…. Once, maybe twice, a month, she can come back here and any one of us would love to go hunting with her. She is also not so fragile that she would ever need the care of any other doctors than Carlisle, Rosalie, or me. As for her first romantic relationship, well... she’s smart, strong-willed. We have to trust that we have raised her well enough that she’ll be responsible, that she’ll know how to protect her heart, and that she’ll be comfortable enough to turn to us for any questions she might have. You are a good mother, Bella. You raised an amazing young woman.” She looked as though she was about to argue, but she said nothing. She must have lowered her shield because I heard her thoughts instead: We raised an amazing young woman. You, Carlisle, Esme, Rose, Alice, Emmett, and Jasper… Even Charlie, Sue, Jacob, and Seth. It really does take a village. Her smile was wry.

I shook my head and smiled back at her. She was still bad at taking compliments. “We just have to trust Ness, love. As much as I would never want to see her hurt, we have to let her make her own mistakes. To let her take risks. And we have to give her freedom while she still thinks it’s ours to grant. If she thinks she’s not ready for this yet, or becomes overwhelmed in any way, she knows she can come back home at any time. All we can do is be there for her, and as long as she knows she’s not alone in this, that she never has to carry the world on her shoulders because we’re supposed to carry part of it for her… She will be fine.”

I looked straight into my wife’s eyes, still holding her face, hoping I had eased her anxieties a little. She visibly relaxed, then placed her hands over mine.

“You know, I really hate it when you make sense,” Bella stated matter-of-factly, glaring at me and pouting a little. I laughed and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. Then I pulled her close to my side and led us back on the way to Renesmee’s cottage. If, thirteen years ago, anyone—even Alice—had told me that someday I would be trying to soothe Bella after a bout of anxiety instead of the other way around, I would have laughed in their face.

We made it to the cottage in companionable silence, and Bella’s mood seemed cheerier than before, back to being excited for the day’s events. She knocked on the door, calling for Nessie to wake up, but our daughter opened the door in a flash, greeting us with a chipper hello and a wave to indicate that we should let ourselves in.

“Good morning, Ness. You’re up early,” I commented. Not that our daughter was a late sleeper, but she was also not what one would call a morning person.

“I’m very well-rested, thank you,” she said, walking to the couch in the middle of the cottage’s main living area and plopping down onto it.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?” I asked, suspicious. Half-human, half-vampire hybrid though she was, Carlisle’s recommendation was still at least seven hours of sleep a night, and she often ignored it.

“Seven,” she replied too fast. I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, six. Maybe five total…” she grimaced, sheepish now. “I was reading books! And I finished a movie.” I was unhappy to hear it. We really didn’t have an exact number of how many hours of sleep she needed each night, but I was sure five wasn’t enough for anyone, human or otherwise. I shook my head and sat next to her on the couch.

The cottage was a cozy place, with a kitchenette in the main room, one bedroom and a small bathroom down a narrow hallway. The main area was where Nessie spent most of her time, a rectangular room with big windows that let in a generous amount of natural light. The wide wall in front of the couch served as the canvas for a mural of the turquoise sea and white-sand beach at Isle Esme, painted from memory by Bella and Renesmee. The three of us had spent two weeks there a couple of years ago to celebrate Nessie’s birthday and my tenth wedding anniversary with Bella. It was my favorite painting in the world.

On the eastern wall was a bay window, Renesmee’s favorite reading nook, flanked by two tall bookshelves. And in front of the couch was a low coffee table, cluttered with books, stacks of paper, journals, pens, paints and paintbrushes, canvasses, coffee mugs, and a laptop. I sighed. The organized chaos, as Ness often referred to it, reminded me much of her mother’s old room at the Swan residence. Bella started tidying up the table immediately, replacing books onto the shelves and rearranging the mess on the table. I turned my attention to the kitchenette’s dirty dishes and the haphazardly discarded clothes on the couch, shaking my head at the untidiness. She spent her days with us either at school or at the main house, and sometimes even slept there when she felt like it. How could one girl create so much disarray after one night?

“Mom, Dad, stop it, I’ll do that later…” Nessie admonished us halfheartedly, but we were done cleaning up before she finished speaking the sentence.

“Did you already have breakfast, honey?” Bella asked.

Ness nodded and grinned. “I had cereal and two Pop-Tarts.”

Wonderful. Clearly she knew how to make healthy choices. I almost wished for the time before she had outgrown her distaste for human food. At least on a diet of animal blood, we knew she was getting some nutrients.

Bella rolled her eyes, although I knew she wasn’t really annoyed. “Esme will make you eat some fruit at the house. Are you ready to go now? Alice wants to do a final fitting of your dress, just in case she needs to make any changes.”

“It’s too bad Aunt Alice can’t see me in her visions. She could just decide to make any changes and then know which ones are right,” Nessie mused, then shook her head and bounded up from the couch, walking quickly down the hallway and into her bedroom. She came out a second later, hands deftly fastening a necklace on the nape of her neck. It was the necklace Rosalie had given her as a present for her birthday last year, a thin platinum chain and an oval pendant with the family crest on it. We filed out of the cottage, and Bella locked the door behind her.

The three of us walked together, Nessie in the middle. I asked her what books she was reading last night that she had gotten so little sleep. Instead of communicating verbally, she held my hand and showed me.

I started seeing her memories from only a few hours ago, implanted into my mind as seamlessly as though they were my own. I saw her reading all seven books of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series and watching the first film adaptation. I saw how much she’d enjoyed them. Then, I saw her thoughts on the character Aslan, the wise talking lion and savior of Narnia. She admired him, his kindness and wisdom and compassion…. Suddenly, I saw my own face mixed in with images of the lion. She was trying to tell me the lion reminded her of me.

It shocked me. I’d enjoyed the world of Narnia at the time they were published and became widely popular in the 1950s, and even Bella had told me it was one of her favorite book series. As a lonely immortal, I’d always taken comfort in the fact that I had an Aslan-like figure in my life to look up to. My father, Carlisle. It never occurred to me to think that I could ever fill that role for someone else.

I must be doing something right, I marveled to myself. If Renesmee could liken me to someone who reminded me so much of Carlisle, then perhaps fatherhood wasn’t as lost on me as I had so often felt it was. It was like I was walking on a cloud, an invisible weight lifted off my shoulders. I wrapped my arm around Nessie as we walked, trying to let her know how much I appreciated the privilege of her sharing her thoughts with me. And then she surprised us by speaking in a serious tone.

She moved away from under my arm and moved a few paces ahead, turning around so she could face us. She walked backwards as she talked, her footing steady and sure. “Momma, Daddy, I don’t think I’ve thanked either of you yet… for allowing me to go and study on my own. I know you’ve always tried to let me have a normal childhood, to make sure I never missed out on anything. I love living with you guys. I love talking to Grandpa Carlisle about history and art. I love helping Grandma work on houses. I love shopping and appreciating fashion with Aunt Alice and Aunt Rose. I love playing chess with Uncle Jasper and Uncle Emmett. I love our piano lessons, Daddy, and our two-person exclusive book club, Momma. I love going back to Forks on holidays to visit Grandpa Charlie. I love our baseball games. But now I’m ready to experience the world for myself. I know it must be hard to let me go and that you’re scared for me. I’m scared, too….”

If my heart were still alive, it might have grown in size from the joy I felt. Renesmee rarely addressed us this way anymore. It was always Mom and Dad or Edward and Bella, if we were in public. It carried me back to the days when she was still just a little child. A rapidly growing, highly intelligent child, but still our little child. She was always so perceptive; it was as though she’d sensed the essence of the conversation Bella and I had had before we reached the cottage, and this sober declaration was her way of telling us she understood.

“You have nothing to thank us for, sweetheart,” I said quickly, at the same time that Bella hurried to ask Nessie what she was afraid of, concern in her voice.

Our daughter blew out a long breath. “I’m scared of living alone, of being completely responsible for myself. But I’m really excited about it, too, and most of the time the excitement overpowers any doubts I have. I’m certain I wanna do this, and don’t they always say that something isn’t worth doing if you’re not at least a little bit afraid?” she asked, her smile reaching her deep brown eyes.

Bella paused and left my side to grasp our daughter by the shoulders. “All we want, Nessie, all we will ever want, is your happiness. And we want you to find out what that means for you on your own terms. If you decide tomorrow that you’d be happy never going to college at all, none of us will argue with your decision. But I can see how sure you are about going. I can’t promise you that I won’t be worried sick and that I won’t be calling you multiple times a day until you’re very, very annoyed with me… But I know you can take care of yourself now, and I can’t wait to see what you do next, baby.” Bella’s lovely voice sounded assured, no trace of the anxiety she’d confided in me just moments earlier. This was what I meant whenever I told Bella she was a good mother, and seeing her in action never failed to earn my awe.

“Thank you, Momma,” Renesmee said sincerely, circling her arms around Bella, and Bella hugged her back. “And I promise I will never be annoyed by your calls, even if you call a hundred times a day,” she said, grinning. “I won’t ignore yours, either, Daddy.”

This made me and Bella laugh. Of course Nessie would make time to take her crazy parents’ calls. No one was sweeter than our daughter.

Their hug ended, and we kept walking. Suddenly there was a glint of mischief in Renesmee’s eyes, and then she touched my arm and Bella’s to tell us we were being challenged to a race. Before the thought was even fully communicated she had already taken off running to the house. I shook my head and chuckled as we hurried after her. She couldn’t quite run as fast as vampires, but the head start might be enough to guarantee her win.

When we reached the house, my brothers were waiting outside for us to arrive. They both had cameras in hand—Jasper a professional digital SLR and Emmett a Polaroid instant camera. With Bella around, I couldn’t hear their minds, so I raised an eyebrow at the both of them in question. What were they up to now?

“Nessie’s already in the house, you rusty old slowpokes,” Emmett said in greeting, mocking me and Bella. But mostly me. “And to think you used to be the fastest, Edward. What a fall from grace. Let me take a picture of this really embarrassing moment for you real quick.” He positioned the instant camera near my face and pressed a button, and it started whirring as it printed out the picture. He grinned and deposited it into a large red handbag, presumably Rosalie’s, that he had slung over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes at my brother and asked what they were doing with the cameras instead of responding to Emmett’s attempts at vexing me. It was Jasper who answered. “We’re having a photography competition. Whoever contributes the most shots for Esme’s photo albums will win. She’s planning to keep one for us and one to send to Forks for Charlie, so we’ll need a lot of pictures.”

“Yeah, and the winner—who will definitely be me—gets to skip the bake sale that Esme is going to for some hospital fundraiser,” Emmett explained with an arrogant smile. I rolled my eyes again. Of course my brothers had found a way to turn this day into some kind of contest.

“Doesn’t the Polaroid give you a pretty significant disadvantage, Em?” I pointed out, wondering how much film he was lugging around in Rose’s handbag.

“Just because it’ll be more challenging doesn’t mean I can’t still win,” he replied, shrugging. “The pictures I take will be better. Plus, the easy way is overrated, don’t you think?”

Jasper shook his head at Emmett’s smugness, then told me and Bella to pose for a picture. I turned to Bella and she turned to me, and I held both of her hands. I smiled adoringly down at her as she stared back up at me with her deep, amber eyes. We weren’t looking at the cameras, but I heard the workings of the two small devices as my brothers captured the moment.

“Aww, you two are disgusting,” Emmett chuckled as Jasper showed the photograph to all of us on the camera’s tiny screen. “Esme’s going to love that one.” The Polaroid Emmett had taken was still developing, and he shoved it inside the red bag with all the others. Then they went inside to find better subjects for their contest.

Bella and I made our way inside as well. The house was alive with the whole family looking forward to tonight’s events. I heard Alice, Rosalie, and Nessie in Alice’s room, chattering and working away on their gowns. I heard Esme in the kitchen, making breakfast for Renesmee or perhaps practicing some recipes for the upcoming bake sale. I heard Jasper and Emmett running around everyone like a couple of paparazzi, taking pictures left and right. Only Carlisle was absent, hard at work at the hospital, but he’d be back in time to see us all off to prom tonight. Bella kissed my cheek in farewell before joining Nessie with her aunts upstairs.

I gravitated towards the piano, as I often did. I scanned the perfect mental repository of all the music I knew, trying out a few bars from different pieces—some my own compositions and some written by better musicians than I—but none of them spoke to me…. Until one did. I sat down and began playing the first notes of “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity” from Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets. It was a piece that sounded abundantly better when played by a full orchestra, but I enjoyed it regardless. My hands glided quickly across the piano keys to produce the quick, jaunty chords of the exposition. Then the development came in ritardando, varying from the cheery main theme to take a strangely calm, nostalgic turn. Although it evoked feelings of nostalgia, it wasn’t sad. Only pensive about a time already past. The piece concluded a tempo, returning to the happy and powerful main theme. I didn’t realize how much the song reflected my mood until I was already finished playing it.

Knowing her thoughts were protected by Bella’s shield, Esme offered me her kind compliments out loud from the kitchen. “That was wonderful, Edward,” she gushed. “I have always been so fond of that piece. Please play some more, darling.” I murmured a thanks, then obliged my mother and started playing her favorite, the very song I had played for Bella the first time I brought her home to meet my family. Even though the memory was tainted by the agony and danger of the events that followed, I still looked back on it with some joy. That was the night Bella became a part of our family.

The day went on that way, calm and peaceful, everyone busy with their respective tasks. Nessie came down to join me once in the afternoon and let me hear a new composition she was working on. It was her best yet, and I told her as much. Bella came downstairs as well, listening to me play and rereading Persuasion by Jane Austen while she sat beside me on the piano bench.

Before long, it was time for us to get dressed and ready for the prom. I quickly changed into my dark brown suit. The color had been my only stipulation, the rest decided by Alice’s keen sense of fashion. Since that overcast Thursday morning—the day that had been my turn to ask questions—my favorite color had never wavered from brown. The chocolate-brown color of Bella’s human eyes was not just preserved fondly in my memories, but alive forever in Nessie, and it was beyond the bounds of possibility for me to separate such a color from the meaning of all my happiness.

After I was dressed, I tried to peek into Alice’s room to see if they were ready to go, but Alice, annoying as ever, blocked my entrance and told me to wait with Esme and Carlisle downstairs. I rolled my eyes but followed her instructions. Arguing with Alice was almost never worth it.

Carlisle was just arriving home from work right as I was coming down the stairs, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Why, you look great, Edward,” he praised, setting his medical bag down on a table in the foyer. I thanked him humbly. He reached up and loosened his tie, likely more out of habit than out of a need to be more comfortable. It struck me as a very fatherly thing to do. Esme came out of the front room, greeting Carlisle with a bright smile and a quick kiss. “You’re home just in time, dear. I think the girls are almost done helping Nessie get ready.”

I snorted. At this rate, we were never going to leave the house in time. “Alice, we’ll be late!” I shouted in the direction of the stairs, knowing she could hear me perfectly.

“No, we won’t!” Alice chimed back confidently. I sighed.

Jasper and Emmett were already in their tuxedos and bounded quickly down the stairs, cameras still in hand. Rosalie was the one who joined us next, looking devastating in a burgundy mermaid dress. Emmett looked like he was about to combust. Jasper smirked at our brother’s dumbstruck expression, snapping a few pictures.

Then it was my turn to be dumbstruck as Bella started down the stairs, moving at full speed to be at my side in an instant. “Alice wouldn’t let me see Ness wearing her dress yet,” she complained, but all my attention was on her at that moment. She looked positively incredible wearing a knee-length, square-necked light azure dress, held up by thin straps with flutter sleeves and inset with a thousand little rhinestones that looked like stars. My wife could have been Selene herself, come down from the moon. I ran my fingers gently through Bella’s long, straight brown locks and pressed my palm to her cheek. And for the nth time in so many years, I was glad for the deal I’d made with Bella on our first wedding anniversary. “You look beautiful, love. Absolutely arresting,” I said honestly.

“I know,” Bella said, beaming up at me, and I laughed happily. This was our deal: whenever I told her the indisputable truth about how beautiful she looked, all she had to say in response was that she knew. In exchange, I was forbidden from spending money on gifts for her for exactly five years, and five years was such a short time for creatures such as we that the zero-gifts rule felt like it was lifted immediately. I circumvented the moratorium, anyway, by getting gifts that were for both Bella and Nessie, or both Bella and Esme…. It may not have been the fairest of contracts, but my intentions were of the purest kind. I leaned down and pulled my beautiful goddess of a wife into a deep kiss, and I felt her wide smile as her arms wrapped around my neck. We only broke away from each other when we heard Alice skipping down the stairs, dressed in a white two-piece cocktail dress that made her look like a mischievous fairy.

“Get ready, everyone!” Alice squealed, clapping her hands in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see your reactions, I know you’ll all just die.”

My sister was right. Renesmee—our only daughter, the greatest joy of our lives—stood at the top of the stairs in a gorgeous, peach pink off-shoulder gown decorated with the same little rhinestones that were on her mother’s dress and delicate leaf-patterned lace appliques, and she was a sight to die for. As she walked slowly down the stairs, one hand on the banister, Emmett and Jasper took pictures fervently, documenting the entire moment. I saw Bella press her hand to her chest, eyes soft and adoring.

“Well, how do I look?” Nessie asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs, a half-smile on her face. Her soft bronze hair fell in long, spiral waves down her shoulders, and on her neck, she still wore the necklace she’d put on this morning. She spun around in a circle, indulging the attention we lavished on her, understanding that today would not have been such a significant event for us if not for her. Esme made me, Bella, and Nessie pose for pictures by the staircase, then on the couch in the front room, and then outside on the porch. After Esme was satisfied with the pictures of the three of us, Jasper and Emmett set up a tripod and took a photo with all nine of us in the front room, our latest family portrait. When the photoshoot was done, we all filed into our vehicles to make our way to school. Bella and Nessie rode with me in the Volvo, and my siblings rode in Rosalie’s M3.

We made it to the high school just in time, and even from the car, I could already hear the booming electronic dance music and the excited prattle of hundreds of human children crowded around in the school gym. I prepared myself for the barrage of human thoughts I would have to hear tonight; the only people Bella would shield here were our family. Although Bella could shield a roomful of people from me easily, I still needed to be on the lookout for any suspicious minds when we were in public like this. The three of us met the rest of my siblings at the doors to the gym and joined the throng of high schoolers, looking like they were having the time of their lives. Little did they know how many lethal supernatural creatures had just descended upon this party. If they knew, maybe they wouldn’t be so happy.

“Are you ready for your first—but definitely not last—prom, Carlie?” Emmett asked my daughter, grinning. Nessie went by her middle name at school to be less conspicuous. At first, Bella was greatly displeased by the necessity of this precaution, but she couldn’t deny the rationale. We stood out more than enough being newcomers in a small town like this one, with our sheer number, our wealth, our beauty, and our semi-frequent ‘family trips’ to avoid the sun.

“Time to dance the night away!” Nessie said, grinning back at her uncle. She bounded away from us to meet a couple of her classmates, two girls who reminded me of Bella’s human friends, not physically, but in their manner and thoughts. Ness didn’t have many friends, and we had started to worry that her only interaction with other living beings was isolated to her family, but she rarely found her human classmates interesting, and when she did, it was because she genuinely had something in common with them.

The girl who was like Jessica, a brown-haired girl named Lindsay, shouted over the loud music at Nessie in greeting. “Oh my God, look how gorgeous you are!” Jesus, she looks like she belongs in some runway show right now. I wonder what designer this dress is by? Probably cost a million bucks…. I kind of hate her. Lindsay’s thoughts were petty and vitriolic, and I resisted the urge to march over there and shield my daughter from the bitter girl. That would have done more harm than good, so I settled for rolling my eyes and whispering in my wife’s ear about the girl’s thoughts. It was gossipy and ungentlemanly, but I had to share the burden of being powerless to protect Nessie from a fake friend.

“Oh, that girl is in my English class,” Bella said, looking unsurprised. “I knew she was mean, but I liked her Shakespeare essays. Nessie thinks she’s smart.” I scoffed and tuned in to the other girl’s thoughts—Annie, a girl with short, pink-dyed hair who made me think of Angela. She greeted Nessie with a hug, and thought, Wow, she looks like a princess. I should ask her to take a selfie with me! My mom will be super bummed if I don’t take a lot of pics tonight…. Annie pulled out a smartphone, and the three girls smiled as the little device flashed and snapped their ‘selfies.’ And then they ran to the dance floor together, jumping and laughing to the music.

I stayed with Bella in a darkened corner, and we watched Renesmee enjoying herself. Occasionally, one of my siblings would pull us away and make us dance to the upbeat music, but neither of us were particularly fond of the DJ’s infernal choices. The DJ, a baby-faced young boy called Drew who had Spanish class with me, exclusively played EDM and bastardized remix versions of classic love songs. By the ninth EDM song in a row, I finally put my proverbial foot down and crashed the DJ booth on stage to bribe him with a fifty dollar bill so he would play a song of my choosing. The boy was astonished and could barely say anything back to me, but as I walked through the crowd to reach Bella again, Johnny Ace’s “Pledging My Love” started blaring through the loudspeakers. I took Bella’s hand as we walked to the middle of the dance floor, and once we were there, I pulled her close to me and led us in a slow, intimate dance.

“This is the most romantic song I know,” Bella whispered, her head resting on my chest as we swayed slowly in a circle.

I chuckled. “Once upon a time, in a very old and decrepit truck, this song came on the radio and provided an apt soundtrack for the most romantic day of my life. Do you still remember that?”

Bella lifted her head from my chest and looked up at me, her eyebrows knitted together playfully. “My God, thirteen years and you’re still hating on the truck? I think you’ve got some issues to sort out there, honey,” she said, her beautiful lips turned up in a smirk. Then her face became more earnest. “But of course I remember. That was one of the best days of my life, too.”

Her amber eyes looked so full of love, so full of sincerity, that I felt like falling to my knees. As a mature vampire, more than a decade after her transformation, she should have no more than a few blurry recollections of her human life. But Bella felt so strongly about me, about the memories we’d made, that she vehemently held on to our past, even as each day, each minute, and each second brought us further away from it. I kissed her, always trying to let her know how precious she was to me. The song was nearly over, and I sighed. I could have stayed there dancing with her forever and never need anything more.

“Smile, please!” I heard Renesmee say, Emmett’s Polaroid camera in her hand. She snapped a photo of us. Then she turned the camera around, sandwiched herself between her mother and I, stuck her tongue out goofily, and pressed the button on the camera to take a picture again. Bella laughed.

“Where did your friends go?” Bella asked. “I was starting to think you guys would never get tired of dancing together.”

“Oh, they went back to their dates,” Nessie said nonchalantly. “So I decided to annoy Uncle Em by taking his camera.” A folky, lullaby-like acoustic song was now playing through the speakers.

“Oh—I love this song so much!” Nessie gasped. “Please dance with me, Dad?” She whispered the last word to keep any humans from hearing.

How could I refuse her? “Of course, sweetheart.”

Bella smiled and took the camera and the Polaroids from Nessie, saying something about finding Emmett and his big red bag. I led my daughter in a slow dance around the crowd, her hands resting on my shoulders.

“You and Mom looked amazing dancing together like that,” Nessie said casually, but by the look on her face, I could feel how serious the conversation was going to be. “I know the story, Dad. I know everything you went through before you could get here. And I am so happy that it worked out for you. Seeing how much you love Momma, how much she loves you… it makes me never wanna settle for anything less than that.”

My brows furrowed. “Is that why you said no to the boys who asked you to be their date tonight? Because you don’t love any of them?”

We kept swaying to the music, and Nessie chuckled. “Kind of. It’s true I said no because I don’t feel a connection to any of them, but also because I didn’t want tonight to be about some stranger hanging out around our family. I wanted it to just be us, so we could be ourselves.”

My heart swelled. Nessie always thought of our family first. That wasn’t her responsibility, and we would’ve been all too happy to pretend to be human and normal for any prom date of her choice, but she thought of us first. She was so like her mother in some ways.

“What did you mean, then? About never settling for anything less?” I asked. Something about the way she’d said it worried me, made me feel as though there were insecurities underneath her positive tone that needed to be addressed.

She took a deep breath. “I just… I realized that real love like I’ve seen with you and Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Em and Aunt Rose, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Alice… it’s rare and it’s wonderful. And I think I would prefer waiting for a love where I could feel everything there is to feel rather than try to force something with anyone I’m not sure about. And I realize I could be waiting forever if I keep waiting for something perfect, but that’s the point, isn’t it? And I can’t imagine how I would ever find something like that. And that’s all right, I think.”

Renesmee’s words were full of conviction, and I started thinking about how, someday, the day would come when we would be dancing just like this—I would be in a tuxedo and she would be in a big white dress—at her wedding, for the father-daughter dance. Like her, I could not imagine yet the person she would marry, but I saw our family there. I saw Charlie desperately trying to ignore how our faces still remained unchanged. I saw Jacob, whom Renesmee considered her best friend, taking a break from managing his own auto repair shop to be there as her best man. It would be the happiest day of her life, just as how my wedding had been one of the happiest days of mine, and it saddened me that she couldn’t see herself finding that happiness one day. But I understood Nessie’s conclusions—or maybe more accurately, her fears—about not finding love. When I was still alone, I’d come to similar conclusions that the kind of happiness I saw in my family was simply not meant for me. Even when I’d found Bella, I always chose the saddest path, never daring to hope that I could have happiness with her forever.

“I admire your position about refusing to settle, Ness, because you deserve only the best. And I was just like you once. Before I found your mother, I never saw the point in pursuing relationships that I knew weren’t going to be meaningful. But you shouldn’t let yourself believe that you won’t find what you’re looking for.” I brushed a stray lock of curly bronze hair behind Nessie’s ear, hoping she could hear the honesty in what I was saying. “You know that for our kind, waiting through decades of being alone before finding who you’re meant for is more common than finding that right away….So please, don’t be so resigned. You are entirely too young to resign yourself to an eternity of being alone. It will work out, somehow,” I finished, echoing Esme’s confident words to Bella long ago when our relationship was at its very beginning.

Renesmee nodded, and I hoped my reassurances had lifted a little of the weight off her shoulders. I didn’t need to have Jasper’s gift for empathy to know that existing in both our world and the human world, not quite belonging in either, was a difficult thing to process. I didn’t know what the future held for my daughter—none of us did—but I looked forward to it with the same optimism my own parents had always had for me.

The acoustic ballad we were dancing to ended softly, and I escorted her away from the dance floor so we could rejoin our family.

“My feet kind of hurt,” Nessie complained as we found Bella sitting beside Rosalie on some folding chairs, but a smile was still bright on her face. She was having such fun tonight.

“Do you want to go home, baby?” Bella asked as Nessie dragged over another chair to sit down between Bella and Rose. Nessie rested her head on Rose’s shoulder, and Rose circled her arm around Nessie in a one-armed hug. “You’ve been dancing all night, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yeah, I think I wanna go home,” Ness said, sounding a little sleepy.

Suddenly, Lindsay and Annie appeared out of the crowd as an upbeat pop song started playing. “Carlie, come dance with us!” one of the human girls said.

Nessie perked up. “Wait, I love this song! Just one last!” she said enthusiastically, heading back to the dance floor with her friends. I shook my head, amazed at her energy. I sat down on the seat that Nessie had just vacated.

“We’re still a go for tomorrow, right, Rose?” I asked Rose discreetly. If the weather was safe enough for us to be out, we were going into the city tomorrow so Rose could help me pick out Nessie’s very first car. She learned how to drive when she was seven but always used the cars that belonged to the rest of the family. Now that she was going to college, she needed a vehicle to be able to get around on her own. Bella was coming with us, too, to be the voice of reason. Apparently, Rose was just as likely as I was to pick a car that Bella would deem—and this was her word—‘overkill.’ Rose only nodded in response, but I saw the corners of her mouth turn up a little.

We all watched as Nessie danced to one last song with her friends, and I could pick her lovely voice out of the babble of other noise as she sang along. “There’s a mountaintop that I’m dreamin’ of…. If you need me, you know where I’ll be!”

“She’ll call us constantly once she’s in college, right?” Bella asked me in an emotional whisper, looking at our daughter jumping up and down and singing with her friends. Since she became a vampire, I rarely thought of my wife as vulnerable anymore, but she looked vulnerable now. If our bodies were still capable of shedding tears, I wondered if she would be crying. Honestly, I realized I wanted to cry as well. Renesmee was ready to create her own life, and she needed us less and less every day. Years ago, I’d thought loving Bella was the greatest accomplishment of my life, the only good thing I would ever do. I’d thought that, after a hundred years of emptiness, loving Bella as thoroughly and as completely as I did was the strongest feeling I would ever experience. But Nessie—she proved those assumptions wrong, time and again. It was an honor to have raised her, and I knew Bella felt the same.

I held Bella’s hand and kissed her temple. “I’m sure she will, love. I’m sure she will.”

After a few moments, the song was over, and Nessie was saying her goodbyes to her friends. When she had made her way back to us, she cried, “My feet are killing me! Please never let me dance all night in heels ever again.”

Bella let out a short laugh. “It’s fine, baby. You can take off your shoes and your dad will carry you to the car.”

“Oh, bless!” she exclaimed. Bella laughed again. Nessie pulled off her heels, which Bella promptly carried for her, and our daughter let me lift her up in my arms. As we walked, Bella wrapped her arm around my waist. I glanced up at the night sky and saw the pale moon untrammeled by the usual gray clouds, bathing the high school parking lot in its ghostly light. It conjured up memories of a similar evening. Another prom night—Bella’s very first. I’d carried her in my arms just like this, and I remembered how desperate I’d been, how important it was for me that she did not miss her prom, in case her future children ever asked about it. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t have an empty story for them because of me. And here we were, thirteen years later, with the miracle of our own child in my arms, Bella’s arm around me. Not even the sweetest of my dreams could compare to the reality we lived in now. I stared at Bella’s face, wondering if her thoughts had taken the same turn mine had. She pressed a hand to her throat, remembering how I’d kissed her there that night. We shared a secret smile.

When we reached the car, Bella opened the door to the backseat, and I sat Ness gently down in the middle, making sure her limbs were in comfortable positions. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered, looking seconds away from succumbing to sleep. Bella got in beside her, and I sat in the driver’s seat to take us back home.

At moments like this, I still struggled to believe how I could have been given so much happiness, so much unadulterated joy that went beyond the ambit of anything I had ever dared to dream of for myself.

It felt like a reward I didn’t deserve. Maybe it was futile, looking for reasons when I knew I would get no answers. But in all my musings, the only conclusion I came to that made any kind of sense was that… it was because of Bella.

Because of Bella and her goodness, that rare kindness I saw only in her—she was why I was allowed all this happiness. And I was just the fool lucky enough to be in the range of her shining sun. Lucky enough to love her and be loved by her.

How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.

I looked back at them again, Nessie now sleeping soundly on Bella’s lap, and Bella absentmindedly twining her fingers through the mess of bronze curls fanned out on the soft fabric of her dress. “She’s dreaming,” Bella whispered. I could see Nessie’s hand on Bella’s arm, inadvertently letting Bella see the pictures she was swimming through in the land of her dreams.

I was sure that no words in any of the languages I knew could ever sufficiently reveal the feelings of peace and contentment that I felt, staring at them, the two halves of my heart, at ease in the backseat.

Bella caught me looking then, her golden eyes piercing through mine in the rearview mirror. She smiled, lowered her shields, and allowed me to hear one thought: I love you.

“I love you, too, Bella,” I whispered. I willed the past and the future that stretched out infinitely before us to give those words weight, seeming too simple and inadequate to convey the depth of what I felt.

No, I didn’t have the words that could tell Bella how grateful I was for her. For Renesmee. For our family. Perhaps I never would…. But that was fine. I had the rest of forever to try and find the words. Forever and forever and forever. I smiled and felt lighter than if my heart were not made of stone, and sped up the car to take us faster towards home.

[vampiresuns]

The Pretty Thing That Lives In The House Is Me | Reversed!Anatole Lore

✴︎ I never go here, because it is not likely for Anatole (given his personality) to lean towards reversed routes, however, if the world were to reverse, I do have some ideas about how it would affect Anatole.

He becomes almost solely dedicated to Vesuvia. His personal life becomes almost non-existent.

Changes in his appearance do not come from the Devil. While Anatole’s character deals a lot with power, the Devil isn’t the only source of it. He is supposed to eventually develop the claws of a raccoon and grow snake scale patches.

These changes come from striking occassional deals (for mental clarity) with both Strength and the Ace of Swords. However, and most importantly they do from his connection to Vesuvia itself.

In order to ‘save’ the City, get Valdemar out of it and cheat the Devil he used his language magic to change the canals, and with them, who Vesuvia’s endurance is tied to. The city canals are nothing but a glyph from the perspective of his magic, the Devil needed an extra heart, and he took his chance to steal from the Devil himself.

The shape of the City is scarred on his back because of it. It took several weeks to heal, and it almost gave his mother a heart attack. Speaking of his mother, Louisa is constantly occupied with Anatole’s physical health as the time passes, healing his scale-patches and making sure the wound in his back doesn’t re-open.

This is one of the reasons why even if the world in reverse acquires some sense of normalcy and life going on, he busies himself protecting Vesuvia and making sure it is safe: not only because of the nature of this changing world, but because you don’t often steal from the Devil and manage to gloat about it.

He almost died in the process of doing it, but he didn’t. It changed him, however.

He eventually becomes the scariest thing that lives in Vesuvia. To its People — the ones he has always sided with — he isn’t, he’s still their rising sun, their beacon of Hope, their lighthouse and reminder that Dawn comes. That the People don’t fear him, however, doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying. He’s too aware of what he can do, and is more willing to go to extremes, specially if you stand in his way or wish to bring Vesuvia harm.

Instead of the people-oriented Consul, he becomes more of a strategist-quartermaster.

Do not try his luck with him. The Devil has stolen everything from him: his future, his City, his hopes, his job, his life. Do not try him: it is a known fact Radošević grief manifests in anger. Deep down, he is full of rage and his sense of self-value is deeply tied to his capacity to keep Vesuvia afloat.

He knows everything that happens in Vesuvia, because Vesuvia is in his skin, and he means it literally. He becomes the heart of the City, by his own doing (which was not calculated) tied to it for at long as it exists, much like the soldiers trapped in the Coliseum in Portia’s route. While Nana might as well be some sort of Anti-Valdemar in a lot of themes, I can see him living forever and becomings his inhuman entity which only keeps an appearance of humanity. He protects humanity for the cost of his own.

At some point, centuries down ‘Aelius Anatole of Vesuvia’ becomes an urban legend, a myth or a cryptid if you will.

Every time he has to make a major change for the city or fix something that only magic can fix, he changes a little further. His scale patches never cover his whole skin but they always grow a little, or start to shed.

Perhaps one of the most heart-breaking aspects is that he cannot leave it. He can no longer go too far away from Vesuvia, which means he cannot visit his mother’s home country with her nor his own home country again. Ever. This does hurt him, greatly, and he lives in constant fear he’ll wake up one day and hate Vesuvia because of it, because if he hates Vesuvia he will turn against it, and if there’s no Vesuvia, there will be no him.

If you really wish to make it hurt a bit more, he has to bury everyone in his family eventually, because he will live as long as Vesuvia does.

[chiimmchiimm]

❝ 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓸𝓸𝓷 !¡ 𝒿𝓀 ❞

The largest herd on the entire East Coast would have a new leader. Qualities were of utmost importance to them, a good alpha had to possess a sense of justice and a beta woman to augment his legacy. Jungkook's parents had accepted their marriage since before he was born. The second strongest family, the Lightwoods, had a perfect beta daughter for their son. However, one night after an unexpected event, Jungkook decided to marry his youngest daughter. 

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔:  Jungkookwolf au x (female:Lucy)  𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: smut, wolf au, fluff, angst, one shot.  𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 16 k    𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18   𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: abuse, violence, , sadness, psychological abuse, dirty lenjuage, naked, muscles, mating, cumshot, bite, sex. 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: This is my first one shot of this theme I hope you enjoy it. If there is a lot of demand, maybe make another one with the member you choose most. 

Social pressure could be included within the determining factors for anyone to lose their reason, their own identity. Jungkook always considered himself a strong person, both physically and mentally. His education had been one of the best in town, the most neat and disciplined so that I could deal with any problem that might arise. Being the firstborn of an Alpha family was not easy, he lived constantly under the rules, absurd duties and constant dialogues about loyalty.

In Dyonisia, everyone envied him, and for that reason, he always walked alone. He did not like people, he did not like to make friends for convenience, to feel like a sample object to flatter their families. He preferred to sink under his father's extensive library, though he never said no to a walk on the Hun River.

That morning, his father had practically forced him to get out of those four walls, breathe air, take a bit of color, inviting him to interact with the other betas or omegas in town. He had only built a small friendship with a beta, Jimin, the son of his father's assistant, a very brief relationship just by spending good morning, but Jungkook found it pleasant. Perhaps it was her sympathy and the kind smile that she gave her mother every time she brought her hot chocolate. He used to watch those scenes from a porch seat with a book on his lap and another cup to go with. He never got too close, fearing the same rejection as the same betas of his kind. They were supposed to respect him (or at least that's what they did in public) but they never missed an opportunity to denigrate his taste for loneliness, to process low words towards his low weight and unattractiveness. This was her childhood, subjected to constant ridicule that seemed endless.

So when Jungkook culminated in the hormonal process of puberty, his alpha genetics came out in the way his muscles protruded above all those scrawny betas. At twenty-two, he possessed all the qualities necessary to be the new Alpha Chief.

I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with rich natural oxygen. He had always loved the wild smell of pine leaves, the crisp sound of boots as he stepped on dry leaves. Feeling comfortable, he gave himself the pleasure of stretching his shoulders to remove all the accumulated tension, placing a hand on his shoulder to massage the neck area.

He dragged his boots down a small slope of land to approach the shore and touch the crystal clear water, he needed to get drunk from that cold and wet feeling left by the river.

It stopped mid-slope when I hear a couple of voices below.

"What's wrong?" It echoed, a thick, coarse voice with an ironic air. A man of medium height with strong arms and a broad back covered by a white tank top. He seemed to be talking to someone but his physiognomy was so robust that it completely covered him. His shoulders fell serene but the tension was palpable in the muscular contraction of his back. —Come on, darling, you're my girlfriend, you love me, I love you, what do others matter?

“I love you, I'm just not ready to go to those kinds of contacts, sorry.”

"But why not?"

Jungkook analyzed his tired tone, shrewdly deducing that it was not the first time that he had insisted. Then, the boy supported the weight of his body with one leg, discovering with this small act, the body of a girl with whom he spoke so uncomfortable. Slowly her eyes widened with involuntary emotion. She felt chills, the movement of her brown hair against the wind seemed unreal, so soft and fluffy that it caused inhuman impulses to touch it. Big, expressive eyes that screamed what he thought: discomfort and some fear. Letting herself be tamed by sudden curiosity, she began to explore her sweet, perfect features, brown skin, small nose, and prominent natural red lips. It seemed like a beam of light in so much darkness, it really was beautiful. A scent of honey rose from her developed nose, an aroma so exquisite that she had to close her eyes briefly to calm the excited red of her irises. "My love, nobody will know, only you and me.I am giving you an option so that you do not have to pass your fever with those harmful drugs.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows as surprise hit his facial control. Outraged by his low propositions, he frowned. I calculate that he must have been the same age, therefore, it seemed unheard of to him, considering that he did not seem stupid, that he did not know the serious consequences of such acts. He growled, his toes curling inside his shoes. He showered her with loving flattery whenever he could, yet there was something about his insistence that had him truly concerned. He talked to her about mating as if it was just about sex. That act links two people for life, though, only if the male wants. There was something about the way his fists clenched that prompted his instincts to think he was not to be trusted. He could smell the urge from there, a smell so rotten that his mouth suddenly wrinkled. Jungkook tilted his head to the side to examine his distressed expression, hurt by his little collaboration.

"I have said no."

A smile escaped Jungkook's lips without realizing it.

"But Lucy ..."

Her words stayed in the air when she noticed that the girl caught Jungkook's presence. I swallow hard, her expressive eyes staring at him in panic. The boy turned with his hands on his hips, then raised his eyebrows contemptuously at Jungkook. Quite nervous, Jungkook slid down the slope.

"Didn't they teach you not to listen to private conversations, asshole?"

"Tony, let him."

The boy looked at Lucy abruptly.

"What did I leave him? He could tell your parents about us. This jerk might not have good intentions ..."

"Like the ones you have with her?" He growled, his inner wolf shaking its tail eager to get out. For tearing everything in his canines with his canines. He was sure that the vein in his neck had made its appearance, he felt the blood rise suddenly and collect on his head. Lucy stared at him too shocked, then ducked her head in embarrassment, closing her brown eyes. Jungkook didn't want to make her feel bad, damn it, he should have controlled her tone. Her beautiful hair covered her face with such tender grace. How could someone as sweet as her date someone so hypocritical?

"What have you said?"

"What you listen."

"Give up for dead ..."

Lucy put her hands on his chest to stop him.

"Not here," she pleaded, her eyes set on the ground.

The boy shook his body violently and then roared.

The discussion did not get worse because a group of young betas appeared to camp at the foot of the river. Children who laughed tirelessly until they saw the two wolves pulling their teeth out and roaring intensely at each other. Jungkook was forced to calm down and reticulate for the sake of that foolish beta, he could not, rather, he should not. If his father found out that on his first outing, after so long, he had killed off a dead beta, he would be in real trouble. Everyone knew the difference between beta and alpha strength, it wouldn't have cost Jungkook to destroy him, but it wasn't the right thing to do. He returned to his home and sank into the safety of his room. He slept, ate and breathed thinking of those expressive clear eyes.

Located at the foot of a picturesque cabin where the vines climbed the walls emitting a smell of wet leaves from the recent storm. Today was the great day, that one, in which his role as future leader would consolidate, he would take the privilege of meeting his future wife and in the worst case, the mother of his cubs. His mother was almost as nervous as he was as he tried to calm himself down with exaggerated vents. He was convincing himself that it was the best choice. Her father rang the bell with searing assurance.

"Thanks for coming, Joe," said a robust man thanking him for his visit, Jungkook assumed he was responsible for the family. His mother entered first, giving him a nod in greeting, she did not like the contact very much. At a quick glance I notice Jungkook's presence. "Come on in." Is waiting for you.

His future wife.

Your future Alpha.

He nodded resignedly.

She felt a real desire to back down, to return home with some excuse to excuse her sudden flight. However, I end up entering that cozy house. The commitment was something that had always been in force throughout his life, his father kept reminding him how important it was to find the right partner, how essential it was to get someone with good genetics for the litter. But he was never in favor of arranged marriages, he was never in a hurry to establish love relationships. He always thought that fate would be in charge of introducing him to what would be his alpha, but that was just an absurd wish. Since he turned fifteen and hit the first stretch, his father had been in charge of reminding him, every day until today, that his destiny had been decided.

Enveloped by the pleasant heat of the living room. The house was not very big but enough for them. Sometimes those were the best, since a small house with interactions was better than a huge one where ghosts flooded around the corners.

She left her coat on the polished coat rack in the hall, then headed into the living room. He quickly approached the fireplace to take refuge in the crackling wood as it was burned by the fire.

"Carina, daughter, come down. Your fiance has arrived!"

Jungkook stood by the fireplace while he waited. The sound of heels began to echo down the steps. He raised his head as a new scent filled the room, his nose was suffocated by too intense a perfume. It was not annoying, without going any further, but too excessive. Her nose wrinkled in response. His sense of smell was so muffled that he soon began to crave oxygen.

"I was getting ready, mother," she said, in a charming voice.

Jungkook stifled a brief sigh as his eyes closed. Then he turned around and greeted her with a kiss on the hand. Without much more to say, his skin was overly lubricated and flavored with some artificial citrus from some body cream. I take his small bow as a greeting to tour the girl's body. The dress reached to the ankles where high-heeled shoes stood out with pride. The vermilion color with touches of bows matched a small belt. The dress was wide at the bottom, being narrower at the waist area, accentuating it. Then, I look at the artificial details of her makeup, her red lips highlighted by a lipstick, recently, by how fresh they looked. He had to control the movement of his eyebrows to avoid frowning, the girl was beautiful in itself, she did not need as much makeup. He liked natural appearances more like his mother or that girl on the river.

"Nice to meet you..."

"Carina," she added, quickly with a desperation that covered with a sporadic laugh.

Jungkook replied with a small grimace of politeness. Actually, I was tense.

"Where's your sister, darling?" Asked his mother under his breath. The girl shrugged contemptuously as if she wouldn't mind. Jungkook looked away awkwardly, they were talking in front of him like he wasn't.

"Sorry for being late ..."

Lucy ended her hasty career the moment her large eyes saw the figure of Jungkook occupying half of the room. Being totally paralyzed by the impression. Jungkook, who had recognized that voice, turned in his direction, also opening his eyes in surprise. Lucy closed her mouth as fast as she could, nerves beginning to dominate her movements. Both of them looking at each other in total surprise until their sister stood between them.

“Shall we go to the table?” She suggested, a little annoyed at his extreme attention to his sister.

Jungkook reacted, accepting a little disoriented that he would place an arm inside his forearm.

The couple walked to the table, however, there was a moment when Carina looked back to cast a teasing glance at her sister. Lucy rolled her eyes at his childish behavior.

"I was a little nervous because I didn't know how you were going to react. Really, this is crazy. Arranged marriage ..."

Carina talked and talked but he had lost himself in his thoughts shortly after the start of this conventional conversation. Sitting in front of his parents, with her at his side talking to him about anything he didn't even bother to hear. He hadn't yet touched the suckling pig meat that Mrs. Trivia had so skillfully cooked. His mother was talking to his mother, his father was talking to the other about some topic related to hunting, leaving poor Lucy behind, who was playing with the chicken leg with her fork at the other end of the table. He pursed his lips in a pout as he spun the food lost in his world. She felt boredom and a little angry at her mother for forcing her to attend these kinds of meetings. They didn't even get along with their sister, they were totally opposite. Carina was more flirtatious and concerned about much more "feminine" matters (at least that's what she called housework), Lucy was much more adventurous, carefree, she was a ray of sun molten in hope that exuded happiness for her radiant smile. She raised her eyes from the plate when she felt watched. Jungkook averted his gaze as soon as he rested hers on him.

Feeling even more out of place when she unconsciously watched her sister's hand cling to her strong bicep.

His mother was totally focused on a lively conversation with Jungkook's mother, so much so that when the brunette got up and sneaked out the back door, no one noticed her absence.

Holding between his small fingers his large planted chicken leg.

"Dog, I'm bringing you ..."

An excited bark came out from behind a trash can when the stray dog ​​she cared for behind her mother's back, ran at her in desperate gallops. With his tongue hanging out and his eyes drowning in hunger. Lucy, laughing, crouched down and set the plate down for the poor animal to feast on. The dog did not think twice and eagerly put the ozico in. A mixture of saliva and leftovers of meat began to fall on top of his shoes, he did not care too much, he increased the level of his laughter while he filled his head with caresses.

"Why did you run away?"

Frightened by such a compromising scene, Lucy spun back. When she met Jungkook's worried gaze she placed a hand on her chest and sighed in relief.

"You can't run away from a place you never were," he declares, his so ambiguous little confession decreasing in pitch as he turns back to the animal. He repeatedly pats his head as he watches his little fight with the larger area. Jungkook bows his head. He analyzes her curiously, a feeling similar to what she feels for him.

"Sorry," he whispers. Jungkook stops looking at the animal, directs his frown at her while undoing the smile that he doesn't know when he's formed. "This morning. Tony's."

-Why do you apologize? It wasn't your fault. ”Confused, he intensifies the wrinkle on his forehead.

"For not respecting you, Alpha. If I had known that ..."

"Stop justifying an apology," he replies, through an excessively abruptness. Lucy ducks her head in shame hidden under her long hair. Jungkook begins to feel remorse when he smells his sadness with his experienced sense of smell. So weak and fragile. He does not know how to react, it is the first time that he is in front of a woman and the dumbness reigns, the words have simply been stuck at the beginning of his throat.

Lucy raises her head.

"Do not."

Its softness shakes you.

"It's a stray dog ​​that I take care of behind my mother ... Please don't tell him!"

"Is very..."

"Pathetic, I know."

"No." he clarifies. Lucy expands her eyes to him. "It is an honorable gesture."

Lucy's cheeks are bathed in rich lipstick when their gazes collide for a brief moment.

"Thank you very much sir."

Jungkook wrinkles his nose.

"What's that, sir? But how old are you?"

"I'm twenty-one, sir."

"For God's sake, don't call me sir reminds me of my father." Far from looking like an order, his pleasant laugh relaxes the situation.

Lucy gets caught up in the alluring sound of his voice, taking a few seconds to contemplate the hectic movement of her lips as she laughs. Jungkook intensifies his smile when he realizes it. She deflects hers drowning in a shame marked by the red of her ears.

"Call me by name, Jungkook."

"I'm so excited about decorating the banquet. I love roses, do you like roses as much as I do? I like the red of their petals it's so intense ... Oh, oh, over there!" Screaming excited when visualize from afar a wildflower stand. Catch Jungkook's doll to drag him towards the small traveling shop. There was so much fuss in the main square that you didn't notice the reverberating sound the song made of your tired sigh produced. He keeps thinking about how uncomfortable he is, he should help his father with the affairs of the town and not there, in a square choosing what would be the perfect flower for the center of his wedding table.

Two weeks had passed since that dinner, nothing had changed in his cold demeanor. Try as she might, she knew Carina was not his type. His heart did not stir when he touched it, nor did its aroma captivate him, it seemed the same as the rest of the omegas or betas in the surroundings.

"Jungkook."

Jungkook was aware of his claim hidden in a small grimace.

"Which ones do you like best?"

Carina reached out toward the flower trays.

"Do I really have to be here?" He asked, frowning roughly. Carina clenched her teeth, highlighting her jaw. Jungkook rolled his eyes at the sight of his little tantrum. Being a little nicer, I try to fix it in a quiet whisper. "I mean, I trust your taste."

Carina felt flattered, relaxing into a huge smile.

"I have to help my father. See you later."

He got out of there before Carina wanted to give him a suffocating hug. He adored them, he really missed the comforting warmth he felt when someone close hugged him, but he couldn't bear the excessive way his hands tightened around her neck.

A most peculiar brown mane drew his attention to the well-known girl who was reading in a street vendor.

He approached by an unconscious impulse that he offered to his lips with an excited smile.

“What are you doing?” He leaned down to whisper directly into the shell of her ear in greeting.

Lucy closed the book in fright. Suffering a chill from the wet friction of his lips on the skin.

When he bent his neck, he smiled.

"Are you following me, Jungkook?"

"Maybe," he joked, as he widened a mischievous smile. Lucy had to go back to the book so that she wouldn't witness the emotion of hers. Jungkook leaned over the stall ledges to steal his attention. "I came with Carina to buy some things for the wedding."

A prick-like pain seemed to hit his heart.

"It must have been exciting for you to have practically run out of the flower shop."

“Were you watching me?” She asked mockingly, exaggerating a playful smile.

"Maybe."

Jungkook was the faithful image of happiness. He couldn't stop smiling, unlike when he was with his sister, with Lucy he could bring out his personality, knowing that he would never judge him.

"Violent pleasures end in violence and have their own death triumph, in the same way that fire and gunpowder are consumed in a voracious kiss." I recite almost from memory when I look down at his book. Lucy turned her neck to him with too much surprise in her eyes. Jungkook replied with a proud grin. "Romeo and Juliet." I didn't think you were a lover of literature.

"It's the best way to get out of here getting lost in the exciting lyrics of Shakespeare," he replied, forming a small smile.

"Of all the works you have, why that one?" It is a tragedy with a very sad ending.

"An inspiring tragedy," he contradicted, frowning as he playfully punched him with the book in the stomach. "Besides representing a beautiful love story."

"Do you think such love exists?"

Jungkook raised a curious eyebrow.

"Yes, but not for me," I whisper, a cold and bleak air crowding into his tone like it's a disease. Jungkook slowly broke his beaming smile until he ended in a straight line. "My destiny is written and as traditions agree, I will end up marrying a stranger."

Lucy leaves the book inside a wooden box, the movement of her hand is so pessimistic that Jungkook lets out a sigh.

Frowning, she retrieves it. He put two fingers up to catch the grocer's attention, he came as fast as his old legs allowed. Jungkook took out a bill and placed it on top of the books.

"Keep the change."

Lucy opened her eyes in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

Jungkook offered her the book but she did not accept it. She was still holding a tense, reluctant posture toward him.

"Can't I give you a gift?"

"It is not appropriate. You are a committed man."

"With your sister."

Lucy's heart clenched.

"Still, it's not appropriate."

"Keep him."

As if he were a puppet at his whim, he managed to get the book into his arms.

"But..."

"Accept it as a sign of our friendship," he asked, Jungkook manifested his last masterpiece when he gave her a smile so charming that even Lucy was duped. "Friends make gifts, right?"

"Yes, I guess so."

He hated the pressure of the elegant shirts, he had always liked the comfort that loose and wide clothing provided much more. His mother had forced him to dress cordably on the occasion, when she had seen him in those jeans and black sweatshirt, he cursed the four winds.

As he walked down the streets of the town, the lanterns guided him with a charming light. The air that night was cool and comforting, and yet he would be locked in a house dining with his future wife. Jungkook sighed tired, really, he had been visiting that house too many times a week, he saw Carina almost every day. The only amusement that made this bustle more enjoyable was the pleasant company of Lucy. That little beta that made him smile every time they spoke. An impatient sigh came from his lips without realizing it.

Would it also be today?

"Ahead."

Mrs. Trivi opened the door for him with a smile.

Jungkook was looking resignedly at the table set in the living room when a delicious smell led him to the kitchen.

"Mmm ... that smells good."

He smiled like a little boy when he saw a chocolate cake in the middle of the table.

"Get your filthy hands away from my chocolate cake!" Cried an uncompromising voice that he had instantly recognized.

"Just a bit." Fawning smiled as he stretched out one of his hands but Lucy slapped him.

"Not!"

Immediately they both laughed as Lucy tenderly took her hand to analyze the red mark. There was a time when the laughter stopped and his eyes couldn't be more attracted. They fell into comfortable silence as they analyzed his detailed pupils. Jungkook cocked a small smile as his heart began to crash against his chest. Lucy looked away in intimidation, her dark eyes too deep. I swear for a moment to hear the heart fluttering in Lucy's chest, her scent so close it was starting to cause terrible side effects. He felt a shiver as his fingers left her wrist in need of the desire for her soft touch. Lucy swallowed to calm the dryness in her throat, her lips taking control of her mouth to smile unconsciously. He knew he kept staring at her and he inexplicably liked that. 

Jungkook found himself half a step away when the door slammed shut.

"Jungkook wasn't expecting you so soon. I've missed you ..."

Lucy was brutally pushed aside when Carina hugged Jungkook.

"Are you going to stay for dinner?" A totally ironic question to his sister.

Lucy smiles falsely.

"If you talk to me like that, yes."

"Stupid ..."

"Actually, I'm only here to pick up some of your father's papers." Jungkook's clever intervention gives him the perfect excuse to refrain from that absurd evening. Carina ironically raises her eyebrows while transforming a forced smile.

"Oh! In that case come, I'll take you to his office."

Lucy mocks her sister's back, imitating her gait, and Jungkook laughs softly when he turns to say goodbye.

The sun was shining bright that morning but the desire to get lost in the pages of a book had really won the battle. Her father's office was an intimate and private place where he used to spend most of the day. Besides, she preferred to shut herself up in that rustic and solitary room, than to have to endure the excited screams of her sister for the few days that remained for her wedding.

He was turning the pages of the book too lazily. He didn't know what was going on inside her but for a while he had been in rather poor humor. He no longer wanted to smile, he rarely laughed at his father's jokes when there had been from the first syllable before. He made cheap excuses, whether it was because the summer was ending or because his parents no longer paid as much attention to him. Deep down, he knew what the real reason for his emotional downturn was. Jungkook was going to marry his sister's monster.

The problem was not commitment (or at least that's what he wanted to think) Jungkook was a very attractive young man, it was more than clear that he would not stay single all his life, but the fact that he went with his sister definitely put him in a very bad mood . She was capricious and did not agree with her friend's kind attitude. So sweet and chivalrous, he couldn't deny how good he felt when sporadic moments passed. Her chest heaved uneasily and her lips couldn't stop smiling.

He shook his head to scare away the strange thoughts and concentrated his attention on finishing Cervantes' great work. When finishing with the last page, he got up from the chair and walked to the shelf, with the bad luck that when he wanted to return it to its place of origin, the height played a trick on him.

“Do you need help?” A velvety voice vibrated behind her. Jungkook leaned his shoulder against the mark of the door as he contemplated the amusing scene of seeing her on tiptoe and with her tongue sticking out.

"What?"

Lucy landed on the ground momentarily stunned by his appearance. Swallow, overwhelmed by its natural beauty. He had never felt the need to focus on the bodies of the other betas, and yet his eyes wandered alone on an involuntary tour of her majestic legs in tandem with his strong arms clenched as they crossed. Coming out of her hypnosis, she blinked nervously as she turned back to the bookshelf and managed to cover her blush. What happened to him? It looked like a beta controlled by her impulses.

"Oh! No, I can alone," rejecting her help with a self-sufficient air. He stood on tiptoe again, stretching his arm as far as he could to strain the book into the empty space. She lowered to the ground tired and snorted closing her eyes. "Okay. Can you ..."

A hand runs over her shoulder, catching the book and setting it in place. His hard pecs collide unintentionally against his back as his body leans forward to reach the high shelf. Feel an intense stomach cramp when you shrink at the compact sensation. She seems so moved by the pleasant sensation of his body heat that her neck turns to increase the vision of her strong arm backing up.

"Thanks ..." he whispers.

"I had brought you a book."

Jungkook's voice sounds more stable than it actually was, his mind had played a bad thought on him. He didn't want to get away from her. She had felt such a pleasant sensation when she had accidentally brushed against his body. Forcing himself to stay away from its delicious smell he takes two steps back to walk away.

"You didn't have to with the book the other day ...”

Lucy turns around when she is sure that the redness on her cheeks has completely left her skin but then, Jungkook takes out a book from his cloth bag.

"Oh, my mother, my mother!" I do not believe you. I've been looking for this book every time Mel put the job but always told me she didn't have it.

He snatches the book from her with too exciting speed when he recognizes the book.

“Since when do you like witchcraft, Jungkook?” He hums mockingly as he glides his fingers across the uneven surface of the cover, in a hypnotized smile.

"If you don't want it ..."

“Yes, yes!” She hugs the book, afraid she will take it away.

Jungkook laughs softly.

Lucy takes the book off to look at it, jumps with excitement as she squeals like a little girl. She doesn't know when she has dared to run to his body to hug him, but when she is aware of what she has done and tries to separate herself, Jungkook is wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Suddenly, Lucy hides a smile sinking into her chest. Its honey scent is so comfortable, it inspires enjoying its natural perfume, it takes a step closer to make a better hole in its arms. Jungkook gasps, tilts his head to bury his nose in her neck and bask in her softness, his fingers lightly touching the skin behind her ear. Her small caress makes Lucy stir at the sensation. With an innate craving he clenches his wool sweater in a fist, Jungkook gently caresses the strip of fur again. Smile when you feel the trembling of your body stuck.

"Shall I interrupt?"

Lucy separates agitated when she hears her sister's irritated voice.

"Thank you, really, thank you."

His stuttering is covered by the sound of his hurried footsteps. He runs away from there with his face burning, hoping that Jungkook hasn't seen the shame on his face, but both he and Carina have witnessed his little blush. Jungkook smiles unconsciously, caring little that his behavior was being observed by the other woman.

"Carina, you are beautiful."

Flaunting her majestic dress she waves her hand proudly. His other hand is in a friendly greeting with Jungkook's mother.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Jeon."

"Nothing formal, after all, we will be family soon." Her confidence makes Carina smile with greatness. Completely ignoring his parents and his bored sister. — I can't believe my son is getting married in a week.

Lucy purses her lips, tries to act normally but cannot.

Carina widens her smile when she notices her sidelong disgust.

"Neither do I ... I'm so nervous."

Jungkook's mother turns to a circle of men who speak animatedly.

"Jungkook, son, your fiancee just arrived!"

Jungkook slammed his glass down, placed it on top of the waiter's tray, then loosened the knot in his tie. Really, he had infiltrated the older wolves to hide, had had to put up with old stories of when the pack was a third of what it was now, but it was worth it to get away even for a few minutes.

An old man she had been talking to slaps him on the shoulder for support. He sighs and turns to his mother. He tries to process a charming smile on his girlfriend but is only capable of grimacing.

"These..."

He shuts up.

He sees Lucy a few meters behind, clad in a short but really delicate dress. Jungkook couldn't contain the bubbles of emotion growing inside her, she really was beautiful. The white color suited him wonderfully highlighting his pretty eyes that did not hesitate to observe him.

"Precious..."

"Thanks," Carina responds, taking a quick look at her mother.

"What a boring party." Is this what they call music? ”Her friend scoffed as she played with the liquid in her glass. Lucy shrugged, then finished her third drink. When he threatens to leave her on the small table behind him, Ginger grabs her shoulders to stop her. "Don't turn around."

"What happens?"

Lucy frowns in concern.

"Would you believe me if I told you that your sister's fiancé did not take his eyes off you?"

"Of course not." He chokes on the alcohol when he swallows. You cough when you notice how the drink is going the wrong way. — You should stop drinking because alcohol makes you see things that are not.

"Yeah right."

Red-brushed nails are embedded around his arm.

“May I have a second, I want to talk to my sister?” She demands, lashing out in an unkind tug until she pulls her out of prying eyes.

"Ouch! What are you doing?" Lucy moans in a confused howl from the strangely aggressive pressure that travels through her fingers.

"You've been taunting Jungkook all night."

"You're sick in the head," she clarifies, denying herself absorbed in an incredulous expression, sucking her lips inward to contain herself. She decides to ignore him and walk back to the living room, however, her sister's hand returns her to her place.

"I warn you, stop bothering my fiancé."

"Your ego has gone to your head and your understanding is clouded." Jungkook is my friend, nothing more.

"You're right," he spits bitterly. She smiles, she wears an evil grimace that only anticipates what will come next. —Really, I don't know why I bother if it's clear that she would never notice someone like you.

"Like me?"

"Yes." He tightens his smile, emphasizing a wicked look. "In an immature and horrendous brat who doesn't have two fingers on her forehead, you're not even pretty."

Sigh, release his breath directly to her face to unbalance her. Lucy frowns in pain at her sister's hurtful words. He had always been cruel, he had never lacked time to mess with his appearance, but this time it was different, he sensed it in the way he acted. He had pulled out his claws to defend his position as if he felt Lucy was a threat when he had just told her otherwise.

"You're worth nothing."

He moved closer to her ear so that his whisper would take on a dramatic tone. She emphasized the last word to make it stand out from the rest. Lucy swallowed nervously, a swirl of anguish crouching inside her stomach from the lack of delicacy. She knew that she shouldn't listen to her, she was just a hurt woman for some reason that she couldn't explain. But it was the derogatory tone and the way his eyes killed her in anger. She didn't know that it hurt more, if her sister's slurs or the fact that deep down she knew she was right. I never considered myself a good specimen, haughty and pushy. No beta approached her if it weren't for sweet reasons. She always walked alone waiting for someone to surprise her, but that never happened, it only existed in her head.

Until now.

"Lucy." An oddly low voice sounded behind him. Startling her by sudden interruption of her thoughts. She turns around and twitches a weary sigh.

"Tony, I'm not in the mood. Go, please."

"We need to talk."

Lucy inevitably stared out the window, seeing her sister hanging on Jungkook's arm. She was smiling as she bragged about something she couldn't hear from a distance. As if struck by a current, Jungkook squinted into the darkness of the porch, but there was no one there anymore. Her desire to get out of there was greatly increased by accepting that Tony will guide her down the dark steps at the back of the house.

“Haven't we gotten too far away?” He asks, not stopping to observe everything that had a little moonlight reflected on its surface. It had been a while since they had started on this walk, Tony had been silent and certainly, Lucy was beginning to wonder if accepting his offer had really been a good idea.

"It's so they won't listen to us."

"I think that's enough, I don't even know where we are."

She stopped abruptly causing Tony to turn and look at her strangely.

"Lucy, forgive me."

—Tony, we've already talked about this, you aspire to things that I don't. We don't have the same goals, the same dreams. We were always different, now I realize how wrong I was to accept that this happened.

"But what are you saying?" You love Me.

"No, Tony. I liked you but I never loved you. "I confess, the words had been previously selected in his head so as not to reject him too abruptly, but the fatigue was cleverly perceived between his tired grimace and lowered shoulders." Sorry, "I sigh. Taking steps carefully so as not to trip over the dark stones.

His hand tied to her arm holding her back.

"We need to talk," I pronounce slowly with a bright threat in his eyes.

"We've said enough," he said, shivering from the nerves that covered his vision. He shook his arm but he just cocked his fingers more. "Tony, let go of me I have to go back."

"You love me," he repeated in a desperate air. Lucy widened her eyes in fright as she took painfully slow steps toward him. "I'm going to show you how much I love you."

He yanked her onto the nearest log just to adjust to her body as soon as he had the chance. Her nose inspired his perfumed scent eagerly as she trembled paralyzed. His nails embedded in the rough wood with a disturbed look. He began to deliver small kisses to the bottom of her jaw, sticking out his sticky tongue to lick a strip of her syrupy neck. Lucy shrugged her head in response, feeling the real fear when his hands clenched her and she felt his hard erection on her thigh.

"My precious beta ..." her breath falling into the shell of her ear before she licked it with emphasis. Lucy patted her chest desperately, attacking with her hands in an absurd attempt to pull him away.

“Stop!” I yell, sick and scared. Holding back an anguished sob at the top of her throat. All she did was get Tony to growl and hold her tighter in his lumberjack arms.

"Don't scream, no one is going to listen to you, we're in the middle of nowhere. Don't make this more difficult, Lucy."

He hit his body again this time making it at least a few inches apart. He sank his body into the crisp wood of the tree groaning in pain as he felt loose strands dig into his back.

"Let me go, I promise I won't tell anyone," I plead, opening my teary eyes so that he will change his mind, that being his breaking point.

"Damn it, I just want to convey to you how much I love you so hard it is to understand!" If you don't want to understand it the good way then the bad way it will be… ”A hand went up to wrap the column of his neck and thus keep his face free for him. He smiled, pulling his teeth out in a sharp smile. Lucy kicked when she buried her mouth in his neck, she knew what she would do when she felt the fangs in her neck.

"No ..." she sobbed.

A furious roar echoed through every space in the forest. So furious and scandalous that Tony caught a glance before falling to the ground pushed by strong arms. Lucy slid down the tree, killing her bent legs. Her hand covered her neck still feeling the edge of her fangs.

Another furious roar.

Lucy tore her gaze from the dried leaves to find a scene too terrifying. Jungkook hitting with all his fury the face buried in the earth of Tony. Flipping him violently with each punch. Fixing a bloodshot gaze, pulling out the fangs at each lunge. He tried to get up but his knee failed, he had to lean on the trunk not to collapse.

"Jungkook," I whisper weak. Not abandoning that fear that I still felt. Jungkook looked up from Tony's badly injured body to look at her with concern. His eyes darting to the hand covering his neck. He got up as fast as he could and approached her too nervously.

"Are you okay? Has that motherfucker done anything to you?" He growled, the vein in his neck sticking out at every word. His breathing hitched at his chest but he didn't seem to mind. With too much tenderness he uncovered his neck to see two red marks but without going deep. He sighed, feeling relieved and selfishly good. Lucy welled up tears at his pitiful gaze. She buried her head in his chest to calm her sobs. Jungkook stroked her head slowly. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving you alone."

"Where could it be?" Has he come home? ”Her father asked in an anguished tone as he wandered around the empty room.

"Lucy would never leave without telling us." Her worried mother assured her to try to calm her husband's uncomfortable hustle a little.

Carina rolls her eyes.

"Please, you're putting on too much of a drama, he's always sneaked out of ..."

Jungkook's mother's outrageous heels stormed in.

Behind her husband walks with a long face.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” Her mother added in a panic attack. It was not common for her son to leave the party in the middle of a conversation. She had been worried since she saw him leave in a hurry.

The glass opening was what twitched the nerves of everyone present. Immediately everyone turned in alarm to find a Jungkook with his shirt stained with mud. His mother covered her amazed mouth when the poor and trembling Lucy appeared behind him with her tousled dress and red neck. But undoubtedly, what caught the most attention was the boy that Jungkook so skillfully dragged by his mother's velvet carpet.

"Lucy! OMG, what happened?"

Her mother ran to wrap her daughter in her arms, who soon began to cry when she felt the heat of the home again.

"This jerk has tried to take her into the woods," Jungkook roared into the air. Wrinkling her nose when the memory of him trying to mark her came magically to knock her good pose down. He released his shirt causing it to drop straight to the floor, the drool hanging and his mouth bloody as he lay dying on the fluffy carpet.

"He?"

Her mother grabbed her shoulders to inspect the mark on her neck.

"No." I assure, licking my lips so I can speak. "Jungkook was on time, Mom."

The woman sighed in relief.

"Thank heaven."

"That happens to you for being anybody," her sister accused in a too despicable tone. Her father turned shocked to his daughter.

"Carina, please, that comment is too much!"

"Tomorrow everyone will know what happened tonight." He pointed coldly at his sister as if it wouldn't affect him. His mother immediately looked at Jungkook's mother, who looked down at the dying individual in her living room.

"I'll try not to talk about it much, but you know what the rumors are like."

"No one will want to marry her," Carina commented in a low whisper that did nothing more than hide her inner joy.

"I will do it."

Everyone watched Jungkook's jaw drop. Everyone except Lucy who had frozen in her mother's arms, sticking her head out to look at him too shocked.

"It is a solution," he commented to his father in an attempt to convince him. Mr. Jeon seemed to think about it as he placed a finger on his chin and turned to seek his wife's approval.

"But are you listening to each other?" What kind of mental dementia makes you think it's a good idea? Do not!

“Carina!” Her mother said in a dominant cry. The girl opened her mouth as she exhaled fire from anger. Heading towards Jungkook so that he could convey his agony.

"It's her problem she has gotten into." I understand that you want to help her but there are many ways.

"It is my decision, father."

Sitting with her hands on her knees as she watched her mother's reflection travel across the room.Combed with a tousled braid that ran down the right side of her shoulder. Looking back into that mirror, she thought that perhaps this would be the last time she could feel the warm relaxation of her space. She tried not to cry so as not to ruin the makeup so exquisite that her mother had taken the time to do it.

He couldn't find the exact words to describe how he felt. Nerves had indeed taken the form of lingering chills. He always assured his crazy and dreamy person that the day they would take his hand would be the happiest of his life, and yet he kept thinking that this situation had been forced.

"Here it is, it was from your great-grandmother, then it happened to your grandmother and then to me. Now it's your turn to take it."

"Why are you crying, Mom?" I whisper in a small smile when she saw slight drops caress her cheeks.

"It's not every day my girl gets married," I croon melancholy as I hooked a loose lock with the blue clasp. I sigh, stroking her daughter's bare shoulders. "We should have had this talk later but the situation has been a bit rushed."

“About what?” She scowled her outlined eyebrows.

"About the rules in marriage, my love."

"Mom..."

"You know what will happen tonight, Jungkook will take you and be his wife. You must have puppies, all you can and ..."

"Mom, I don't want to talk about this. Can you please go away?"

"I know it's difficult, at first it takes a little getting used to but I'm sure my girl will do very well. Jungkook is a great man who has done us a great favor, keep that in mind."

I kiss her forehead lovingly before leaving her thoughtful in the mirror.

Everything happened so fast, in less than a blink he found himself closing his eyes to the roar of applause from the guests. Stop in the middle of an altar full of precious flowers. Being the center of attention and the reason for the excited whistles.

"You may kiss the bride."

Lucy gulped when the priest's words broke through all the screaming. His eyes ceased to outline the flowers in a nervous air. The seat next to him shifted back, implying that Jungkook had risen. Lucy took the fabric of her skirt and tightened it anxiously before getting up. Raising her chin little by little in a situation that seemed more eternal than the cycle of the earth. Connecting their eyes for the first time since they had made the pact in that stone seat. Jungkook sighed when he noticed how his bright pupils faded as the agony continued to rage. Guilt gnaws at him like a disease that destroys everything in his path.

He moved just a little closer to receive her rejection in a fearful gasp. So, banishing the desire he had to caress that fleshy mouth with his lips, he decided to bring a kiss to his forehead and walk away as soon as possible. Lucy, who had closed her eyes not to witness out of embarrassment, opened them in surprise to find a Jungkook further away than she ever walked to the garden with the guests.

He had hardly had a bite of the wonderful cake that Mrs. Jeon had prepared. The food had danced with her fork the short time dinner had lasted. The dance was more awkward than I imagined. Everyone exhaling tender sighs while the couple glowed in the middle of the garden. Envious women who wanted to take their place, themselves as men who longed to feel what Jungkook's hands touched as she delicately adjusted herself on the bare area of ​​his back. They were both tense.

I kept thinking about what would come next, there was less left for the evening to end and the guests to leave. With the end of each song his greatest fear was approaching, he should spend the night with Jungkook.

A couple of Jungkook's cousins ​​dragged her away to talk about marriage issues. However, Lucy was absent and lost in a sea suffocated by a storm of nerves. Himself, when they gave more than two in the morning, one of the cousins ​​took her with complicit laughter to her room. He left her alone saying goodbye with a wink that he did not see as he fell into bed.

Very soon, the door opened in a scandalous screech, standing firm with her back stretched up as she turned to see her husband. He was shocked when he saw how shabby he looked, his tie untied and his vest buttons undone with a shirt half out.

"I'll sleep in the room at the end of the hall to let you rest." A hoarse voice accompanied by an unstable babble. Lucy raised her eyebrows when she could smell alcohol filling the room. Looking more closely at his appearance, he noticed how the red cheeks and lost eyes gave rise to the thought that the stains on his pants had not been water. He looked really tired as he leaned his back against the door to stand upright.

"But this is your room," she whispered persuasively. Jungkook waved his hand away as he crawled over to his dresser to grab his nightwear.

"Never mind."

Puzzled by his sudden stability, she was left with the word in her mouth when Jungkook closed the door two seconds later.

Two weeks later.

Like every waking up in the last days, there was a part of her that wanted to continue sleeping, to sink her head into that fluffy pillow and forget about her problems. But ignoring them wasn't the best option, still, he spent as much time as he could in the isolated room that had been on his property for a couple of days.

After the wedding night a cold air had crept in between them, Jungkook hardly spoke a word that was not strictly necessary, whether it was a good morning or a goodbye. When she left the room, he seemed to notice her presence and go to the garden with some excuse without any reliable argument. He would be lying if he said that this contempt did not hurt him in the deepest, ignoring her had become his favorite activity.

So, she was pleasantly surprised when she went down to breakfast to see two cups on the table.

"Good morning." He nodded as he walked past him so he could sit down.

"Good morning." Unlike her shyness, Jungkook seemed much more awake and with an overwhelming air that made that distressed sensation ease somewhat.

Lucy picked up her fork and began to eat silently with overly careful bites as she noticed a gaze piercing her from the other end.

"When you finish breakfast I want to teach you one thing."

True to his word, after devouring what was left of his plate, Jungkook rose from the table and she followed behind. He felt a swirl of emotions that he could not stop.

What she wasn't expecting was for him to lead her to a huge library that she hardly knew existed.

"It is huge," I admit in a scream that he confessed the wonderful surprise that had been. The books placed perfectly on the bookshelves almost perfectly, you could tell that it was an important place for Jungkook since the brightness of his eyes gleamed menacingly.

"It is entirely yours." Feel free to pick up any book you want, although we can always go to town to buy more.

"With the ones here, I think that's enough." My God! ”I shout excitedly when I visualize a golden cover more than familiar among so much wood. She raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth surprised to find that type of book, there. “Do you have the story of Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf?” She furrowed her eyebrows in a grimace accompanied by a small smile. It was so striking that he had a children's tale among great classics that he could hardly see that Jungkook's cheeks had camouflaged a soft red.

"It was my favorite when I was little, I didn't fall asleep unless my mother read it to me at least twice." He confessed, exhaling those childhood memories. He smiled, imagining the situation of a little Jungkook between blankets as he begged his mother to start his reading. Although it died down in the same way that a feeling of remorse arose, he no longer spent time with his parents, least of all with his mother.

"You should have given him war ..."

Her velvety voice led him back to reality. Her smile just appeared when I watched from afar as Lucy's small feet leaned to reach the book. A feeling of tenderness similar to that of the other time caused him to walk to offer his help.

"Wait, I will ..."

But Lucy had already managed to catch him and they collided almost unintentionally when she got down and he lunged forward. Her back pressed to his chest harder than last time, feeling the hot breath falling into her ear, making her goose bumps. He swallowed and turned around, leaning on the shelf. Her fingers gripped the book with maddening anxiety as she realized how close they were so painful between them. Jungkook had a hand on the shelf next to her head for support, aware or not, that he was cornering her. Jungkook raised his hand in a delicate caress to her chin to get a better view of her clear eyes. The arm she had supported was closing the distance at too slow a speed, torturing her with the prospect of her dilated irises. His dark gaze kept her in place, almost instinctively or because she was amazed by that intense gaze. Her lips parted as he brought his thumb up to stroke her chin in small circles. Lucy closed her eyes to heighten the sense of pleasure, barely aware that Jungkook was approaching tortuously slow steps toward a single destination. She lifted her head a little to give him better access when she felt the brush of his nose on hers followed by a small contact with the soft skin of her approaching lips.

"Mister Jungkook your guest has just arrived." The voice of one of the house servants caused Jungkook to walk away immediately and Lucy to hide her face placing the book on her warm face.

“What guest?” I snort, trying to sound as kind as possible being aware that I had interrupted. The elderly man left the library without answering. Jungkook rubs his palm over his face to calm down and not kill whoever has come to his house without warning. Something told him that his parents' absence had something to do with the surprise guest. I glance at Lucy apologetically which the girl received with an embarrassed nod.

Through the hallway upstairs, he could already smell a peculiar perfume. The citrus smell was unmistakable, I just hope it was a mistake and that it really wasn't who I felt.

Unfortunately, going down the stairs to his huge mansion, he realized that his sense of smell had not fooled him.

"Cousin Kook but how long without seeing you!" Have you put on weight? ”Burlon, with the biggest and most false smile he could show as he followed his steps up the stairs. Jungkook snorted more than annoyed as he glared at his father, who kept a serious expression next to his wife.

“What is he doing here?” He didn't hide his anger in an ironic tone like his cousin did.

"He came on behalf of the neighboring town." I have invited you for a few days to file the sloths, please be kind.

His father's pleas caused him to sigh.

"Yes, Kook treat me like a princess." His maniacal laugh made his hair stand on end. He clenched his fists trying to control his wolf from taking over. However, another sweet smell made her look up quickly toward the stairs. "But what have we got here?" I had heard that you were married but the rumor had not reached me that your wife was such a beautiful specimen.

Lucy was halfway there when she felt the other alpha's piercing gaze from below. Her stomach clenched when she felt his eyes travel as far as he could without cutting himself. I look at Jungkook terribly self-conscious but he barely looked at him and he was already grunting at his cousin.

"Taehyung called me, did you ..." I walk in a flattering air to where she was when she finished going down the stairs to gently hold her hand and plant a kiss on the back, leaving her with a shiver. His dark eyes were similar to Jungkook's but much more mischievous. With nothing more than to compare both smiles that although they were too far away, Jungkook's toothy smile was as pleasant as the square of that flirtatious wolf.

"Lucy, please go." More than a plea, it sounded more like an overly demanding order. The vein in his neck already looked too visible, implying that his patience was running out.

"What? No, why so soon?"

Lucy looked at Jungkook for answers but only got a neutral and overly intense gaze.

"Listen to me."

"You are a curmudgeon, Cousin Kook."

"What a heady smell, shit, I had never smelled such a smell." How lucky you are to fuck, I almost become like a small wild omega when its perfume has gone up my nostrils.

"Signature." Gag. Slipping the folder with the papers into a noisy slip.

But Taehyung smiled mischievously.

"It must have been a pleasure being paired with someone so cute," he commented. I borrow a pen from the desk to capture his signature. They were just papers that agreed to the new territory deal. Delimiting their land so that there are no misunderstandings when hunting. Jungkook was deeply upset with his father's actions, he could have brought his uncle, at least he would not have to endure such high alpha airs. She didn't want him here, much less knowing that Lucy was close. He was jealous, damned jealous. Because although he trusted her, not so much in him.

"It is not your fault." Now get out of my sight.

"Oh come, we are family, there are no secrets between blood brothers. What was it like to take it? Delicious sure. What legs and what small breasts so well placed, how does your ..."

"If you talk about my female again with those words." No. ”He patted the table as he got up, a shout rumbling dominated by his primitive impulses. He had to calm down or he would end up transforming and slitting his neck. She closed her eyes, hiding her fiery red irises as she ran her tongue over her raging lip. "If you ever talk about my female again, no matter what it is, I'm going to rip your throat out with my fangs."

"Well, it hit you hard."

"Stay away from her, Taehyung." Don't force me to follow through on my threat.

"Relax, you're a little tense," the brown-haired boy lied, rising to rest his hands on his cousin's shoulders. Jungkook identified the fact as a mockery, finally roaring at Taehyung so that he would take his hands off her. Fangs coming out to impose dominance, Taehyung ended up walking away as he raised his hands to the air, hiding with an awkward smile how much his howl had stunned him.

"You better not notice your scent near her."

"Too bad my beloved uncles can't join us for this delicious dinner," Taehyung mentioned as he devoured a piece of meat with a pleasant smile. Jungkook rolled his eyes, then looked at Lucy to verify her condition. She looked awkward, too self-conscious about dining with someone she didn't know.

"Yes, eat and be quiet."

"Were you always so irascible or is it because I'm close to your female?"

Lucy, who until then had been quietly eating, raised her head to Taehyung quite surprised. Flashing nervously as she clarified in her head if what she had just said was true, or just the result of her joking nature. Jungkook had to hold back a groan to stay seated and not jump at his cousin's neck.

"Shut up and eat," he growled menacingly. Casting out your voice I recorded with as much impatience as shame. Lucy was listening to everything, and if she could perceive, just a little bit, discomfort in her. Taehyung would end up in the backyard with his head buried in the ground.

"Why are you reacting like this?" A moment ago you were yelling at me that if I approached her you would nail my fangs.

"With permission," she apologized in a too embarrassed whisper. Jungkook frowned too sadly when he saw her almost run to disappear. He squeezed the fork showing his white knuckles with a thirst for blood, specifically, that of his cousin. Giving Taehyung a voracious glance, he ran after her to try to explain.

It was a relief to him to see her climb the stairs.

"Sorry, it is martyrdom to dine with someone like him." I shouldn't have asked you to come down to dinner with us. ”He spoke too regretfully. Lucy suspended her leg and turned, holding on to the railing. She contracted when she saw true overwhelm in Jungkook's dark pupils, at least he had come looking for her.

"Yeah, it's kind of weird," I whisper. I go down the steps to shorten the distance, staying a couple higher to place his eyes on a level with his. Taehyung's inappropriate comments had made her more uncomfortable than she would like to admit, but that had not been the main reason she had decided to run away. "What she said ..." soft babble. Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed too hard. There was illusion in its brilliance, so much so that Jungkook was almost blind. She could feel the intensity with which her heart beat, nervous about an answer. "Is it true?"

"It is not so, I just warned him that he will not approach you. He did not mean it, well, unless he makes it clear." He ended up confessing. Lucy pursed her lips, she had avoided his question.

"Would you only do that to him if he got close to me? Why?"

He didn't know what, but his chest heaved with excitement, if he could ever know that Jungkook saw her as a female and not as the girl he had been forced to marry to keep his bond.

"You should have listened to the endless barbaric things he said about you as if he were an omega in heat." I don't want him to be near you, that's all.

"Your female said."

Jungkook straightened his back taut, his shoulders haughty from the rise of his chest in alarm. He felt anxiety in her, a need that was mortifying him. She didn't want to hurt him, because if she did, he would.

"Yeah, well, don't take it into account. Taehyung says a lot of nonsense. It's the only thing he's good at."

"I don't know why, but I have a feeling you're hiding something from me, Jungkook."

"I'm not hiding anything from you."

"Then why do you run away to the room farthest from the hallway every night?" Gripping the railing too tightly. She was agitated, annoyed by her cowardice.

"That's my business," he growled before walking out the other door.

Lucy tried to go down the steps to follow him but suddenly, her belly contracted curving her towards the railing. She moaned a little dizzy, thinking innocently that it was from eating so fast at dinner.

Drowned in her own sweat, anguished by the heat so suffocating that itchy between her legs. He opened his mouth and roared impatiently. Had a month already passed? As he could, he got out of bed almost dragging himself across the floor to get urgently to the bathroom kit. She opened the closet with so much anxiety that the products were scattered on the floor, the occasional shampoo spilling its contents. He didn't care too much, now he had more important things to take care of.

"It can't be," I sob. Her belly contracted so powerfully again that she ended up on her knees. She did not recall having been so suffocatingly hot. She felt the moisture between her thighs when I rub them out of necessity. Now he understood that rush to unite male and female when they were just beginning to be considered adults. Females were usually warm once a month when the full moon shone high in the dark sky. Also, he had known, from the many books he had read on the female body, that, as you turned years, the need for you to be taken was getting stronger. Until now, I hadn't felt the need to get fucked so badly.

I was involved in a pretty serious problem. Its heat had never passed without the inhibitirios and if it hurt now, he couldn't imagine how it would roar when midnight will come.

As best he could, he managed to hold himself up to go back to bed. With beads of sweat and red cheeks trying not to faint on the way. A delicious smell began to cloud her senses, these being much more receptive when his heat possessed her, a smell of honey, delicious honey coming from the closet. I drag my feet toward the cabinet, licking his mouth at how dry it was. When he opened its doors, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth fell open at the overpowering scent of the hanging garment. It was his jacket and his fucking scent.

Lucy slammed the door when she felt lucidity for a second. He had to go back to bed, even if he didn't want to, he had to. He couldn't continue torturing himself with her scent because that would make his situation worse.

But it didn't last long, her belly throbbed furiously again, taking away the little sanity she'd tried to establish. Her legs couldn't be any more wet from the exhorted amount of lubrication that was expelled from her vagina. His hole closing around nothing, urgently demanding to be filled by something, by an alpha's cock.

She opened the doors like a desperate woman. When the garment ripped, its scent not only penetrated her nose, it also contracted her belly even further. Lucy, lost in that exciting scent, ripped the jacket from the hanger, breaking it into a thousand pieces. He brought the garment up to his nose and breathed in its scent.

She growled completely overpowered, controlled by her scent, she ended up running down the hall in search of him.

I needed it to ease her.

He needed me to fuck her so badly.

He wanted his fucking cock between her thighs.

"Jungkook ..." I sob at the door. Anxiously scratching at the wood when I try to open it to find it closed. Jungkook woke up suddenly as a desperately sweet scent rose up his nose roses. I gasp, looking down at the sheets. His cock throbbed in need as I heard her moan behind the door.

He got up, sweating from his hands and his mouth suddenly dry. I put her ear to the door to hear her better.

"Get away," he growled. Lucy gasped needlessly, feeling distressed at his rejection. What he didn't know is that, Jungkook was controlling himself, he was using all his self-control not to knock down the door and fuck her in the hallway, open her beautiful legs and sink his cock deep inside her until he shouted her name.

"Please ... It hurts so much." His needy little howl was too devastating. Her irises took on the reddish color of her wolf when she squeezed her thighs and her wonderful lubrication rose up her nose. He licked his lips anxiously, too overwhelmed. He put his hand on the latch. I gasp at the anticipation.

But he shook his head away from the door.

"Go back to sleep, Lucy." He growled back. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jungkook slammed his fist against the door. Why did everything have to be so unfair? Why should he have known her like this? He cursed in fury when he heard him walk down the hall. He had perceived disappointment, sadness, much pain. Damn, he didn't reject her because he didn't want her, his damn erection screamed to sink into her tight pussy, but, the feeling of guilt was still installed in his chest.

He didn't want her to think he was taking advantage of her.

Too overwhelmed by shortness of breath, she ran to the nearest balcony. His hands hit the railing in anguish as he crashed into it. He stretched his neck back, his head back, the cool air calming his anxiety a little.

"My God, I've been following your scent all over the hall." A hoarse voice appeared from behind. Scaring her too much. Turning, he encountered Taehyung's mischievous pout. She clung to the wall as much as she could when she saw the air brazenly smelling. "Are you okay puppy?" I can help you with something?

"I don't think you can help me on this," I stammer in a hoarse tone. He didn't like the threatening look with which he was running her. He watched her with lust, his intense red eyes as he approached with slow steps.

"I think so," he assured. He smiled, gleaming his tongue in one step through his fangs. "But, I'm confused." Why aren't you fucking your husband? ”She scoffed, giggling wickedly at the need on her face. Delighting in the wet sweat that stuck her nightgown to her skin. Then, in an act that couldn't scare her anymore, Taehyung seemed to hit something on his head, stopping abruptly with a too dark, mischievous glow. “It hasn't taken you, yet.

"No, he, yes ...

"Don't lie to me or burn in hell, needy puppy," I whisper too attracted by my gasp. He strode over to me to stand in front of me, lightly imposing his body. I swallowed saliva burdened by the smell of pine that began to rise up my nose. Taehyung smelled great, but it wasn't the scent he wanted. I felt too small under his piercing predatory gaze. "Damn, how could I have rejected you and more when you have your heat?"

"He has not rejected me, I am the one who has decided to go through this." I tried to face him, thanking the cold weather for helping me to reduce the suffocation a little. But, I didn't count on him also being able to take advantage of the movement of the air to better inhale my scent and to know, through my heartbeat and my fear, that he was lying.

"But how capricious is destiny and what a beautiful coincidence. My parents are crazy because I do not commit myself, it is not my fault that the betas of my town are not pleasant to me. Like ... like you."

"You should listen to Jungkook and go back to bed."

I tried to get under his arm but he immediately got in the way.

"Oh! Wasn't it you who had decided not to relieve yourself?"

"I have to go," she sobs. This was getting out of hand, he could perfectly feel the need in his eyes, in the evil play of his tongue on his fangs.

"Don't go, going through the heat without a male is very hard." I can help you, let me ease you ...

"I'm already taken ..."

As I pulled my face away from his hand when I tried to stroke my cheek, I became hysterical. My heaving chest being stopped by his. I was very close, I wanted to go. Damn, I should have stayed in bed.

"Trickster pup, I can smell how needy you are from here." Just let me ...

"I warned you not to go near her." A deafening roar came from the balcony entrance. Taehyung stopped cornering me by turning abruptly. I shrugged my stomach full of fear. Jungkook roared furiously at his cousin, he was really afraid that in one of these he would jump against him and kill him. His gaze was so threatening, red irises, his chest heaving as he blew air out of his mouth.

"I have only offered my help." I was greatly surprised when I perceived fear in his tone, Taehyung seemed terribly terrified by the way he looked at his white knuckles.

"I'm going to slit your throat so deep that your pathetic alpha blood stained my mother's carpet," he roared. She screamed in fright when in overly striding strides, she approached Taehyung and lifted him up into the air before slamming his back against the wall. The chestnut groaned disoriented, coughing as Jungkook began to squeeze his neck.

"Jungkook ..." I sob scared to see him lose control like that. The muscles in his back tensed, then he dropped Taehyung's body to the ground, letting him cough from lack of oxygen.

"I told you to go back to your room, Lucy!" Damn it! ”He turned to her with all the rage in the world. Lucy cringed against the wall when she saw him approach.

"It's not even my room!" All this would not have happened if instead of marrying me you had married my sister! ”She cried. He ran away with tears clouding his sight. She couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't take her rejection, her screams anymore. She urgently needed to sink her head into her pillow and cry until she ran out of water on her body. She never imagined that she could yell at him like that, look at him with such contempt.

She entered the room slamming the door. She didn't care that Jungkook's parents heard her in her little tantrum. He ran to the bed and sat down as he placed his hand on his chest.

The door opened, then slammed shut more loudly than hers.

"Get up, let's talk," he demanded. Standing in front of the bed with his arms crossed. He was too irritated, he needed to control himself but that would require a time he didn't have.

"I don't want to talk to you," she denied as she drove her tear-stained gaze to the bed. She didn't want to look at him, she felt so humiliated and despised.

“You are an unconscious, how could it occur to you to wander around the house knowing that there is another male nearby that can smell you?” He growled, moving his arms from side to side, losing control. Thinking of everything that could have happened if he hadn't arrived on time, of the consequences that would have ruined everything. The moment an alpha marks you, you lose any chance of belonging to another male. The beta bite was easy to replace. But Taehyung was an alpha, if he had marked his precious neck, goodbye, because that would mean that his scent, his blood, his everything would belong to him. And that, that bitter feeling had him too upset. He didn't want it to belong to anyone but him, from the first time he smelled her, from the first time he saw her, he knew in the depths of his heart that this female would be for him.

"Do you mind?"

"Of course he does, you're my wife!"

“I am nothing of yours, nor have you even taken me!” His dominant roar caught him off guard. Accustomed to keeping situations under control, I let Lucy get up and push him away. Jungkook did not move, he was simply surprised by how really upset he noticed her. He felt so much disappointment, a craving so strong that it clouded his character. One more push, a heartbreaking sob, Jungkook caught his hands before he continued to hurt himself. Suddenly, all the anger, all the jealousy left her body, changing into a feeling of guilt. A terrible and distressing feeling of sadness. I hear her heart pound, her irises swell. She wasn't mad at him, she was mad at herself. That feeling ended up confusing him.

Lucy, still defeated by exhaustion, continued to stir in her arms, screaming, crying, pleading for him to leave. Jungkook ended up overpowered by his instincts, drawing her tightly to him. She was silenced by the touch of his hot breath on the sensitive skin of her upper lip. He swallowed, the alpha's fingers clenching his arm so eagerly that he would swear that tomorrow he would have bruises on his skin. I avoid eye contact, closing my eyes, tilting my head to avoid being controlled by her red irises.

"You haven't even kissed me ..." he confessed with all the pain in the world. Opening her eyes to send him a heartbreaking look, full of broken illusions. Jungkook stared at the deep detail of his yellowish irises. His fingers tightened more intensely, he could not control himself, less when the smell of his heat impacted urgently on his nose. Much less when an anxious moan emerged from her perfect lips after rubbing her thighs. Her eyelids half closed with excitement. Its brilliance startled at the bad need to be reciprocated.

Jungkook couldn't take it anymore, too much emotion, too much demure. He could no longer hold back, he had lost because he had fallen before his most primitive self. Jungkook squeezed his arm again, emitting a hoarse moan when he inhaled thoroughly. His smell. Damn it, it was dripping. It was ready for him, so that he would take it as he had wanted so much.

"Jungk ...

But he had already silenced her. He slammed her against the door to press her against his body. He grabbed her by the neck and brought her to his desperate mouth. Her lips parted wide, not caring that he was being too rough. He had been too long ignoring her wishes, now they would be more than rewarded. Lucy's eyes tightened at the addictive taste of his saliva. He groaned, letting his inner wolf take the reins, reaching up his hair to clench his hair in a fist as they eagerly ate their mouths. There was a moment when Jungkook parted his lips, causing such a flattering snap that he almost lost his identity. She, seized with excitement, ran to glue their mouths together, but Jungkook held her in place in an overly revealing growl. Lucy gasped in agitation from shortness of breath. Jungkook groaned before dominance kissing her again. Their kiss was so dirty, full of passion and accumulated lust. Out of necessity, Jungkook's hands slid down the curve of her waist until they reached her hip and clenched them eagerly. She stifled a pleading moan. He kept going down terribly slow, squeezing her bottom, making it collide with the protruding bulge that caged his pants.

"God I want to fuck you so badly." He almost drowned out his voice when he returned he felt the moisture of his crotch wet his needy erection. Lucy gasped in pain, a fear in her eyes making him stop abruptly. "Lucy, if you don't want us to ... We better stop now."

But she was too fucked up, she was still scared, but it wasn't because of the situation, or because of him, she was just panicked not to like him without clothes.

"I want to," she whispered, pulling her mischievous tooth closer to stretch her lip. Jungkook placed his open palms on his waist to bring his noses together and thus, not miss the detail of his dilated eyes.

"Fuck," I howl. Desperate, he urgently kneaded her butt making her moan. He crushed his hands on her thighs to lift her up. Her legs encircled his waist, her small body matched his so well. Jungkook didn't waste much time finishing taking her to the bed to throw her on the sheets. Her back bounced up the nightgown, revealing to her anxious eyes the sweet skin of her velvet thighs. Lucy, excited, tried to rub her thighs to calm the itch in her crotch, but Jungkook didn't let her. She crushed her hands to his skin and spread her legs too desperately. His hand went to his sweaty face, letting his fingers run in soft caresses down her neck, licking his lips at the sight so appetizing. He let his hand roam the endless ends of her collarbones, gently skirting the bone until she fell into the valley of her breasts with her nipples presenting herself enthusiastically to him. I knead one of her breasts while sighing. Lucy cried, dropping her head. Her delicious sweaty neck exposed for her mouth. I couldn't be more excited to mark it. Jungkook raised his corners to form a delightful smile, his eyes directed to the dark stain of her panties. "I can smell from here how needy you are for an alpha's cock."

"Please ..." I sob disturbed by the uncontrollable need I suffered. Her back was curved forward so as not to lose the sensation of his touch. With her legs open for him. Jungkook reached for her panties and gently squeezed her fingers. Making them wet and a little sticky. Lucy gasped, groaned, all she could emit was coming out of her half-open mouth. Her nightgown was almost ripped from her weak, dying body. Her nipples greeted him erect with excitement. On instinct, Jungkook licked his lips imagining what it would be like to have those beautiful, round and perfect breasts in his mouth. Another in his place would have lost his mind, ripped his pants off and started to fuck her, but maybe it was the time he had thought about having her so he wanted to have a little time, enjoy his body.

 He took off his shirt, revealing his majestic figure, those broad shoulders, well-marked pecs that gnashed with the desire of his mouth to try, his damn abs, and above all, that path of pubic hair that disappeared through his pants. Those who hid something much more attractive. Jungkook threw his head back leaving the sight of his wide and shiny neck as a reward for how wet the accumulated sweat had left him.

"Give me time, honey." It's been a long time since I've wanted to know the taste of your skin. ”I whisper under a persuasive tone. I put my mouth to her neck to start distributing wet kisses and small bites that did nothing but leave her wanting more. I stick my tongue out to run it inside her neck, her hot breath contrasting against the wet area leaving her completely on edge. Lucy tried to close her thighs but found Jungkook's hips. Her nipples tightened from the pressure of his chest coupled with hers. His hand hooked into her silky hair to stretch from the roots. Jungkook growled disgust bringing his mouth to hers anxiously. Lucy opened her mouth when she felt the pressure of his tongue on her lower lip. I kiss her hard, hard. The nails superficially scratched his broad back as he came down to attack her neck again, this time, much stronger. There was no more compassion, he kissed her, mojo and bit as he wanted.

Like the hand between their bodies to knead her breast urgently, she embedded her nails into his skin when her nipple cried out in pain from the pressure just exerted.

"Oh, Jungkook," she moaned uncontrollably as she felt her teeth roam over his collarbones. His bites, despite being, a little strong, there was some love in them, an affection that was represented with kisses to calm the bruises. He caressed with the surface of his lip until he reached the sensitive skin of his halo, which he wet with his tongue and introduced into his mouth. The salty taste of his skin was too addictive, he was sure, when he had the privilege of clenching his nipple with his teeth, that this game had made him a gambler. It parted, leaving a click too suggestive to slide into the other.

"Shit, from the first time I saw you I wanted to do this." I speak against his skin creating tickles. Lucy moaned as she punched the sheets when her separation was with a suction. "If your pathetic boyfriend hadn't been there, he would have ripped your clothes off and fucked you right there."

"I would have left you," I sob. Too lost in how her tongue sank slowly into her navel. Her body spasmed slightly as she felt an overly suggestive kiss on top of her panties. The pressure of his mouth had been so wonderful that I swear at that moment, that when he took that garment out and kissed her again, he couldn't live a single day without it. Jungkook let out a too hoarse laugh, his breath hitting her folds directly as one of her fingers pushed aside her panties.

"Would my bitch let me pierce her sweet kitty with my huge cock?"

Jungkook stretched his mouth with pleasure as his eyes never stopped looking at his needy gaze. Lucy swallowed nervously, anxious that her lips that brushed her tender spot would drop a little further. Jungkook licked his lips one last time before crushing a sweet kiss right in the center.

"Jungkook ..." she howled agitatedly as she felt more pressure from her sinful lips. Her tongue came to play an important role, starring in a walk between her folds leaving her with a dry throat. "God, yes! Jungkook please ..." She kept screaming ecstatically, and somehow, she loved it. His cock vibrated with enthusiasm inside her pants. She loved his pleading as he kissed her inflated clit. He brought a finger to the scene, stroking its red button so he could stick his tongue down. Lucy moaned uncontrollably with her legs too restless, Jungkook held her open with one hand while the other pressed her palm against his center, before taking the liberty of inserting a finger. His hole cutter sucked easily. A compassionate scream succumbed strongly when she felt what her first orgasm was. Her cheek was resting on the pillow with her mouth open for better breathing. Her belly rising and falling. Her legs dropping from exhaustion.

Jungkook broke up to enjoy his work. Seeing her so agitated just with his tongue made her want to tear her apart. I eagerly remove his pants to release his needy cock. Lucy's eyes widened at the noise and she looked at her. It was much larger than he had expected with the wet pink tip of his own precum. Jungkook moved his cock, stretching his skin, letting the beta's ears hear the wet snap of her masturbation. Her mouth became water but that did not remove the fear that began to help her. It was her first time, she had had an orgasm lubricating her entrance much more, however, that did not block the thoughts of how that would fit inside her little hole. She started to panic because until now she hadn't noticed the pain the first few times.

She tried to get up off the mattress too agitated but Jungkook wrapped her neck to lay her down again. Her red irises caused yellow ones to appear. Lucy began to stir from lack of oxygen while complaining in sobs. Jungkook groaned dominant, leaving her completely still. Pleasure clouded her mind again, leaving her under his control.

"Spread your legs for me, darling," I order too impatiently. Lucy spread her legs, clearing the way for her moisture to hit her nose again. With his free hand he brought the tip of his cock to his hole, letting just his touch cause impatient moans. I run the tip to lubricate with his moisture, Lucy dropped her head while panting too far. "Shit, your little wet kitten is soaking the tip of my cock. Do you want it inside you?"

"Yes," I sob. Spreading your legs wider if possible. Jungkook groaned satisfied at his submission. Her fingers closed enthusiastically in his throat.

"A lot?"

"A lot..."

   Sliding slowly so as not to harm him, finally, he introduced the first centimeters, causing both screams of pleasure. Jungkook started to get dizzy when his tight entrance pressed his walls against him.

"Shit, I won't be able to control myself, you're too close." I sob, letting out a shaky gasp. Too much pleasure was beginning to impose his impulses on his clarity. It was her first time, she really didn't want to split her in two, but it was so hard to stay steady when as he entered, inch by inch, she urgently spread her legs wider.

"Don't do it, take me however you want." You are my alpha I am at your disposal.

  She was so good that she took away what little sanity she had forced herself to keep. He placed himself faithfully on top of her, trying not to crush her completely. He slid his hand down her throat to the nape of her neck and pulled her into his desperate mouth. Their tongues were too anxious. She felt Lucy's nails adjust to her skin, her other hand stretching the strands of her disheveled hair. The kiss was cut off by her when Jungkook made his first lunge. Her head fell limp to the pillow, offering her neck without realizing it. Jungkook grabbed her hips to improve her fit. Lucy moaned again and he smiles on the skin of her chin.

"My sweet submissive puppy." He kissed her ear with a too dark tenderness. Lucy gasped as she let her lips stutter meaninglessly. Jungkook clenched his hips eagerly as he picked up a much more predatory rhythm. He ended up panting hoarsely against his ear. "Tonight I'll settle for taking you like that, spreading my legs as I sink the way I want." But the rest of the nights I want you with your ass up showing me that delicious ass.

"More, give me, more." I almost shouted. Disoriented by the cloud of pleasure that clouded her mind. Her nails leaving small furrows of reddened skin. His hands melted into her hips celebrating a devastating rhythm. It was no longer controlled, the need to make her moan was much stronger.

"Do you like how I fuck you?" I whisper agitatedly against her ear as the head of the bed hit the wall with fury. "My good bitch is going to carry my puppies."

"Yes Yes."

"Shit." He closed his eyes ecstatically. He had never felt such pleasure, it was as if all his instincts would rise to a thousand and his belly was about to explode in a wonderful way.

   Lucy gasped as the pressure returned to her lower abdomen. He brought his hands up to his neck when Jungkook lovingly assaulted his neck again. Lucy groaned in shock as she felt the sharp tips of her fangs crash against her warm skin. He didn't even know why they had appeared, Jungkook had only become aware of his presence when he tried to kiss an old ribeye.

"Take me," she gasped in overwhelming anxiety. Jungkook put his hand to his neck, turned his head to his liking, and finally sank his fangs into his flesh. Jungkook stopped his movements to prevent the wound from getting bigger. Not realizing that the orgasm overwhelmed them when she decided to drink his blood. When they were removed, two small holes were marked on his neck that would later disappear. Creating a bond for life. Lucy pressed her cheek to the fluffy surface with more than surprise. Feeling his cum dripping inside her, hitting her walls with enthusiasm as her small contractions milked him patiently. She was suddenly deeply excited.

A few minutes later, Jungkook came out of it. He lay on the bed with one arm tucked under his head. Lucy snuggled into his chest a little shy as she felt Jungkook's hand tighten on her hip to pull her closer.

"Why did you take so long?" She murmured a little self-consciously. He had just realized that he had been screaming too enthusiastically. She blushed embarrassed. Still a little dizzy, she crushed her cheek to his warm chest. His breath fell heavily against her hair, relaxing her.

"For fear of letting my impulses dominate me. I didn't want to hurt you."

"That time..."

"Yes, dammit, there was nothing I wanted in the world more than to eat your mouth and put your butt on my father's desk." But I shouldn't, we barely knew each other and I didn't want you to form a wrong image of me.

   Lucy put a hand on her chest and looked at him with her eyes open.

"And what image do you think I have of you now?"

"I don't care, because I'm going to do what I told you, Lucy." I love you every night with me.

"Do you love me?" Jungkook managed to perceive her emotion, as her heartbeat ran wild inside her chest, giving her away completely.

"I don't love you, I love you."

  They both drew a too cute smile.

"Me too, alpha."

[bubonickitten]

There’s a lot about MAG 120 that hurts, but I think this is one of the roughest:

ESPECIALLY because, when he wakes up and Georgie says goodbye?? 

Jon still has to see her in his nightmares after that, and he can’t talk to her or even look away because the Eye won’t let him. He just has to... watch. 

He has to stand there for however long the Eye wants him to and Behold what Georgie sees when she looks at him (or what he thinks she sees, anyway): a lost cause, no longer human, past the point of no return. Everyone in his life is reinforcing that belief, and seeing Georgie is probably a constant reminder of his diminishing grasp on his humanity. 

And Georgie -- one of the big reasons she left, aside from Jon just not being safe to be around (not his intention, but still -- she can’t feel fear, so she has to take extra precautions to keep herself safe), is that she’s just burned out. 

Jon’s fatal flaw is his curiosity; it fuels his pattern of self-destructive behavior (moth to a flame, anyone??). He’s always been like that (Georgie said as much), and his current situation has only amplified that for him. Sure, there’s a lot more going on than Georgie knows, and there’s a lot Jon really doesn’t have control over -- e.g. he didn’t realize when he was staying with her that reading statements went beyond psychological compulsion and was actually physical dependence -- that there was a reason he couldn’t stop, beyond just his insatiable curiosity. Just stopping and walking away was never an option, unfortunately. 

Still, though, Georgie can still see that he’s a tragedy waiting to happen, and she knows she can’t fix him, and even though she still has empathy for him, she doesn’t want to stick around and watch him burn. 

Of course, it’s painful to watch, especially because Jon made a decision (first in “A Guest for Mr. Spider,” and again in his testament just before the Unknowing) to (1) try to ask for/accept help from others and (2) trust others, even though neither of those things come naturally to him. And when he wakes up from the coma, he tries to do that, but... there’s no one left. Georgie was one of the few who was actually nice to him, and she’s abandoned him. And Martin’s gone, now, too. He’s left with people who distrust, blame, hate, and/or fear him, and/or see him as a tool to be used and then locked safely away as soon as he’s fulfilled his purpose.

Georgie told him once that if he thinks he’s becoming a monster, he needs people around him to remind him that he’s human. And now he doesn’t have that, and if he doesn’t believe he’s human, and no one else does either, well. It’s really no wonder he starts embracing the more inhuman parts of himself. He can’t be liked or trusted, so he may as well be useful, right? (And people keep telling him to be more like Gertrude, after all.) 

In the midst of all that, he’s still having these dreams every night. Still has to see Georgie, still has to Behold yet another reminder of the humanity he feels he no longer has and can no longer take part in. (And Jon’s guilt and poor self-worth probably make it hard for him to believe that Georgie still has empathy for him. He’s more likely to interpret her look as just plain condemnation and rejection.) 

And Georgie, for her part, still has to watch what’s happening to Jon, watch how he’s changing, watch him self-destruct, when one of the big reasons she left in the first place was that it was becoming toxic for her and she couldn’t see it getting better any time soon.

How the hell are Jon OR Georgie supposed to be able to truly say goodbye, or move on, or reconcile, or do anything even remotely healthy, when they’re constantly forced into close proximity but never even able to talk about it??? They’re just stuck in this stalemate and god, that hurts to think about. 

[inspirationdivine]

Let The Right One In || Orobas and Lydia

Timing: Current  Parties: @inspirationdivine @eldonash Summary: These violent delights have violent ends.  Warnings: head trauma, (intense) gore, stalking,  suffocation

The night was perfect. It was cloudy, the moon hanging low and heavy, with the light catching the clouds to make the sky appear beautiful and dimensional against the darkness. He had even gotten a bit distracted with admiring it while he walked up to the familiar house. Orobas stopped just outside the home, a tilt to his head that could appear curious in nature. The ache that had made his life almost unbearable these past weeks was gone, but the hunger it left was all consuming. His tongue darted out, licking his lips in pre-emptive want as flashes of his desires were soon coming to light. With confident steps he walked up the back door, hand on the handle with pause-- he pushed it open. The hinges creaked slightly, but the breeze of cool air conditioned air and homey scents blew into his face. A shiver raked over him as he took a step inside, permission granted, and his red eyes almost glowed in the dark space as he closed it behind him. It was quiet, but not vacant. Moving carefully, Orobas made his way in.

Lydia was idly humming in the living room, swaying her body back and forth to Chopin playing as she idly texted people. Her mind drifted to the poisoning, to Remmy needing their stomach cut out, to Jared. Lydia blinked, clicking send on the text to Morgan, and scrolled through her contacts list. An unusual amount of spam seemed to have found her the last few days, but two glasses of wine into her evening, Lydia couldn’t find it in herself to care, instead smiling at the message from Deirdre buried in the midst of it all. Completely self involved, she didn’t hear anything. 

Orobas paused as the music came into the space, the sway of her body, and relaxed state almost hypnotising. He didn’t savor much when it came to hunting. He was a violent killer, someone that hacked people up and watched them die in horrible ways. Orobas’ observed her for many minutes, a dark shadow in the edge of sight from another room. Desires to simply go in there was almost overwhelming, and his features changed more monstrously as he stood there. With a turn away he made towards her bathroom, toying with the facets like they were enticing treasure. Old memories pulsed in the back of his mind from the environment, many faces blurred from the water as they screamed under it up at him. He smiled, a dark chuckle carved out of him as he turned the handle to let it begin to fill up. Sitting on the edge, waiting. 

Lydia paused. Was that water running? Had someone left a tap on? “Chlo?” No response. Tilting her head, Lydia walked to the kitchen, setting her phone on the coffee table with a frown. The kitchen was as pristinely clean as she’d left it, marble surfaces shining in the light. Whatever tap was running, it wasn’t in here. “Sammy?” Upstairs, perhaps. It must be, really. Lydia finished off her wine, humming to herself as she walked upstairs. The place had grown so much quieter without Remmy or Moose’s presence. Idyllic piano followed her up the stairs. “Hey, can you-“ Lydia froze in the hall, staring into the main bathroom. Her heart stopped. “You’re not- You can’t-“

Water cascaded into the tub, a rushed, constant noise that filled the space. When she stuttered in surprise, it was savored. Gaze on hers, taking it all in, from the smallest detail and the entire package. Why didn’t he do this more often? Haxian was already in his head, even now warning him in his own overbearing and consuming way. Orobas hummed in pleasure as he looked at her. A low sound, that stretched his lips into a wide smile, but it shifted quickly and he chuckled then, the sound crescendoed up until he was genuinely laughing at her richly. “You can’t--” Orobas repeated, voice playful. Eyes alight in wonder and cruelty. “How amusing. Do you know that I’ve gone decades without this desire? This game, this push and pull. It’s been interesting, but you know-- it’s been a little in your favor, no?” The singsong, mocking tone changed at the end, the ‘no’ sounding more like a period then a question to be answered. “Lydia,” Orobas rose up, tucking his hands by his side. “When this tub fills-- you will die.”

The first thing Lydia managed to think was that she was exposed. She was in a long green satin dress, and leopard spot pattern slippers. She wasn’t wearing any make up nor any glamour. It was a silly, trite thing to think about as she swallowed, but as he perched on the edge of the bath, she could help the comparison to his blue suit. Clothes were armour, after all, and Jesus Christ there was a murderous, soulless vampire in her home. Lydia whimpered, turning her gaze to the water in the bath, slowly filling up. “I didn’t- I didn’t invite you in.” What if she just reached across him to turn the water off. What if she pushed him into the water? What if- She took a step back. This was Marley's vision all over again. It has to be. A couple deep breaths and the Mara would be leaning over her, reassuring her. The alternative was too impossible to imagine. "You're lying. You can't hurt me."

“Hm, so it seems you didn’t,” Orobas shrugged. The water continued to fill the tub, it’s bubbling and splashing noise a pleasing background to his ears. He smoothed down the non-existent wrinkles to the front of his vest, before he pulled the jacket off in an easy motion and draped it on the counter. He began opening cabinets, looking for towels, and paused only to roll up the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt as she took a step back. Orobas matched and took a step forward, not calmly, but a disjointed, blur of motion that put him right before her, and he cocked his head a little, tongue just touching his lips, and the edge of his fangs. His hand rested on her lower back and pulled her in close so he could look her right in the eye, the lack of glamour barely important though it was difficult to deny their presence without it. “I have never lied to you,” Orobas said quietly in threat between them, the slow thud of a pulse absolutely heaven to his ears, and his fangs ached in pleasing ways, the thin skin around his jaw and cheeks scared in pocket marks from before. “Come on-- do something. You are running out of time to play.”

“You’re lyi-” The words died in her throat as he appeared suddenly in front of her, Lydia looking up at the scars she’d made, divots and twisting skin that would not heal back for ever such a long time. Her mouth ran dry, and when Lydia tried to find in herself the promises that trapped him to her, her heart began to hammer. There were hundreds of threads inside her trying hundreds of people and humans to her whims, but none that held her safe from him. He’d broken it, somehow. Where his hand sat on her, her skin crawled. The water continued to pour into the bath, changing pitch and sound as the pool slowly got deeper. Lydia forced herself to open her eyes and look at the bath, begging herself to move. He’d frozen her in place, her body revolting against being so close to him. The bath was a third of the way full, counting down to- no. No. Lydia inhaled sharply, and twisted out of his grasp, her wings jerking open as she dived down the stairs, landing heavily on her feet. Lydia looked behind her briefly, before sprinting to her front door. 

This game with Lydia aided him in his current evolution. Perhaps he was stagnant for too many decades, edging closer towards transforming into an Elder without tampering down the chaos he unleashed so easily. It was always a gory mess with him, but there was a calm, quiet, storm within Orobas right now, one that was groomed from his age, and now fine-tuned to enjoy the fear. All of him ached for a release, but he remained on the cusp over giving in. He appeared down the steps, matching her movement. The brief look she gave back towards him not showing his form at the top of the stairs, but behind her. With glowing red eyes that almost trailed in wisps of delayed light as his hand grabbed the base of her left wing and twisted with a threatened creek to throw her towards the living room. 

His cold, viperous hand caught her wing at the muscled joint by her back, jerking Lydia back and dragging her escape out of reach. Lydia’s muscles popped and spasmed as he twisted, before pulling her backward. Lydia smacked into the back of her lily-white couch with a ground, collapsed against the marble floor. “Chloe!” She screamed. “Sam!” Lydia scrabbled back to her feet, kicking off her slippers as she rushed for the counter, she’d left her phone on. Lydia reached for it as she tried to run by, but her hand hit air. It was gone. It wasn’t there. She stared at the blank space too long, before running to the French windows along the back and trying frantically to open them. 

Her scream was everything. Orobas stood a moment and savored it. The windows rattled loudly in exposed desperation with her tugging, and though his face held a stoic stillness, a curl of amusement did surface under it. The entire house seemed to quiet to nothing, less the amplified sound of pouring of water upstairs in threat and reminder. Orobas couldn’t help himself, her back to him again was so enticing. Flashes of other women overlaid the visual as he walked in, hundreds of years, different locations all over the world. The same reactions, the same fear. Immortality only ever proved so many moments could exist, and how some could be replayed. A yawned hungered ache had his fangs elongating to their longest position, stretching his jaw in inhuman ways as he darted forward. With a back hand, he struck her without holding back his strength. The sound alone like a crack of lightning in the home. “Stay down,” he warned. “Look at me.”

Her fingers fumbled the door latch, and just as it clicked the vampire was there, his arm a blur before it collided with the side of her head. Lydia dropped like a rag doll, vision blacking out. When it came back, she stared up at those red, nightmarish eyes, that blurred and danced and doubled in her vision. He told her to stay down, to look at her, and the world between them reeled so violently Lydia had little choice in the matter. Pain radiated like lightning bolts from the side of her face, shooting right down her spine and across her face. She rolled over, not to crawl away but to spit out a glob of blood. If she stayed there, her death was inevitable. If she stood- Lydia groaned, getting her knees under her.  She wouldn’t succumb quietly. Heart pounding, head reeling, she crawled away from him.

Her heartbeat became the loudest sound in the house. For a delirious moment, he almost forgot about the water rising upstairs. Hunger swelled within him, heavier than lead, and had he been any other age but the one he was at, that control would have burned away everything else into a feeding frenzy. His nail tucked under his fang, nipping the hardened edge. All of him ached denying himself a taste, a bite-- but Orobas never was one to mix feeding into those he wanted to murder. It really was a different headspace-- premeditated. “Okay--” the word was calm, like he was simply confirming, but it seemed once more an ending to something. He walked forward, reaching down to wrap a cold, bruising grip around her ankle, and began dragging her through the house at a slow pace and headed for the steps. 

“No, no, no!” Lydia screamed as her leg was pulled out from underneath her, her ears rang as he twisted her around and began dragging her back through the hall. She grabbed at everything, her acrylic nails scraping futilely along the marble floor. She grabbed the leg of the couch, which just buckled and scraped like nails on a chalkboard as it was dragged along the floor with her. “Stop, STOP!” She screamed, trying to kick back at him, wishing beyond anything she’d kept her stilettos on this evening. “Sam! SAMMY!” The couch caught in the doorway, crushing her hand between it and the doorframe, but like fuck was she letting go. Through the searing pain pounding through her head, she tried to figure out a plan. Holy water in her purse, gun in her office, knives in the kitchen. Lydia screamed again as her muscles burned under the effort of holding herself in place. Her devout humans? Already dead. They had to be, to not be answering her call. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, kicking harder as if she might possibly shake him loose. Alone. She was alone.

Orobas needed to remove her mobility. The small bones in her ankle cracked with an audible sound as he used all of his strength to yanked her towards him, uncaring for the damage. He took hits and kicks, anything she gave him, in order to get her onto her stomach, and pushed his hand up her back until it was the base of her wing. The fluttered twitch of it, the bewitching charm of the Fae always hypnotising, but the one he loved didn’t have pretty, sparkling beauty. She was draped in darkness, hugged by fear. “I may give you insight, Lydia,” Orobas admitted. The sound like a piece of paper being slowly torn was heard, but it wasn’t such-- as he curled his hand around her left wing and flattened it towards the ground, twisting it, as it cracked, splintered, and severed from the base with agonizingly slow torture. “I am the worst monster you could have ran into that day. How unlucky. I have done this hundreds of thousands of times. Your life is nothing but gratification for me within this small moment. Afterward, you will be among the rest as I find another to bring this same feeling back. How does that feel, hm? To be one, insignificant number.” He tore her wing clean off.  

Pain shattered her concentration as it shot up her leg, bones creaking against each other than cracking like popcorn on the stove. Lydia screamed as he pulled on the broken like and the door frame splintered, shredding the back of her hand, awareness growing that he'd pull her shoulder out before ever letting her go. She dropped the couch, grabbing at the splinters as he pushed her onto her front. Lydia froze as he touched her back, wrapping his hand around her wing. With just that touch, he has knocked all of the resistance out of her, her heart jackhammering against the floor. "Please," she breathed, trembling. She tried to use the hard-beetle shells that attached above her wings to push away his hand, but those muscles were not made to be strong, and the shell, while hard, could not carry much force. Both wings fluttered feebly as he began to talk. It was just him, and the sound of her rabbit-like breathing.

Lydia screamed as he squeezed his fist, shattering the chitin cuticle. The muscle controlling her flight wrapped right around her chest, contracting agonisingly as her ligaments popped and tore, pulling on her spine and the pain ripped through her nerves like a lightning bolt. Her scream died in her throat as her dress suddenly soaked right through. Blood, Lydia thought weakly, as it spurted out of the torn stump on her back and poured out of the wing, he now held above her. Some primal instinct pushed her to roll over, to trap the bleeding against the weight of the floor. She stared at him with wet, glassy eyes, her strength fading out of her with every beat of her heart. Her gaze fixed on the crumpled and cracked wing in his hand, sinew and glowing skin dangling bloodily from the end of it.

He tossed her wing on the ground with a splatter, uncaring, and cruel. Orobas hoisted her up like a corpse bride, the white long-sleeved button down he was wearing drenched red in his front. Still, he calmly carried her up the stairs, each step bloody on the marble, on the wood as this agonizing march. The tub was just at the edge, not a drop having spilled over. He reached down to stop it, creating quiet in the room. He paused over it. Looking down at her, the state of the bruise on her face, the ashen hue overtaking from the loss of blood. His smile stretched exposing white, sharp fangs, and the blackened scarring along his gums from the holy water. “Hmm,” with that sound, he dropped her into the tub.

Orobas staggered minutely as old memories played over, warnings thundered in his mind that this ran risk of drawing attention from the FBI, but such ancient feelings were enticing. He wanted to feel them again. Haxian’s presence surfaced in his mind, and he knew he was on the roof. Close by as always. 

‘Do it.’ Haxian said in those seconds of Lydia’s fall towards the water. The room fell away like he was but standing on the edge of the world. 

‘Master--’ Orobas said as the water cascaded up and over the edge from her impact. Haxian’s sweet and youthful laugh was heard from above the ceiling. Seeming to understand everything without saying anything at all. Orobas pushed his arm into the tub and held her under. 

‘I know.’ Haxian said. 

The two words burned in his mind, his master always attuned to his emotions, knowing more than he ever told him. Shaping the situations. Haxian forever intertwined with him, and it felt like it was part of his hands in the water as much as Orobas’. He kept holding her under the water, no matter the struggle, the mess, or the noise. 

‘I want more.’ Orobas admitted. ‘I want so much more.’ The swirl of hunger was pounding like a drum in the back of his mind. Chaos this war cry in the background, a high-pitched whine in his ears. Haxian hummed within his mind and responded. ‘Then finish it. We can get into more.’ 

Orobas held Lydia under the water.

Lydia tried to wriggle out of his grasp as he picked her up, protesting with a voice she could hear growing weaker. He didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem put off in the slightest. Carrying her like he might a shopping basket. His steps on the stairs were like the ticking of a clock, the rushing water growing louder. Lydia’s eyes slipped shut even as she tried to kick against the wall, to push him off balance. Everything felt cold. His hands, his chest, the air, her skin. Colder, colder, sucking her under even as her back burned searing hot. Lydia grabbed the bannister and sank her nails into the mahogany. Somewhere along the evening, she’d lost nearly all her acrylic nails, only two digging into the wood. There was little to do but stare as she accomplished nothing, just gouging long scratches in the wood. She’d need the interior decorator; it would cost a small fortune to fix everything. The blood stains alone... 

Lydia blinked, forcing herself to look back at Orobas, even as her pain and concussion pulled her further and further from reality. She had to fight, to stop, to do anything. He was close enough for her to try. She had to try. Her mouth was wet, dripping with saliva. She sucked it all onto her tongue, whimpering as half her face revolted in pain. If she could do this, she could call Deirdre, Marley, Remm- Lydia spat it at him with all her worth, watched the blood globule rise triumphantly in the air, and landed squarely on his collar, where her poison couldn’t touch him. She blinked, and they were in the bathroom. Her head drooped down, looking at the tub. Perfectly full. He’d done this so many times, Lydia realised with sickening dread. 

“Please. Please, I promise, I’ll do-” He dropped her, and her croaking words were swallowed by a scream as Lydia’s back slammed into the bottom of the tub, pushing her elytra up against the bleeding, agonising stump. The cold water filled her mouth, her lungs already burning for air as she tried to grab the edge and pull herself up, only for Orobas’s hand to push her back under, crushing her back against the ceramic. Lydia clawed at his arm and hoped she cut his skin, she tried to get her legs under her, but her broken ankle kept sliding away. She tried to leverage her beetle shells to push her up out of the water, but no matter how recently she had fed, he was always going to be stronger. The water turned pink, then red, but she could still see him looking down at her, smiling, probably. Lydia couldn’t breathe even if she wanted to, her chest refused to expand, and she just grabbed him harder, like if she held him just right, she’d be able to pull herself out of the water by the very limb that held her down. Anything to get out, anything to breathe. She couldn’t think of anything else but that need, the promise of air just a few inches from her lips. The want for air burned brighter than her face, her hand, her leg, her back, brighter than him. Lydia gasped, and her lungs convulsed to reject the bloody water trying to get in, and Lydia’s arms dropped away from him. The water stopped sloshing around her, everything still. Lydia sank into that horrifying blackness gladly and let it swallow her.

Orobas didn’t smile at first. He didn’t grin, laugh, or chuckle. The moment she stopped moving he waited corpse still, one second, two second. The murky bloody water drew a rare shiver from his body. The damage from her hitting him, kicking and scratching at his body burned pleasantly. How his hunger was pitted and dangerous, the kind that made his mind hazy and the world seem draped in red. His eyes bled into an impossible crimson as he looked down at the water, almost demonic as they burned through his iris’ and into the entirety of his eyes. His form dissolved in places, a fog like visual that swirled and separated his being as his control slipped into a slow descent from the violence. 

It’s been so long since he’s done this type of kill, and those memories toyed in the back of his mind to a human life centuries ago as Haxian murdered him the same way. 

A laugh peeled out in sudden glee. It broke the eerie silence. He rested his forearm on the edge of the tub as he settled on the tiled ground, peering in. Like letting go of a leaf pushed under water, he released her body and watched her resurface. He worried his lips. Shivering. The throb of desire to hurt her again almost overwhelming. I want to do it again. 

‘Orobas, let’s go.’ Haxian spoke in his mind, ever constant, and movement could be heard on the roof, but Orobas ignored him. He pulled her out, with it the water gushed up and over and laid her on the ground. The crunch of her broken wing struck the flooring hard, with it a release of water having been trapped in the other shell. She looked impossibly fragile right now. Everything was a mess in the bathroom, a chaotic explosion in its exposed violence. Orobas hovered inches over her, parts of his hands and arms dissipated and came back together, all of his body shook as a bloodlust bubbled up and over. Gently, he touched her face. Savoring the quiet, the cold, barely suppressing the desire to break the bones under his touch.

I want to see it again. His thumb pressed under her jaw, caressing it as if mapping details. He lifted her chin enough to let gravity part her blue tinted lips. He inhaled. The weird unnecessary sensation still filled his lungs, and drew his lips to hers. The connection drew pause, before he forced the air back into her body. Pushing against her sternum to force the water back out. 

“Orobas, I said let’s go.” Haxian was in the room, but Orobas didn’t look up, just kept breathing into her, a feral demand as her ribs creaked under the onslaught. Desperation shrieked at her still face. The obsession of their game resurfacing with a violent need. 

“One more time! Wake up!” Orobas’ voice cracked and came out demented and monstrous. Haxian grabbed him by the arm, the move constant, grounding, and damaging. Haxian grabbed Orobas’ jacket, and with a tug he was removed instantly from the bathroom like so many times in the past. Without a say or delay. Haxian held him half tossed over his shoulder, unable to not look at her, his entire world consumed by her. Orobas' hand outstretched for Lydia with an inhuman shriek as the world burned into an impossible red, and sunken bloodlust. 

Lydia gasped. 

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 5

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

“How is he? Has he yet stabilized?” He recognizes the deep voice almost instantly. Lexeaus. Ah. So I lived.

He can’t open his eyes, can’t, in fact, move at all. But the moment he’s conscious pain invades, his innards feeling vaguely liquified.

A second voice, hoarse, almost inaudible--”No. Not yet.”

“You needn’t speak, Ienzo. I know it’s still painful.”

Ienzo?

“I’m fine,” the second voice mumbles. He doesn’t sound fine; he sounds very ill, or worse. “You should--” A cough, one not full of phlegm but inflammation.

“You’ve been taking good care of me. I’m back on my feet. You, on the other hand, need to rest. And to avoid talking for a little while.”

“Okay.”

A warm hand grasps his wrist, taking his pulse. A pen scribbles numbers. He must've been given painkillers; he sleeps.

This time he's able to open his eyes.

He recognizes the space instantly; it's his old med bay, in Radiant Garden. Why on earth is he here, not in his sterile, pristine facilities at the castle?

Lexeaus had called Zexion Ienzo.

Oh dear.

Was it possible? Had they--regained hearts somehow? Had they found the answers in Kingdom Hearts? And how was he still so injured if it's been that long?

He hears the door creak and slits open his eyes.

He sees the boy--the young man--rummaging in his cabinets. He looks much the same as he ever did, though, he notes, the boy (Ienzo?) Is dressed in white, apprentice garb. The boy turns and Vexen quickly shuts his eyes again.

The boy clears his throat. "I'm not sure if you can hear me," he says, haltingly. His voice is much clearer, and certainly the same timbre as Zexion's, but it carries something soft and alive in it Vexen's never heard. "Even… it's me, Ienzo. I'm sure the old names are a shock to hear."

Old?

"We're human again. We found out… once a person’s Heartless and Nobody have been vanquished, they reform in the place they were split, whole. But with our Nobody's injuries. Which is why you're so hurt. I… I've no idea what truly happened to you, but you're rather unstable. You and Dilan both. But I'm tending to you."

Human?

"If you could speak… open your eyes… twitch your fingers… the EEG machines are broken and I've no magic. I'm not even sure you're in there."

Human and powerless.

"I--" He exhales thickly, and Even (the name fits again like a glove) realizes he's upset. Twelve years of emotion battering him, he presumes, child to adult in one instant. The concern wells up in him, consumes him; the pain sears him, and he's no idea whether or not it's physical.

---

Again, Even wakes. He can feel motion returning to him bit by bit, and he can close his fingers into weak fists. The physical pain is less potent now, but instead one thing floods him, sickly and constant.

Guilt. Rivers of shame, streams of remorse. Guilt for the way he stopped caring about Ienzo, guilt for all he did to the people of their experiments, agony about Ansem. Darkness can only excuse so much.

"Hi, Even."

Ienzo's back. Even can't bear to speak to him, though he's sure he can. He feigns unconsciousness, slitting his eyes open for glances of the young man.

Ienzo looks pale, thin, the boyishness gone from his face, but the change makes him look unhealthy. His hands, when they feel Even's pulse, are clammy, oddly warm without gloves. Even can't remember the last time he's actually seen them. He's aching to look the boy in the eyes. He chances it, once, while Ienzo fusses with the bandages on his chest; gone are Zexion's steely, empty blue eyes. The humanity is back, soft, opening.

He can tell from a glance that Ienzo is in agony.

More horrifying yet, he can just see below Ienzo's collar when he leans over--thick bruises surround his windpipe, along with an angry red scar.

He'd had difficulty speaking.

Who dared do this to him?

Unconsciously, the boy pulls his collar up. Even forces his eyes shut. "I'm afraid there's a lot to catch you up on," Ienzo says in that same frighteningly gentle tone. He explains about Xehanort, about the time travel, about the vessels, the hearts the Nobodies are regrowing, the Organization's real goal, the Keyblade War from the old times. "I… I could really use your help, Even. I know I was so dreadfully cold to you. I… I am sorry. You were always kind to me when I was small. You were there when Master Ansem was not--" His voice catches. "Excuse me, I am feeling unwell."

Even hears him sit and chances another look. Ienzo sits with his head in his hands, rocking slowly, trying not to cry.

No, boy, cry. It's alright.

"I… forgot how much this hurts," he says, with a dark laugh. "I am… so unsure of who I am… you'd doubtless find it fascinating. Can you imagine the psychological journals, Even? What happens when you try to give a twenty-year-old man an eight-year-old's heart?" A sob. "I'm so sorry. I… am trying to pull myself together. They need me. But I could never let them see me like this."

Cry it out, little one.

For a time, Ienzo does just that, a sound that makes Even's heart (heart) ache, triggering another vein of remorse.

I should have protected you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Even shuts his eyes again. He feels Ienzo take his hand. "This is most unbecoming, isn't it? I bet you'd say I'm making a disgrace of myself. I have to… check on some things. Get some rest."

For a long while Even lies reeling. His physical pain lessens  into a throb, while his heart seems to grow heavier and heavier with regret, the I should'ves and that's my faults. Ienzo and Ansem take center stage, his abuse and dishonesty towards them pounding in time with his heart.

Ienzo comes and goes every few hours. Even is too much of a coward to talk to him.

"It's… bizarre," the boy says. "Your body… is healed. Why aren't you awake?" Even hears a click, sees bright light; he wills himself to flinch as little as possible as the boy forces his eyes open. "Even, if you're pretending, it's alright. We can work through this."

Don't move. Don't move.

"If only we had a replica for you… or one in general…"

Why do they need one?

"I miss my old friend. Come back soon."

He's gone again, and Even aches for him. The loneliness is nearly as potent as the guilt.

He can't lie like this forever. He needs to make a decision, needs to talk to the boy, needs to begin to figure out where to go from here--

"You're so full of shit."

It's the voice that startles him. Braig. Of course the man is back too. He opens his eyes. Unlike Ienzo, he's in the Organization coat still.

The true vessels.

The fool.

Even stares at him. "Is there a reason you're here?" His voice is hoarse from disuse, but clearer than he thought. "Perhaps to put an old man out of his misery?"

Braig smirks. "You wish," he says. "I've been watching these tender scenes play out between the two of you. Who thought Ienzo would be such a softie? To think, he was wanted."

"By Xehanort, I presume?" He spits.

"Who else?" Xigbar shrugs. “He's good. So quickly. A heart and instantly everything changes. But there's no point getting rid of him. Xemnas is sentimental. Who would’ve thought?"

So callous. Even scowls.

"How's humanity feel?" he asks, with a smirk. "You look like death. Bet you feel like it too."

"Is there a reason you're here?" he repeats.

"Let's just say I have a proposition for you." He scowls a little. "We could use you. He could use you."

A spark, an idea. "Why should I? What do you have to offer me?"

"We're closer than ever to Kingdom Hearts. If that doesn't intrigue you, I don't know what will." Xigbar comes closer, his footsteps almost silent. "Would you rather stay here? Crappy place, overworked and underappreciated… reminders of the past everywhere. Doesn't it just hurt. "

He has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"If you can barely look at Ienzo…" He clucks his tongue. "Why don't you think about it? I got the impression you never liked humanity anyway."

"Nor you," Even says softly. "This life just doesn't suit creatures like us."

Xigbar smirks and disappears into a dark corridor.

---

An idea comes to him slowly, fettered by guilt and headaches, and Ienzo's surprisingly loose tongue. Zexion was verbose but careful; Ienzo talks almost constantly, with little ability to stop himself.

"I'm… almost at my wit's end," the boy admits. "I'm inundated by what we did… I knew it, factually, but Zexion made my memories so cold. To feel it…" He rumples the curtain at the window. Even's glad he doesn't look at him; it means he can watch him. "How could we? I… I don't understand how we made the leap. Was it all the influence of Xehanort, or darkness? Why did they let me--do this?"

The weight of it might just choke him. They'd started this darkness, made it spread faster than it would've naturally; they upended a balance just to see what would happen, with little care who or what was lost.

I took an oath.

Even's a bloody hypocrite.

"I've been trying to help them," Ienzo says. "Sora, the restoration committee. They've been so terribly gracious about it. It truly is the least I can do. I've given them everything that I had, but you classified and encrypted so much. They have a right to know what really happened. Maybe if they know… their outside perspective can help us put a stop to it. I… wish you were here, Even. There's so much you never told me, things that could be of use. We… need a light. I don't understand a whit of your research, the small bits I've managed to decrypt. I wonder if this reformation process has given me some form of brain damage." A wry laugh. "These emotions do make me feel… much clumsier. Doesn't help I've been using you as a captive audience. But the others… truly cannot understand what it is I'm going through. I wish I were able to find it fascinating. Mostly it is hampering my ability to be of use."

He's silent a long time. When he speaks again, it's much more quietly, to himself. But Even's always had good hearing.

"If I can break the code… find Roxas… it could change everything. But the bodies… I need to know what Even knew."

He hears Ienzo leave. Slowly, Even sits up. He feels weak from being so still for so long, but otherwise functional.

It all makes sense. Everything.

Yes. This would be how he can atone.

---

Xigbar returns soon after. Even's already sitting waiting for him. "I'll go," he says tiredly. "Seems to be the only way to further my research. I've no need for such... paltry emotions."

Xigbar's grin is killer.

---

The transformative process is just as painful the second time. Again the emptiness. He feels his mind wander, tempted again by darkness, by the ability to set bonds aside, but he reigns himself in each time. Thinking of Ienzo, his devastation, of his betrayal of Ansem's trust. He doesn't feel quite hurt anymore, but it weighs heavily on his conscience. No matter.

He can fix this. He will fix this. No matter the cost.

He acquiesces to the New Organization’s demands, because they, too, need replicas. All the more excuse to perfect what he knows, to leave the most flawless in stock for Roxas and for Xion--though he can barely remember the latter. All he has of it-- her --are his own reports. But if she were with Roxas long enough, she’ll be important. More convenient yet, Xemnas wants her, her easy mimicry of power.

There are too many familiar faces in this New Organization--Organization Rehash, Larxene calls it, and Vexen can’t help but agree. Xigbar, Saïx, Xemnas, the four neophytes.

Saïx is initially welcoming to him, and visits him again.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” Vexen says evenly.

“I wonder if you feel it too,” the man says.

“Feel what, nostalgia? That’s all this Organization is.”

“You gave up your new life. That says a lot about you. Was this truly about research?”

Vexen turns, sorting the lies he could tell.

Saïx knots his hands. “I gave mine up too.”

Vexen rolls his eyes, turning back to the new replicas, still forming in their chambers. “Yes. And?”

“I wish to… put an end to this nonsense. I sense you may feel the same.”

Vexen looks at him, his gold eyes (so like Vexen’s own, now--he tries not to think about it more than necessary) somewhat unreadable. Is this a trick? Are they trying to lure him out?

Saïx leans in a little, drops his voice. “Let me help you,” he says softly. “Together, we can put an end to this Organization.”

Vexen feels the gut punch; caught. Yet, he reads earnestness in Saïx’s tone.

“You were once my teacher,” he continues. “I know what you’re capable of, and vice versa. I think--if we’re careful and clever--we can give the other side what they need.”

“How am I to know you won’t merely turn me in to Xehanort?”

“It matters not to him whether you fill out the ranks so long as he gets his bodies. Not since you and Demyx have been… ah… retired. He’s spread himself too thin, shattering his heart so. He wouldn’t notice a thing.”

Vexen inhales.

“I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want this to be my legacy. I’m sure you feel the same. We must end this suffering.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Saïx smiles. “Simple,” he says. “We do what he asks--and have a third party ferry a replica over to Radiant Garden. One whose movements are hardly ever noticed--because that’s the way he likes it.”

Vexen has an idea where this is going. “...Do I even want to know who you have in mind?”

The smile becomes even larger.

---

Demyx agrees to meet him in Radiant Garden. To be so close to Ienzo but unable to contact him is a sensation that sits oddly in his breast. Vexen explains it as simply as possible, but Demyx’s reaction is relatively theatrical.

“What? ” He’s making much too much noise--Vexen clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, you dunce,” he hisses.

Demyx swats his hand away. “But dude, why would you pick me?”

“I cannot let the chosen catch wind of this, understand?”

Immediately he gets defensive. “Oh, I see, it’s because I got benched.”

This is more frustrating than he could have hoped. His tone is much shorter, and louder, than he intended. “I got “benched” too.”

“What! Hey, quiet.” Now it’s Demyx’s turn to try to silence him.

They both look around and see nothing, though admittedly this is meaningless. Vexen turns away, trying to think.

“Okay, man, look. Real talk? Backstabbing those guys would be stupid.”

Vexen rolls his eyes. As if this life is truly worth anything.

“If they find out, we’re yesterday’s toast. I mean, what’s in it for me?”

Vexen wonders if this angle is the right one. “Forgiveness.”

He seems genuinely surprised. “Huh? For what?”

“Men like us--in the pursuit of science, we sometimes make terrible mistakes. Lose sight of our mission to help people. But now I can help someone with my research. Now, I can atone.”

The boy’s been listening with interest, a calculating gleam in his eyes. But what he says next is only further disappointment. “I’m not a scientist.” He turns to leave, with a dismissive wave.

Something very like panic overtakes him--if the chosen heard of this--”Wait, wait, wait!” He grabs Demyx’s shoulder. The younger man shrugs him off with ease.

“C’mon, dude. I’m useless, I’m chicken, we’re not friends. I can count the amount of times we’ve hung out on one hand--less than one hand. I didn’t even know you in the old life!”

Enough of this. For a moment, Vexen wishes he had more patience with Demyx in the past, if only to make this encounter easier. “Fine, fine. But listen.” He pulls the boy close. “This is Saïx’s doing.”

Demyx’s eyes widen almost comically. “Huh? No way.”

Good. He has his interest. “It’s true. The whole thing was his idea.”

“Huh… no fucking way…”

“He wants to atone too. But, he is one of the chosen, so his hands are tied. Hence my actions on his behalf, hence my need for you to act on my behalf should all go awry.” He’s listening intently, Vexen notes. He could use Xehanort’s callousness towards Demyx to his advantage. “As you said, we are far from friends. No one would ever suspect you.”

“So I’m not doing any fighting?”

“Correct. And more importantly, no benchwarming.”

He smiles, and Vexen knows he’s won. “Yeah baby! Sign me up! Yes! Demyx time.”

Vexen sighs heavily. This certainly would be interesting.

---

He’s more than a little alarmed when he catches wind that the “chosen” are seeking Ansem. Apparently, the man’s been spotted in Twilight Town. Xehanort’s Heartless intends on intercepting him. The man is too dangerous.

Vexen doesn’t hesitate. He’s abandoned Ansem once; never again.

He’s been mostly ambivalent to his status as a Nobody, but it does grant him a certain strength he didn’t have before. He’s able to stop Xehanort’s Heartless, to let Ansem escape. It comes to him, in a flash--the chosen hardly ever watch him, now that they’ve gotten their bodies--perhaps he could let Ansem know, to get the word back to Ienzo and the others. Perhaps he and Demyx could rendezvous, with the replica. Ienzo would need his help. Doubtless the reunion would be… dramatic, but he knows the boy is capable of completing the task at hand.

It’s time to shore up. Time to stop being a coward. Time to apologize.

But he is glad that, as a Nobody, he cannot feel much.

Ansem looks as though he’s aged much, much more than twelve years, despite the fact that he could not age in the realm of darkness; it seems as though there are many more years between them than merely five. He’s with some teenagers, those friends of Roxas, those assisting, albeit in a very tertiary manner.

Even struggles to find the words, to assuage them all he means no ill will. “My dear Master,” he says slowly. “You are safe.” It’s a lame, tone-deaf beginning. Because they are anything but.

“Who’s there?” one of the teenagers yells.

In a shockingly even-keeled voice, Ansem asks, “Even, is that you?” A beat. His expression barely changes, all coldness and indifference--not that Vexen anticipated anything more. “So, those Nobodies were your doing.”

Vexen lets the Dusks appear. Then, very deliberately, he bows. “I have been waiting for this,” he admits. “Gave up a normal life in order to plant myself in the Organization. And when I heard Xehanort had gone looking for you, I realized it was my chance to find you as well.” And keep you safe. “For you see, I, too, wish to atone.”

Ansem’s expression is closely guarded, but he very nearly smiles. “Is that so?” he asks slowly.

“How could I not? To be human for those days again… made it all so real.”

The teenager who’d yelled gave him a once over. “You’re one of them, aren’t you,” he spits. “Sora told us about you.”

Vexen ignores him. “I wish to help. I… realize you have no reason to trust me.” He chances taking a few steps forward. “I also realize any apology I offer could never possibly be enough.”

Ansem is silent for several moments. “Am I not at fault, as well?” he asks.

“You…” He wants nothing more for these teenagers to disappear. “You still didn’t deserve the fate you received.”

His eyes are empty--so empty. He turns to the children. “Thank you for all your help, but this man will not harm me. Come, Even. Apparently we have much to discuss.”

Vexen wills the Dusks to disappear. They walk for a long time in silence, the two of them, in this perpetual sort of twilight.

“We cannot return to the mansion. It’s being watched for now,” Ansem says. “Keep your voice low.”

“We seek to take down the new Organization,” he says. It’s beyond odd to be this close to him.

“We?”

“Myself. The man you knew as Isa.”

Ansem smirks. “And how do you propose to do this?”

“In these intervening years… I did perfect the replica program. More or less.” He doesn’t feel pride any longer. “We have a… third party willing to deliver one directly to Radiant Garden, for Roxas’s heart. To Ienzo.”

Ansem’s calm exterior slips, for just a moment. “How… is my boy?”

“I did not see him for very long,” Vexen says. “He is… well. Whole again.”

“You hesitate.”

“Of course I do.” He takes a breath. “He’s received his humanity after years of numbness. The adjustment… I fear it’s not been easy. But I have faith. His brilliance has only grown with him.” He sighs. “With this replica, and our ally, I wish that you, Master, will go to him.” Ansem says nothing; his face is stony. “I realize the feelings you have are complicated. But he needs someone to help him, and I must keep my cover.”

“...Yes. Quite.” He nods. “However could I face that poor boy?”

“With the warmth and grace you’ve always had,” Vexen says softly. “Once this is all over… humbly, I would like to return as well.” If he survives the process. “That is, if you’ll have me. I wish to do nothing more than to ease the pain I’ve caused. I should like to regain your trust.”

Ansem nods once. “This is a good start.”

---

It pains him, to not be present for all this, but his own feelings and notions are irrelevant. He dresses the replica in a coat to protect it, wraps it up further in a blue blanket--almost like an infant.

Demyx arrives--on time, for the first instance that Vexen’s ever witnessed. “So, here we go, right?” He’s smiling.

“...Quite.” He touches Demyx’s shoulder. “I must… thank you for doing this.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s not right for Xehanort to use us for his own stuff, you know? It kinda bites.”

Vexen chuckles. “Indeed. I’m afraid I must ask one more thing of you.”

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is affable when he says. “For pete’s sake, what now?”

“You and I must lie low, once this is through. We must wait and hope for Xehanort’s defeat.”

Demyx glances down at the replica, in its swaddling. “...And then what?”

“Whatever you like, I suppose.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah… that might be nice.” He hefts the replica over one shoulder. “This thing is hollow, huh?”

“Not for long. You know where to go?”

“Yeah, get the old man. I hear you.”

Vexen sighs. “Good luck, Demyx.”

For just a moment, before he disappears into darkness, Demyx smiles, and it’s the most genuine expression Vexen’s ever seen him wear. “You, too.”

---

He can’t be certain that Ienzo receives the replica, can’t chance checking. He goes to an anonymous world, hides in the wilderness. He waits, and to a degree he prays. Weeks pass. He wonders if he should chance contact, should see how things have gone--between Ienzo and Ansem, and along with Dilan and Aeleus, there shouldn’t be any issues with the procedure.

Then he feels an ache in his heart--the heart he doesn’t quite have. The piece of Xehanort. Without hesitating, he returns to Radiant Garden, knowing that he will not have the ability to travel for long.

Because it’s withering, and dying; he can feel the sickly pain, the feverishness, inexplicable agony in his whole body. It must’ve worked. They must’ve beat Xehanort.

It’s all over. At last.

[belphiesreverie]

Dryad!Giorno x reader

The first mythical creature scenario is for @helenapizzatime who gave me complete creative freedom over her husbando

———————————————————————

Noise had always been a constant in your life. The traffic outside your house, the chatter of everyone around you; it seemed almost inescapable sometimes. It wasn’t as if you hated noise though. On the contrary noise had often served as a distraction from your mundane life, reminding you that even if it felt like you were stuck in time the world around you was still turning. Recently however, you had been searching for a place void of all distraction which was what had led you to the woods.

Nobody ever dared venture near the woods, refusing to even step foot in the ouskirts. You knew there would be no chance of anyone bothering you here. With your sketchbook clutched firmly in your arms, you slowly pushed your way through the trees that spread far as the eye could see. Another reason for traversing this unknown path was to document the beauty that it held inside. You had far grown bored of drawing the streets you saw daily or the people who walked the same route to work.

There were stories passed around by children and adults alike that a man lived in the woods. But he wasn’t human. The fear of the unknown was what kept people out; they were afraid of this mystery man who nobody knows even exists. Not one to back down to fear, you pressed even further through the trees. If such a man did exist, you doubted you would see him. The woods were too vast and dense that you would easily get lost if you strayed from the path that seemed naturally formed.

The rustling of leaves startled you, but you didn’t think much of it. This was the woods after all and many animals must have been living in here. Focusing back in front of yourself, you searched for a place to sit. A small opening would be nice but you doubted you’d find anything like that out here. Settling for a large oak tree, you set your bag down before sitting with your back against the trunk. Surveying the area around you, you found a clump of foxgloves that were fully blossomed. As you were grabbing a pencil from your case, a voice startled you.

“What are you doing out here?”

Jumping up from your place on the floor, you whipped your head in every direction but you couldn’t find where the voice was coming from.

“It’s not safe to be out here on your own. You could get lost.”

The voice spoke again. It seemed to come from every direction at the same time. The unknown speaker seemed to be concerned but you couldn’t tell due to the heavy distortion of their voice.

“Who are you?”

You weren’t expecting a response but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Yet, the voice spoke again. Clearer. Crisper. You could ascertain the locaton this time; it was coming from the large oak tree you were resting on not too long ago.

“Haven’t you heard the stories? The ones about the man who lives in the woods?”

You expected to feel afraid. The inhuman creature that lives in the woods was taking to you. The same creature that makes everyone afraid of the woods was looming above you, yet you weren’t afraid. His voice had a quality to it that seemed to calm your nerves, make you trust him. There was no hostility in his tone, no reason to be afraid.

“I’ve heard the tales, but I never believed them.”

A deep chuckle came from the being. Yet again, it wasn’t snide or sarcastic, rather intrigued. The leaves on the oak tree began to move as you assumed the creature began to climb down towards the ground.

“And why is that?”

His voice now came from just above the first few branches. If you looked closely enough you could see his feet. Strangely enough, they looked human.

“I had no reason to believe them until now.”

“Fair enough. May I ask again my earlier question, what are you doing out here?”

“What’s it to you?”

Another small chuckle came from him as he lowered himself to the ground but stayed hidden behind the trunk of the tree.

“Well this is my home. Technically you’re trespassing.”

You froze. He may sound friendly and welcoming, but he was correct. You were on his territory and he could attack you at any moment.

“I- I just wanted to draw the scenery. I apologise if I overstepped my bounds. I’ll be on my way now.”

You bent down to grab your sketchbook which you had dropped in your panic earlier, but a hand firmly held your wrist. Looking up from the hand, you saw the face of the man who had been hiding from you so far. He had a rather peculiar hairstyle with three donut shapes at the front leading into a braid that cascaded down his back. All throughout his golden hair was small flowers interwoven with his locks.

Realising he had been holding onto your wrist, he let it go quickly, almost as if he was flustered. He took a few steps away from you which allowed you to see him fully. His skin had the complexion of a normal humans but the green, mosslike substance that covered his whole body indicated otherwise. He wore a small skirt made of leaves and flowers on his lower halve but his chest was completely exposed. Vines seemed to originate from behind his neck and wrap around his arms and upper torso. If you had to describe him is one word it would be breathtaking.

“I-I don’t mind you staying, not at all. Actually... I was wondering if I could watch you draw. Of course you can leave if you want to, it’s just I haven’t had company in a while so...”

Slowly, you set yourself back down against the oak tree and pat the space next to you. The man’s eyes lit up but he quickly regained his composure and took the seat you had offered him. You picked up your sketchbook and grabbed a pencil before beginning to sketch out the foxgloves that you had wanted to draw earlier.

The two of you sat in a pleasant silence whilst you drew. You appreciated that he didn’t try to start any conversation whilst you were concentrating but you could feel that he wanted to talk so you placed your pencil down and turned towards him. He had been sat so close to you that when you turned your head, your noses were touching. Out of refex, you jumped back.

“Oh sorry, was I sitting too close?”

“Yeah... a little bit. Hey, you said you haven’t had company in a while, are there not more of your kind out here?”

“...No. Just me.”

He turned his head to look away from you, clearly upset. Shit.

“Um so, what do you do all day?”

“Y’know... watch over the trees. Keep them healthy.”

“Must get pretty boring.”

“It does.”

You fall into an awkward silence. You wish there was a way to cheer him up somehow, you did bring up such a sour topic after all. Before you could think of anything however, it’s started to pelt it down with rain. Worrying for your sketchbook, you quickly shoved it in your bag and jumped up to get to some shelter as fast as possible.

When you stood up, his hand instinctively grabbed yours. His features were contorted into a look of sadness as he scrambled to stand up next to you.

“Wait, don’t leave yet!”

“I have to, my sketchbook is gonna get ruined and I’ll catch a cold.”

“But I don’t want you to go! Can’t you stay for just a little while longer?”

“I’m sorry but I can’t.”

The hurt that you saw reflected in his eyes was enough to make you want to cry yourself. You could tell just how lonely he truly was.

“Look, I have to go but I promise I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Really? You promise?”

His eyes shone with hope and gratitude. Just the mentioning of you coming back was enough to lift his mood. The smile that was etched into his face was absolutely mesmerising, even if it was just a small smile. You nodded your head in response to his question and turned to leave, but he pulled on the hand he still held in his grasp.

“Before you go... could you tell me your name?”

“It’s y/n.”

“Well y/n, I look forward to tomorrow!”

He lifted your hand to his face and placed a delicate kiss to the back of your hand before releasing it.

“Y-yeah, me too... uh...”

“Giorno. Giorno Giovanna.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Giorno.”

And with that, you turned and headed down the path you had followed earlier.

[merryfortune]

Day 16 / Rain

Ship: Scytheshipping | Ema/Kyoko

Fandom: YuGiOh Vrains

Word Count: 1,688

Rating: M

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Canon, Angst, PTSD, Sexual References, Hurt/Comfort, Victim Blaming (?)

  Ema hates how easy it was to love Kyoko.

  She had never loved a woman or man before. She was above all the romanticism and oxytocin. She was only in it for the base; for the sex and the backstabbing. She was truly her brother’s sister and her father’s daughter in that regard. People were disposable and the easier it was to hate them, the better the consecutive one night stands were; that’s why Akira got dull so quick and became a friend more so than boyfriend. But Kyoko?

  Somehow, she was different.

  She really shouldn’t have been. She should have been the epitome of the cheap hate fucks that Ema was fond of because there was no lingering fondness.

  Kyoko had red hands the likes of which Ema had never seen before and with them, she carved the worst and most painful rivulets she had ever felt on her back. That woman was a monster. All red hair and red hands and these cold, grey eyes which burned the same way that dry ice did. She was a rough fuck and Ema liked it. They weren’t the type to get cosy after coitus, but they would share a bed and somewhere in the exhaustion, they did become that type. It was an affectionate attachment that Ema thought that she wouldn’t ever be interested in. She wasn’t some hopeless romantic teenager, after all. Love them and leave them was her philosophy.

  But she couldn’t leave Kyoko. Maybe not now but not never, Ema thought as she put kind emotions into herself when Kyoko stirred on the third one night stand that they had together. Ain’t it funny how things happen in threes?

  Outside the room, it was thundering atrociously. That must’ve been what had woken Kyoko up; Ema had been drowsing, mostly thinking about how she was going to ghost Kyoko later but when she felt the other woman roll over and touch her back, so gently that Ema flinched because she wasn’t used to that woman’s touch being soft. And her voice, it broke as she spoke in a terrified whisper.

  “I’m scared.”

  Boom. Crash. Bright lights split the sky and rain of biblical proportions continues to last the sky roof of Ema’s penthouse apartment. Thunder and lightning followed and Ema didn’t need eyes in the back of her head to know how badly Kyoko winced. Her fingers curled in on themselves against Ema’s back. It was pitiful and she wanted to sigh but instead, she found herself with more compassion than that but maybe she shouldn’t be if her hunch was right.

  Nonetheless, Ema rolled over and she didn’t realise how close Kyoko had been to her until now. They hadn’t been touching but they had been so close to it. A breadth of a breath; of a hair.

  “Are you okay?” Ema asked. She was afraid to reach out across those mere millimetres between herself and Kyoko; a shame given her natural instinct was to console, to touch and caress her.

  “Nights like these always take me back.” Kyoko confessed.

  Ema swallowed her tongue on that. Sharp and cocky. She had been right.

  “It was just after Dr Kogami had been…” Kyoko’s voice trailed off and as though on cue, there was another crash of lightning which she shuddered out. Her breathing turned ragged and she grimaced; huddling in on herself, giving herself the comfort that Ema was still, albeit hesitantly, withholding from her. “It was a night like this when Spectre came home with Ryoken; seeing his face was like divine retribution. Obviously we couldn’t get rid of him but it never stopped hurting completely. Only a little less; a constant reminder of what we had done to those children.”

  It seemed even monsters could show remorse. Ema’s brows furrowed. It somehow seemed easier, on her conscious and even her heart, if she pigeonholed - believed - that the Knights of Hanoi were beyond redemption and that they were inhuman.

  Of course, what does it say about her; that she was willing to cavort carnally with them…?

  Regardless, in the darkness of her bedroom, Ema didn’t truly see an evil woman before her. She struggled to see anything; it was all in monochrome shades, a little grey, a little blue, some black and some white. Nothing definitive; all shadowy. She sighed and her escape breath was difficult to know the meaning of until she inched in closer.

  Kyoko seemed surprised. Her eyes brightened briefly when she realised that she had finally been given the approval which she was vying towards but it was still more than apparent to Ema that she was consumed with guilt.

  The thin sheets that they shared laid over her haphazard over Kyoko, barely disguising her nakedness; either of their nakednesses, really. Ema’s left hand snaked along Kyoko’s upper thigh, drawing circles upon it, moving the sheets, crumpling them and she gazed sympathetically unto her. She simply dripped with saccharine sympathy but it was mixed with disgust. Kyoko couldn’t blame her.

  When Ema tried to understand this woman, to find some sense of purging divide between right and wrong. Kyoko was someone broken, maybe. Broken by decisions she had made when she was barely out of high school. Ergo, she had been taken advantage of, likely given some story about a shiningly bright future, all good and pristine and that the ends justified the means. No matter how repugnant such means were and whether the end was even worth it to begin with. After all, no Ignis were left and humanity had no successor...

  It was sickening. But that never meant that she had to forgo agency. So, she was cruel in her denial of it. She was someone who had abided by six months of torture for six children, barely out of preschool. And someone who had been willing to abide by it for six more months, and possibly longer, if need be…

  She was atoning, now, or so Ema had been told. Ema didn’t believe it but she still stroked the idea in case it was true. In her perspective, she saw cowardice in such claims, to be bluntly honest. If she wanted to atone, she ought to do it in the eyes of justice. Not in the shadows where it was safe.She should do something as stunning as lightning and electricity. But that was just Ema’s opinion and she had only been mauled by the data of the insane twice, after all. Only twice; not thrice.

  But as Ema came to embrace Kyoko, she found it difficult to maintain such heinous thoughts about her companion. Kyoko was complicated, there was no reducing that, Ema found as her thoughts and feelings fluctuated with each breath. Changing with the oxygen in her blood and lungs.

  She hugged Kyoko tightly, in it all. Her body was cold and Ema snuggled in. Kyoko smiled with tears in her eyes as she laid her head on Ema’s breast. She could hear Ema’s heartbeat and she could feel it too. It was steady, not necessarily slow but it wasn’t fast either but it was sublimely comforting.

  It still rained outside and violently at that. Kyoko still winced and flinched and was completely and utterly fragile as the lightning and thunder spooked her relentlessly but she did settle. She did come to dream, inhaling the smell of Ema’s sex and faded perfume as she did so. Finding some comfort in them both and in her warmth. Not once realising that Ema had cruel thoughts about her.

  Even presently. Ema still couldn’t sleep and she was still considering ghosting Kyoko, leaving her out in the cold where the rain seemed to wash the world unclean in its natural violence. She probably deserved a bit more sadness in her chest like the turmoil of a storm, just like those kids and how it all spiralled out from there with those individuals. After all, she was still a monster; even when cradled in human arms but her eyes had lost that cement like bluster. There had been emotion, messy and unadulterated, in those eyes of Kyoko’s, right before they, with their sharp and pretty lashes, fluttered close and she fell asleep, calm and safe, in Ema’s arms.

  The following morning came arduously and so did the day after that and Ema never ghosted Kyoko like she had planned to. She never told Kyoko about those thoughts as they lingered still. Turning to visions of futures which had the potential to come to pass but no, Ema kept them all to herself as sex turned to dating with the enigmatic Baira, sharp as medical waste syringes and as soft as the plastic bagging and as confusing as all the scientific names for all the chemicals inside little jars.

  So, Ema stayed. They stayed. And somehow domesticity leaked into their relationship where it really shouldn’t have and Ema realised that her heart could come to pound when she enjoyed the familiarity that she had with Kyoko. The kisses which turned from sour to sweet, the longer that they stayed together and all the less than romantic moments in between which Ema prefered because she wasn’t that type of lady who could stomach all the sap and syrup more fitting to cinema than to her real life.

  And it was all so strangely easy. As easy as breathing, to love Kyoko, Ema found. Even when she still felt that she shouldn’t because Kyoko’s hands were as red as her hair with the guilt of what she had done ten years ago and how it progressed since to hide the sins that yes, she was redeeming herself with. Or at least that’s what Ema had observed thus far alongside this woman she was in a relationship with.

  Because despite it all, all the love that she had built up in her heart, Ema still had the occasional thought of leaving it all. Just like Kyoko was a monster, Ema was a ghost. It simply couldn’t be helped, even if there was a very real love, somehow at play in this situation.

[mintaero]

I’LL SAVE HIM 

Listen to this fic’s playlist here 

Read it on Ao3!

“It’s your turn.” Simon’s voice is heavy. A chill runs through my spine. 

“My turn to do what?”

“To save me.”

first nova.

That’s it.

I’m going to have to spell this imbecile back to bed if it’s the last thing I do.

The digital clock on the nightstand reads 02:58, and I nearly groan. He’s been doing this twice as often lately; getting up at a ridiculous time and never coming back to bed. I’ll find him the next morning, sitting on the couch with a bowl full of butter in his lap and his eyes closed, head tipped back, snoring softly. Once, I even found him on the floor, on his stomach, listening to music in his earbuds so loudly that I could hear it from down the hall.

I wonder which it’s going to be tonight.

Simon hasn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks. I tried to get him to take some melatonin tablets, but he refused. He said he was “never taught how to swallow pills”. I told him we could buy the chewable kind, but he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t help, Baz.” He’d said, not meeting my eyes. That’s another thing he’s been doing often; not meeting my eyes.

“It’s better than restlessness. At least you’ll be able to relax, Snow.” I tried to say it gently, but it came out traced with accusation.

“It wouldn’t help, though.” He said again, crossing his arms. I didn’t respond, merely sighed and went to the bathroom for a shower.

It wouldn’t help, Baz.

Nothing ever seems to.

Grimacing, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, pulling back the curtains in front of the window. There’s no moon. There’s hardly ever a moon, it feels like, but I know that’s irrational. I know that’s irrational. I let the curtain fall back into place.

There’s no music blasting down the hall. Which is good, but also not. I might find him sprawled out on the on the loveseat with cereal crumbs in his hair, eyes darting around at every creak and groan the house makes. (I found him like that once. I had to step out for a few minutes and regain my composure.) (Seeing him like that was…too much.)

There’s no moon out, but there are stars. Brighter than city lights. There are three windows in the hall to our rooms, and each one of them has been opened by Snow and his constant need to have an outpouring of natural light. Tonight, I don’t mind. The windows are the only thing keeping me in the present instead of in that damned coffin.

I check everywhere. He isn’t in the living room. Or the family room. Or the dining room. I even think about going outside and looking for him, but it’s too bloody cold out for a “late-night stroll”, and I know that Simon hates being cold.

There’s rustling from the kitchen.

Fuck. How could I have forgotten about the kitchen?

I’m blaming it on being 3 in the morning.

“Snow?” I call, stopping in the doorway. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, which is unusual since the kitchen normally has the most light coming through the windows above the stove. It’s just so abnormally dark in the flat. I’m used to waking up with Simon radiating warmth, to seeing him exude his magic without ever meaning to. To look at him smiling and feel the world around us glow.

It all got a bit more complicated when he gained his wings and lost his magic.

“Snow, are you—” Then, my eyes focus.

He’s a silhouette against the darkness. Hunched over the sink, hands clutching the rim like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. He’s shirtless, as usual, but his skin doesn’t glow like it used to, and his wings dip further down with every breath he takes. He’s staring down at the garbage disposal.

Something’s not right.

“Simon,” It’s barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” I step closer.

He looks at me with wide, wild eyes. His hair is parted in chunks where his fingers have raked through it, and his bottom lip looks dark. Bloodied, I realise, where he’s been biting it. He looks mental.

He blinks. Panicked. “Nothing.”  

Then I see it.

Red. Around his eyes. Brimming them.

He’s been crying.

I cross the kitchen in a flash. He’s backing himself into the wall, his arms outstretched to stop me from touching him.

Stopping me from touching him.

It hits me like a bullet train. I stop walking, the energy making me sway forward slightly. “It’s—It’s me?” Fuck. I don’t mean to say it like that. To sound…hurt. Even a little.

His eyes widen as it slowly dawns on him. “What?”

“It’s me,” I say slowly. Calculated. Careful not to tip the waters. “You’re afraid of me.”

“Baz,” He’s saying all of his words fervently like they hold a thousand meanings within themselves. “No. That’s—Crowley, Baz, no. It’s not about that. It’s not even about you, it’s—it’s—”

“Answer my question: are you afraid of me?” Fucking hell. My voice cracks.

“No,” He growls. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up. “Never. It’s in my head. It’s all in my head. It’s nothing, Baz. Just—” He rakes another hand through his hair, and his next words sound like someone took a butter knife and carved into his vocal chords. “—go back to sleep.”

Ouch. Another blow to the vampire with the stilled heart.

“What’s in your head, Snow?”  

“Nothing,” One word, two syllables. Vehemently. Desperate. Pleading. It’s horrible how it makes my heart go from already cracked to crumbled. Smashed. It’s too dark in the room to see him clearly, but I can see the slight twitch in his eyes, the small crease forming between his eyebrows. He looks dreadful.  “I’m serious.”

There’s no heat beneath his skin, no fire or match ready to be lit. No pulsing air around him. It’s quiet, now. Simon Snow is a bloody uncertainty, no matter how well you think you know him. A bomb that you can’t tell is defused or not.  

And suddenly the dark becomes all too real. Seeping into me like a sponge soaking up water.

Simon Snow, are you defused?

He stands there. He’d gradually regained his posture (although it’s horrid, it’s still better than a slump), and pressed his forehead against mine. (That means that I’m the one having to slump to meet his height.) I try to feel for any indication of a fever, but there’s none. His skin is nearly as cold as mine.

“You should go back to bed,” he breathes.

I close my eyes. Move my hands to cup his face. Wipe the wetness off his cheeks.

“Good-night, Simon.”

__

the morning

“Simon,”

There’s sunlight streaming through the window and blanketing itself over the sheets. Simon’s face is smushed into the pillow, his hair spread out, damp from sweating off his nightmares.

I don’t remember him coming back to bed last night. He must’ve slipped in just after I had passed out.

I brush the pad of my thumb on his jaw. His eyelids flutter but don’t open.

It’s early. Not early enough for it to still be dark outside, but earlier than when I normally wake up. Simon’s usually up two hours from now, carrying a box of cereal and bumbling around the flat like a half-starved idiot.

“Love, wake up,” I say softly, tracing circles on his cheek.

“I don’t need to,” he replies, rolling his shoulders back, “there’s nothing waiting for me.”

I don’t know how to respond. That seems to happen more often; Simon will say something completely true and I just sit there, totally caught off-guard by his insensitivity.

He’s right. There is nothing waiting for him anymore. I don’t prepare extravagant Watford-esque breakfasts or send horrific dark creatures to greet him on his way out. We aren’t waiting for the day where we’re destined to be killed or kill each other, and I’m certainly not waiting for the day that he figures out that there’s nothing waiting for him anymore.

“I’m not a 1950’s housewife waiting at your beck and call, Snow,” I shift slightly away from him, shoving my pillow between us.

I had meant to be nicer this morning. Softer, because of what happened last night. I wanted to wake up and run my hands through his hair and kiss every part of his body except his lips just to remind him that I’ll always be hopelessly in love with him, but the truth is that I’ve never been good at comfort. I’m not accustomed to it. I aggravate. I’m used to aggravating people. I push people past the point of frustration to where they blow, and comfort isn’t one of my strong suits.

Comfort takes something else. It takes humility and understanding and everything I do have, but I’ve worked so hard to make it not visible on the surface.

“It’s a weakness,” Father would say, “and weaknesses have no place in the Grimm-Pitch family.”

Simon Snow is my weakness. Father knows that, of course, and even though he tries his hardest not to use it against me, I know he resents the fact that the Mage’s Heir has such power over me. But that's the way it goes with my family and the people we love, I think: my mother was his weakness.

“I know,” Simon says, rubbing his eyes open. “I don’t mean it like there will be nothing waiting for me, ever. I just mean—You know. Why wake up when there’s nothing waiting for me?”

“Because why would anyone wake up with that thought process?” I snap. “People can’t go around thinking, ‘I’m not going to do anything because there’s nothing worth my time’. Do you know how inhumane that is? Narcissistic?”

“I—I just—I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—I just—Just—”

“Just what, Snow?”

“Came out wrong.”

“Actually,” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I think it came out the exact way you intended.”

I turn and almost make it off the bed before a solid arm snakes its way across my torso, holding me back.

Keeping me there.

Holding me.

He warm breath on my skin makes the hair on my arms stand up.

“I’m sorry,” I feel his face press into my lower back. After a few seconds, after I realise that he’s got me right where he wants me, he says, “You’re the only thing worth waiting for. I’ll wait for you.”

He should. I spent nearly half my life waiting for him, so the least he can give me is a few minutes wait. A few minutes where I get to see Simon pine. For me, no less. I wonder what he’d look like? He’s not much of a sulker, but I know he thinks a lot, even if he says he doesn’t. (I wonder if he said that just because he didn’t want me to ask what he thinks about.) (I wonder if it’s me.) I should make him wait.

I should.

But I won’t. (Can’t, rather, but I’d never properly admit it to myself.)

Making—Crowley, seeing—Simon wait would be like Watford years all over again. Silently pining and then scampering off. I can’t go through Watford like that again. Like a fucking damsel stuck in a tower and looking down at the world beneath, at everything they can’t touch.

I glance back and down at him. His legs are pulled up, his back straight, and he’s lying vertically across the bed to get to me. His eyes are closed, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin where my shirt had ridden up.

Merlin and Morgana, he shouldn’t have this kind of hold over me.

“You also wait for scones in the oven to bake,” I skin my fingertips over his curls, dragging until the base of his neck. “So, I don’t take that as a compliment.”

“Mm, s’pose I do,” I’m not sure he hasn’t fallen back asleep. It is devastatingly early for both of us, and I’m nearly positive he just wants me to stop talking and lie back down with him.

It’s a bit awkward, but I do. His arm is still wrapped around my waist and his head is directly behind me, so I have to twist uncomfortably to avoid crushing him. He rotates his body so that he’s lying parallel to me. I grab at the sheets and pull them over us. My pillow is still shoved between us, so I shove it back under our heads.

He’s practically snoring by the time I get situated across him. Mouth open, eyes still, face void of his usual creases.

I let myself look at him. I let myself enjoy it for a little bit, the way that he breathes like he’s trying to not take everyone’s breath away. I consider counting the moles on his face, and then I reconsider counting his freckles if that means I get to look at him longer. It almost feels like back in Watford when I would watch him needlessly when he was asleep, when I felt the most distanced from him.

“I’m always waiting for you, y’know,” Simon mumbles, bringing his arm over his head and letting it rest there. It scares the shit out of me because I’m not expecting it.  

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, like, waiting for you to stop feeling bad for me. Or leave. There’s nothing interesting that’s going to happen now, since I’m not the chosen one anymore. I’m just—Just a one.” His morning speech is slurred with sleep. He grazes over h’s and cuts of vowels when he’s tired.

I remember the night of our Leavers Ball when Simon had said the exact same thing.

“Hey,” I nudge his chin with my thumb. “Simon Snow, I chose you. I’m never going to stop choosing you. That isn’t how choice works. Or love, for Crowley’s sake. I’m with you, to have and hold, for richer and poorer, through thick and thin, in sickness and health, for better or worse.”

Simon cracks open an eye. “Are those wedding vows?”

I sneer halfheartedly. “Irrelevant.”

He’s grinning. It’s not the kind that you see when you’ve just won a football match, but rather the one that you do when you’re thinking about a bittersweet memory.

“It won’t be,” he mutters, lifting his arm from over his head and draping it around my waist, tugging me closer.

“For now, then,” I say.

“Hm?”

“For now. We’ll think about the now and leave the rest for later.” I press into him, feeling his hands skim over my skin. Tracing words I’ll never get to hear, patterns I’ll never get to see. It sends shivers down my spine.

He moves until we’re nose to nose, and I can feel his heart beating in my chest. “Tell me what we’ll do now.”

“Now?” I swallow, and it must be a whole scene because he glances down at my throat. ��Now, we’ll kiss.”

He’s still grinning. It’s a marvellous sight. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

And then I take him by the back of his neck.

__

second nova.

It’s a week later when the second nova happens. He’s sitting on the floor before the fireplace, staring at the dying embers. Looking. Searching.

I’ve just gotten back from a late-night business class Father is forcing me to undergo. It’s horribly tedious, and I know he only wants me to do it for bragging rights to the Old Families, but I do it anyways to take my mind off whatever funk Simon and I have been going through.

But, that also means that most days I’m up early and back home late. Out the door before dawn and back after nightfall. On the nights that I find Simon still awake on his phone in the middle of the loveseat, those are the nights that we sit together, not talking, and get as close together as we can. His hips on mine. My hands running down his back. His face in the crook of my neck. It’s never enough, though. No matter how close, it could always be closer. Could always be worse.

Not any worse than tonight.

“I can still smell the fire,” he says softly. Gently. Like it’s a weapon that he’s using to protect someone with. Like the wind blowing on your face. Simon never uses his words like this. Carefully.

It scares the shit out of me.

“It’s long died out.” A whisper.

I sit beside him and push the hair off of his forehead. His face is hot like he’s running a fever. There’re horrible bags under his eyes, and the shadows dancing on his face made it seem like they were bruised.

That’s the funny thing about shadows; everyone expects them to be cold, and when they aren’t, it isn’t really called a shadow, now is it?

“Your eyes look burnt,” And teary, I almost add, but I don’t. I don’t want to know why. The whole room smells like fire. “Simon. Look at me.” I don’t want him to look at me.

He looks at me.

Shell.

That’s what he is.

A shell. Nothing like the boy I knew days before, plagued with unrelenting paranoia. A desolate shell. The hollow remains of something once filled.

I can’t look him in the eye. Instead, I cup his cheeks in my palms and blink back the tears brimming my eyes and push down the tightness in my throat that’s threatening to suffocate me. Of all things, of course, it had to be my love for Simon Snow that would kill me.

“It’s your turn,” Simon says, closing his eyes and leaning his head into my palm.

“My turn to do what?”

“To save me.”

I sneer, but it’s useless. He can’t see me. This is what my walls coming down feels like.

The fire flickers and cracks, and in the silence, it sounds like far-off thunder on a calm night. Thunder that could shake the earth. His shadows grow more solemn with every second that passes when I don’t answer.

“We’re going to manage, Snow,” I never had this quite happen to me before. Where my voice sounds distant and unlike my own. Crowley, he’s really crawled beneath my skin. “Somehow. We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

Simon nods his head slowly, and slowly his curls find their place back on his forehead. Everything finds it’s way back into its place.

“I’m not—I’m not a…--mage. There’s no reason for you to love me anymore.”

To fucking shit with that. I had heard that line so many times before, and never once did it cease to anger me. Stop loving Simon Snow? Simon fucking Snow? I couldn’t stop loving him even if I tried. To fucking shit with that.

“Simon,” I hold his jaw, just like the way he held mine when we were in the forest. There’s some jagged stubble scattered around his chin, and it rubs against my fingers like sandpaper. I don’t let go, though. “I chose you. I’m never going to stop choosing you. That isn’t how love works. And if it is—Well, if it is, then I’m going to change love.”

Simon opens his eyes. They’re full of blue and hurt and pain. If I were Simon, I’d growl. If I were Simon, I’d do something spontaneous and show him just how much I fell for him. If I were Simon…well, I’m not Simon.

“You can’t do that, Baz,” he says.

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I have.”

“How?”

I imagine telling him about the nights where I would lay in bed and watch him fall asleep and feel myself fall more in love. Or about the time when I figured out I loved him, and I knew it would end in some sort of catastrophe, but I couldn’t help it. For Crowley’s sake, I imagine telling him that my whole life is built off of me changing my love.

“Snow,” I say instead. (I never quite do what I imagine.)

“You’re going to be okay,” I say. “I’m…--" I choke out the word that’s been hardest to say, even think, with Simon around. “--sorry.”

I don’t know if I believe it.

I don’t know if he does, either.

“Don’t say sorry,” His breath is hot against my wrist, but it’s stabilising. It reminds me that he’s still alive, he’s still Simon Snow, he’s more than I’ll ever be.  

He leans his face into my hand and closes his eyes, swaying slightly. His hair is on fire tonight, burning with the inescapable capabilities that the night held, but I can see that it’s slowly flickering out. Just like the embers in the fireplace, Simon Snow is running out of ways to combust.

He, too, is steadily dying.

And that fact is burning me alive.

__

the violin.

“Darling,”

I stop cold, my bow hovering over the strings.

Simon Snow has never called me darling.  

I turn, and he’s right there behind me, a hesitant smile on his lips. I could drop my violin right now, watch it shatter on the ground as I pull him to me and kiss him senseless. Take him by the shoulders and never let go.

“Play me something.”

“What do you propose, Snow?”

He smiles, and I want to set the whole place on fire. “Something that only I’ll hear.”

My fingers are suspended in the air, waiting to start playing, but my mind’s drawing a blank. Any Sonata wouldn’t be enough. Kiddy songs? Simple lullabies, common melodies? Out of the question. I know that he’s never going to ask for this, for me like this, or to play him something that only he’ll hear. It has to be utterly perfect.

I remember a song from my childhood. It was my grandfather’s before he passed away. He would take me into the library and teach me each measure of each line, day after day, no matter how beyond my experience level it was, until it was burned into my brain. He taught me how to play. He let me fall in love with the instrument and the pain of playing it. My grandfather was a worn, exuberant person who loved ideas and concepts much more than reality itself. He told me that I was his confidant.

“Tyrannus, you’re my confidant. When you’re old enough, you’ll give this song to your own confidant. Share it with them as though you would a secret because that’s what this song is, Tyrannus; a secret.”

I played it at his funeral.

I haven’t played that song in years. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of it was from muscle memory, from all the times I had stayed up past my bedtime practising. Practising until the tips of my fingers were bleeding and my wrist felt fragile enough to snap off with one wrong move.

It’s a lovely song, one that I would have more confidence in playing if he had given me a warning beforehand. I’m not quite there with the vibrato, so I try to accentuate each note with the sudden fortissimos or pianissimos.

And all throughout, I’m looking at him. Gauging his reaction. Taking in how his eyes dip when there’s a lull and then opening suddenly when I press down harder on my strings. I relish the feeling.

When the last note sounds, I make sure to hold my bow far over the fingerboard for a dream-like sound and lift up slowly so that the note resonates in the air for a few more seconds.

I make sure to pronounce my words carefully, “I haven’t played that song in years.”

“It sounded…great.”

“Glad to know that I pass as mediocre.”

Crowley, I’ve never seen Snow transfixed before. He’s actually gawking at me. Mouth open, wandering type of look in his eyes. I could do it. I could lose all inhabitants and kiss him right here and make an utter buffoon of myself.

“No, not—not great great. Brilliant. You’re brilliant,” he breathes, saying the words as if he can’t help it. “Do you play like that all the time?”

“No, Simon,” I drop my violin from my chin. “Just when you ask me to.”

“I’m being serious.” The right and foul git. I think he means it. He shakes his head, his curls shaking along with him. “That was brilliant.”

It wasn’t, not really. I nearly went sharp a few notes, and I rushed an entire section. Simon will never know that, of course, but I’ll have to live with the fact that I didn’t play as well as I could have. “Thank you.”

I set my violin back in its case and begin to untighten the bowhairs from my bow.

He walks over to me and pushes the bow down lower and lower until I’m forced to look at him.

“Baz,” I meet his eyes. “I mean it. You’re completely wicked.”

“Plotting vampire, is it?” I cock an eyebrow. His hands are still on mine, and they’re not as warm as they were before.

“What? No. You’re just—Just simply brilliant.” And then he gives me one of his sincere, toothy grins that pushes his cheeks up all the way to the crinkles around his eyes. “I’m speechless.”

“That isn’t far from usual.”

“Sod off,” he lightly shoves my shoulder. “I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

I fall towards him, my eyes dipping.

“I know,” Softer than I intended. Sweeter than I knew I could be. “I know. It’s a bit hard to take a compliment from the only person who gives you feedback.”

“Everyone should hear that song.”

“Maybe they will.”

“They should.”

“They won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, my love,” I dip forwards, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, whispering, “You’re my confidant.”

__

third nova.

“He wasn’t in the apartment when I came home,” I switch the phone to my other ear and hold it there with my shoulder, typing furiously on the computer about what to do about a missing person.

“He’s not a child, Baz. He’s probably just gone out for a meal or a drink or something.” Bunce’s voice rings through the receiver, raspy and thick with sleep. I feel a bit guilty, then, for waking her up, but it’s an emergency. Penelope Bunce has dealt with worse matters.

“He would’ve told me. Left a note or sent a text. He wouldn’t just leave.” All the Google searches say the same thing: it isn’t considered a “missing person case” until after 48 hours, and it’s only been a few minutes. But none of the Google searches knows Simon like I do, they don’t know that this isn’t something he would do.

“Have you tried calling him? He’s not the best with answering but he’ll pick up if it’s you.”

His phone was in the bowl by the front door, piled underneath other things like car keys, keychains, gum wrappers. I saw it right when I came in. That’s when I knew something was wrong. “Do not categorise me as an imbecile.”

“Maybe he was summoned by the Humdrum,” Bunce teases, and I nearly chuck my phone at the wall.

“Bunce,” I say through gritted teeth, “not the time for insensitive jokes.”

She sighs, and I can almost see her condescending face right now. You’re being paranoid. “I wasn’t being insensitive, Baz. I’m sure he’s fine. Cast Scooby-Doo, where are you if you’re so worried.”

“I can’t. You know that that spell always leaves a trail.” I consider it, though. Following the trail of magic to him. It’s tempting but highly dangerous and almost 100 per cent certain to expose the magick world to the Normals. I can’t risk it.

“Well,” Penelope says now, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “There are other spells than that one that don’t leave trails. There’s probably something in Spanish that Micah taught me that could help. I could teach you some Spanish spells if you’d like—”

“Penelope,” All four syllables. I don’t mean to sound so desperate, so needy, but—as much as I hate to admit it—I need help. And I’m willing to stoop so low as to ask for it from Penelope Bunce. “Please.” I glance out the window across the room, silently pleading to see Snow walking outside, coming to tell me that he’s okay, he’s okay, there’s nothing wrong, he’s okay.

“Okay, Baz, fine.” I can practically hear her thinking out loud, mutter possibilities about where he might be. I catch words like “park” or “a few miles”, but she doesn’t continue onto a sentence with them. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him often. We Skype and text, but I don’t know about him anymore. You’re his boyfriend, shouldn’t you know where he’s most likely to run off to?”

I stay silent. I don’t have enough time to explain to her about the novas, or how Simon’s been increasingly worrisome the past few weeks. Telling her about Simon’s recent insomnia and mild PTSD episodes would only make her panic, and two people panicking in this situation wouldn’t result in progress being made.

“Baz? Are you still there?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Where do you think he could be?”

“Crowley, Bunce. If I knew, I wouldn’t be calling you, now would I?”

“Think, Baz.” She says. As if I haven’t been thinking the whole time we’ve been talking.

Simon’s mentioned that we’re only a few miles from his last home, and that passing by there makes his chest feel hollow. (He’s never said that, but the look on his face tells me more than I need to know.) There’s a park next to our flat, but I would’ve seen him out the window. Down the street, there’s an Indian place that he seems to enjoy thoroughly, but I severely doubt he’s gone at 01:47 for a late-night curry. A year ago, when I was visiting Bunce and him in their flat, he had taken me around the city for a “touring date”. He told me that sometimes he just liked to walk around and look at all the places he’ll never know.

“Bunce, I’ve got it.” Before she can say anything that’ll mess with my train of thought, I hang up, discarding my phone on the couch beside me.

I push my computer off my lap, distantly aware of it crashing to the floor, and narrowly avoid hitting my shin on the corner of the coffee table as I jump up and start rushing out the door, hastily slamming it behind me, and trying to let my mind catch up with the rest of my body.

The night is cold with ghosts deep in the shadows. I should tell them to fuck off. Or ask them to help me find Simon. (I wouldn’t, though. Ghosts are dodgy in the best of times.) I don’t bother going back and grabbing my jacket.

Nothing could warm me up now.

I walk along the abandoned pavement, watching the lamplight brighten and dim every time I pass underneath. There’s no breeze, nothing besides the ambivalent snow falling on the road. Christ, is it so cold that snow is able to fall? I hadn’t noticed.

I turn a corner into a dark alleyway, pausing to listen. It’s quiet. Simon once told me to never walk down an alley with noises I couldn’t explain, or little pinpricks of light that I didn’t know where they ended.

“You don’t want to meet the end of that cigar, Baz. And you definitely don’t want to know what’s behind those noises. Just—Just listen for a second.” He’d said.

Just listen for a second.

I keep walking, sure to keep looking over my shoulder. The floor is grimy and probably mucked up with whatever discards people have thrown out their windows, and my shoes keep making squelching noises whenever I lift my feet up. The two buildings beside me seem to be hunching towards each other, sagging with the weight of time. (Or the weight of the snow. The downfall has gotten increasingly substantial.)

I round out of the alley, turning a hard left and continuing down the street. There’s a woman sitting on the curb, either intoxicated or high, rocking back and forth and muttering things too low and too diluted for me to compartmentalise.

She looks up when I pass, fazed, but I’m already looking away.

I walk until the pavement starts to narrow and the windows on the buildings are shattered and boarded up with plywood, until the snowfall overhead coats my hair and eyelashes, until my thighs feel numb from the cold.

I tell myself that I’ll stop at the next bend of the road; the next lamppost; the next alleyway. I could have stopped at all of those places, but I don’t. I keep walking. Past a telephone booth with weeds growing in the inside. Past a traffic circle.

Then I stop.

And that’s when I see him.

Sitting in an abandoned bus stop, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He’s wearing three layers of sweatshirts, but from here I can see him shivering. His bony wings still stick out beneath all those layers, outlining them against his back, making him seem less like a human and more of a hastily put back together Frankenstein.

He’s okay, he’s okay, there’s nothing wrong, he’s okay.

He ducks his head and lets his fingers run through his hair.

He’s not okay.

“I don’t think this bus stop is in service anymore,” I say. Loud enough for him to hear, but not be startled by.

He jerks his head up, hands still in his hair. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“That’s very counterproductive for the bus stop,” I hug my arms around myself; it feels like it’s just plummeted 20 degrees. “Snow.”

“Not if it’s not in service.” He drops his head back down. I take that as an invitation to join him on the bench, wiping the snow off the top of my head, and then his. His hair is deeply wet, probably with melted snow, and colder than the air around us.

The wind has picked up around us, though we can’t feel it. I can. Cutting through my clothes like a knife, pressing the blade against my throat. There’s a lamppost above the bus stop—how convenient—and it’s casting eerie yellow light through the transparent glass onto us.

“You could’ve been mugged, you know.”

He’s completely folded over on himself now, his curls nearly touching his knees. “Didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Killed, then.”

“I’m used to the risk.”

I sigh. It’s involuntary, obviously, but Simon doesn’t seem to know that. He turns his head to the side and glares at me. (Half-heartedly, but still. The intent is clear.) The yellow light makes his eyes turn a murky, underwater-type colour.

“Come home with me,” I say. I’m trying not to plead, but just a few minutes ago I thought that he was a candidate for a missing person case. “We can stop for something on the way back.”  

He sits up and rests his back, neck, head on the glass behind him. I want to reach over and run my thumb over his cheekbone, to press my nail into his skin until it leaves an indent of a crescent moon. To smooth the side of his hair down and let the snowflakes melt on my fingers.

“You don’t have to talk,” I say softly, watching him closely. He scowls. Either to me or the world, and I’m not sure they’re any different to him. It’s a horrible look on him. All dark shadows and sharp angles. “I’m not going to make you. If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t talk about it. Crowley, I’ll leave if you want me to leave.”

There’s a silence that falls over us. I’m not unaccustomed to silences with Simon; they happen more often than not. I’ve learnt to find solace in these silences, the kind that you look for within grief and mourning to comfort your pain.

I let my palm rest on his thigh.

He stares at it, unflinching. A curl escapes his fingers and falls ever so elegantly on his forehead, springing back and forth for a moment before settling.

One second passes.

Five more.

Ten.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me, not blinking and lets his own hand fall on top of mine. If anyone were watching, they’d be so curious as to why these two boys were doing everything in slow motion, handling each other like they’re fragile China.

He still isn’t blinking, and his neck has gone rather stiff. At first, I think it’s because of the cold, but if anything, the cold would only make him blink more.

That’s when I notice it.

There are tears in his eyes. Brimming his bottom eyelashes.

I’ve never seen Simon cry before, not when it’s really mattered. Not when it wasn’t an effect of something I had done. There used to be a time when one of my main intentions was to make Simon cry. To respond to him with sharp-edged comebacks that made him either tremble with anger or sob with hurt.

It always felt like a sucker-punch to the chest.

Now, it feels like a bullet to the gut.

“Snow,” It comes out harsher than I intend, but I move my hand out from under his and cup the side of his face. The skin is colder than my hands have ever been, but there’s a deeper sort of heat within. If I were to strip the first layer of his skin off, I wouldn’t be surprised to see his blood boiling underneath.

He leans his head into my palm, letting his eyes flutter shut.

‘It’s your turn.’

‘My turn to do what?’

‘To save me.’

“Snow,” I say, slightly more vehemently.

His eyebrows knit together, a seeming look of suppression. He still doesn’t open his eyes. “Stop reminding me.”

“Reminding you of what?”

He looks pinched, like those rats I drain late at night. “Who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I sneer, jerking my hand away. He flinches and opens his eyes. “You’re Simon bloody Snow. That’s your name. You’re not supposed to be anything besides Simon Snow.”

He growls. “But that’s just it!” A tear falls from his eye and trails down his cheek, stopping to hang from his chin. He doesn’t wipe it away. “I’m tied to it. Every prophecy was talking about me, Simon Snow, the saviour of the World of Mages. And I failed, Baz. I failed the only thing I was destined not to fail.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Yet again, he’s caught me off-guard.

I let my mouth hang open, breathing in the chilled air. A car drives past us on the road; I follow it with my eyes. It’s so bloody cold tonight, I’m not even sure why people would want to be driving in this kind of weather.

“You’re not a bloody prophecy, Simon,” I spit, suddenly coming to my senses. “You’re not a concept that has to be fulfilled. Merlin and Morgana, when did existing become too mundane? You stopped the Humdrum. You saved people from losing everything. You sacrificed your magic for the World of Mages. You did everything that was expected of you. What more do you have to prove?”

He looks at me, all heavy-lidded eyes and lips trembling from the cold.

He looks at me, and he doesn’t glow.

He looks at me, and I look back.  

And I nearly shatter from the weight of it.

Then it’s all happening in a blur: Simon’s in my lap, straddling me, nudging his face in the crook my neck; me, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding onto his shoulder blades; the world, trying to be still. A shudder racks through his body, so strong that it shakes mine along with him.

I run my hands up and down his back, to his shoulders down to his hips. It’s useless, though. It’s not like I can warm him up. His hands are clutching my shoulders, tangling in my hair, desperately trying to ground himself. He shivers, and I pull him closer to me. Every time he breathes, his chest pushes into mine. His breath gets in my mouth.

“It’s okay,” I rub my thumbs in little circles at the joints of his wings. He hasn’t stopped shaking, and there’s a wet patch where he’s sobbed into my shirt. I can clean it later. “Love, it’s alright. Somehow. You’ll be alright.”

I can’t tell who I’m telling that to.

Simon doesn’t respond, but I know it’s more of a can’t instead of won’t. I know that if he still had his magic, he’d be going off by now. Taking the whole town by storm. Obliterating everything in a five-yard radius except me and this bus stop.

It seems to stay like that for a while. His shaking dims to an occasional tremble, but I don’t trust myself to let go quite yet. This is the closest I’ve gotten to him in weeks—possibly even months, and I’m too vain to let him go. He used to tell me that he likes this, right here, right where he knows I’m not hurting anyone and no one is hurting me. (He told me that after a few drinks, the night after going to a gay bar. These pricks were staring at us—me—the whole night, and I couldn’t stop smelling Simon’s residual “about to go off” smell in the air.)

He’s staring at me.

He’s lifted his head from my neck, and now he’s staring at me. His eyes are rimmed with redness—either from his crying or the dry air—and he still looks pinched. Something in my stomach twists. It’s a long, slow twist, like my body thinks the pain is pleasurable when it’s really, really not.

“Baz,” He breathes. Like it pains him. “This isn’t—I’m not.” Exhale. “I’m sor—"

“Shh,” I move my arm, tugging the hair at the base of his neck.

“I just—” He rasps.

“Hush.”

“I worry—”

“Don’t.”

“But—”

“Simon,” I hold his chin. “Look at me.”

“Baz?”

“Here.”

I’ll save him.

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Parts 3…

… Parts 3, continuing from Parts 1, and Parts 2.

Eventually, there will be a Parts 4, and maybe a Parts 0.

And onto the last two. Not counting Cannoli, admittedly.

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

He didn’t look away from Kou, making certain he was following the boy’s movements as he struggled to get back up. Red was powering up an attack—but he’d already decided his next move before he finished reaching his knees. His gaze raised to Kou’s helmet; he knew what the face beneath it looked like at the moment—blank eyes and iridescent, unnatural frost slowly creeping over his skin. Briefly, he closed his eyes against the image of the boy’s warped features. The energy around the other Ryusoulger began to disrupt the air surrounding them making Banba’s eyes snap back open, and he finished dragging himself back up to his feet, fumbling for KataSoul. Red’s weight shifted—and with an inhuman roar, he charged.

He finished activating the Soul just in time—the attack hit him right in the chest, and shattered the armour and even his transformation, pain slicing across his front. He stumbled back slightly, but his arm shot forward, fighting through the daze and pain to grab the boy by the wrist and pull him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Kou…” It hurt to breathe, but he forced the words out anyway, leaning his head down to talk in Red’s ear, cradling the boy’s head against his shoulder. “… Kou, listen to me.” When Kou fought his hold, he clutched closer, even though each motion sent another spike of agony through his ribs. “Listen!” He felt tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care anymore. “You fight to protect others, don’t you? Are you really going to let the Druidon change that?” Red’s movements slowed, but Banba didn’t know if it was his words or his tightening grip. “… Did your Master die for you to fail here?” The question was harsh, harsher then he meant it to be, even though his voice broke and the tears spilled over as he said it—but if he was to reach the boy, he couldn’t dwell on that. “… Don’t let this be it.” He was holding Red tight enough he could feel Kou’s heartbeat through his aching ribs, which was uncharacteristically slow and heavy—he’d gotten accustomed to sensing Kou’s pulse as similar to Touwa’s, something like a bird’s excited thrumming. This sluggish, hammering was all wrong, didn’t fit Red’s nature. Bright, cheerful, but also… Unbearably fragile. He was all too well aware of how quickly the world could and would shatter innocence.

He was not going to let that happen to Kou—or any of them.

“… Listen to me…” He repeated, his arms unconsciously pulling the boy closer, like he could drag him right into his broken, weary heart to keep him safe. “Don’t give up now… There are still people you need to protect…” He could barely breathe by that point, was standing through pure adrenaline and leaning all his weight into Kou as he held him, but somehow, he got the words out. “And if you can’t remember to protect yourself, too…” Fuzziness was creeping into his vision, his thoughts clouding—every last bit of his awareness zeroing in on the young man he was holding. “… Then I’ll do it for you. I promise. So please… Please don’t give up…” For one of the first times in a long while, his voice rose and cracked with emotion. “Limits are made to be broken, right?!”

Red froze. For a long time, they stayed there, perfectly still—but there was something else; a sensation, not of warmth, exactly, but like the cold was receding, like the boy was defrosting in his arms.

“… Banba…?” The voice was sluggish, confused, and a little frightened, but definitely Kou. All the air and tension seeped out of him with a deep sigh, and he wavered on his legs, sagging even more into Red—who further reassured him of his return to normal when he scrambled to hold him up, stepping back a little to look worriedly at Banba’s face. The strange, shiny hoar was gone from Kou’s skin, and his eyes were alive again—and screwed up anxiously he looked Black over. “… What… Are you…?” His eyes widened when he found the massive wound in his teammate’s chest. “You’re…!”

But Banba wasn’t even registering the pain anymore, too relieved to care. A small smile flickered across his face, and he couldn’t resist a slight chuckle, making Red start and look back up. Slowly, he raised a hand to the boy’s head, ruffling Kou’s hair like he used to do with Touwa’s, once upon a time. “… You’re back…” Black’s voice was a hardly a breath, but he distinctly saw Kou perk up at the sound. “… Thank goodness…” Then his strength gave out, and he crumpled forward.

Kou panicked, scrabbling to hold him up, sinking to his knees. “… Banba? Banba!” But Black was out cold, slumped over his shoulder in a far too familiar way, breathing pained and shallow, even while unconscious. More bright red was staining his clothes from the cut across the other Ryusoulger’s chest, and Kou could feel his teammate’s heartbeat faltering against his ribs. When Banba continued to make no response, he fumbled about, trying to properly wrap his arms around Black to hold him up, one hand flying up to steady his head—then, when he tried to move the other, he realised he was holding his RyusoulKen.

He glanced frantically around, searching for any sign of the Druidon, but found none, and Banba’s wounds resembled something done by a sword than anything else. Slowly, he took in the destruction around them—it didn’t look like what the Druidon would do, and actually reminded him of the damage they’d done to the training fields when the Masters had first begun teaching them to use the Souls…

Realisation stirred something in his mind, a faint trace of memory, and his heart started to sink.

You’re back, Banba had said. Kou couldn’t seem to properly remember if he’d gone anywhere or how they’d gotten here—but the snatches he was starting to recall were not implying anything good. Biting his lip nervously, he looked down at the sword in his hand more closely. There was blood on the blade—and he began to feel like throwing up as he realised how it had gotten there.

He had done this. Had broken their pillar, their constant, their…

Tears overflowed, and he dropped his sword so that he could move his other arm to clutch Black tighter, burying his face in Banba’s shoulder to try and muffle the sob that erupted unbidden from his throat—then he couldn’t stop, crying loudly into his teammate’s vest, blubbering incomprehensible apologies.

Eventually, his brace chimed. “Kou!” Melto’s voice sounded breathless and… Odd. Tense. Not as collected as usual. Something was off. “Kou, are you there?”

It was enough to snap him out of his miserable stupor, and after several deep gulps of air to try and quell the tears, he fumbled for the button. “Melto?” His voice shook, and he took another breath in an attempt to steady it. “I… I’m here.” He heard a sigh of relief from the other end of the call—then Banba’s heartbeat stuttered against his chest, and he quickly rushed on before Blue could actually respond, “Melto, Banba’s here, I… He’s hurt badly. I… I think I…”

There was a pause after he trailed off. “… You, too, then?”

“What?”

“… I…” Melto’s voice wavered as well, “… Touwa is…” He swallowed audibly. “… Asuna, as well. Apparently Ui…” He couldn’t finish. “… Can you get back to the house?”

Desperately trying to ignore the growing dread in his heart, Kou looked around for some sort of landmark or sign he could use to figure out where he was. Looking again, it did seem vaguely familiar. “… I’ll call Tyramigo.”

“Good. We’ll meet you there.” Right before he disconnected, Blue’s voice cracked.

For a long moment, Kou stayed there, kneeling on the ground and hugging his wounded teammate as tightly as he dared, fighting the urge to start weeping all over again. Then Banba groaned unconsciously in pain near his ear, and he knew he couldn’t hesitate any more. Hand trembling, he hit the button again. “Tyramigo!” Familiar music echoed, but it was far from comforting. Without anything else he could do, he hugged Banba closer to his chest, hoping to use his body to suppress the bleeding from the giant gash on Black’s chest, and continued crying into his teammate’s shoulder as he waited.

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

I persist in the belief that Banba decides he wants to protect the kids’ ‘innocence’ in a way. Like, coming to the conclusion that he should try to keep them from turning out like he did. Bc I still desperately want to see his protectiveness spread from Touwa to include the others. ^^ Except maybe Cannoli. XD

No, no. I jest, I jest.

[kurara-black-blog]

A Story Told

Date: 02/08/18

Words: 2026

Warnings: Langst, some parts feel a bit off, but that could be just me.

Inspired by: @yikes-and-a-hand-basket ‘s post, which you can find here.

Tagging @moonsworllld to give them a taste of my writing. I’m notsorry about the feels, friend.

When you’re a kid, one of the first things you learn about feelings is that love is the strongest of them. For years and years, people will drill in your head that the power of love was the strongest thing, that it could move mountains and give you strength to do anything. Everyone grows up knowing about the power of love.

Why, by God, no one ever warns the kids about the power of guilty?

The crushing feeling of regret, the consuming void called guilty, the corrosive despair? Why, by whatever deity sadistically watching this cosmic play, no one prepared them for that?

(Would that have done anything? No one is ready for it, no matter how much you’ve felt that before.)

(Maybe the adults just held on the helpless hope their children would not go through that.)

The first one to break was, surprisingly, Pidge. She looked at the tears her fingers wiped away, for a moment every information she had about tears flashed in her mind, until the last one made itself present. People cry when someone who is important is dead. Lance was dead. Her big brother was dead. Dead and gone. His smile would be forever bitterly frozen in his face, he would never again joke with her, or hug her, or lift her up. Pidge would never again hear him call her Pidgeon when comforting her when the loneliness was too much. Katie would never hear his laugh when she rambled about her family. Katie would never hear his fond voice when he talked about his. And suddenly she wished she had listened more, hugged more, joked more. She longed for Matt to call her by her name for so long, Katie never thought she would long to hear someone, her goofy brother Lance, call her Pidge.

(She never again let anyone call her that. To everyone else, even to the Voltron team, she was Katie. That name brought no memory of him, for she never let him use it.)

(She died wondering if it was a good or bad thing. Her last breath was a whisper of the word “bad”. Her son Lance wondered why for a long time.)

The next was Coran. People say there’s no sadder thing than a parent burying their child, Coran wondered if they knew how much sadder it was for a parent to bury the child they helped kill. He was a father once and was forever grateful the universe gave him the chance of having children again. Granted, they were teenagers, but still, they never opposed his fatherly nature. Lance accepted it with open arms, his own childish soul resonating with Coran’s fatherly one. Coran could see it now, all of the silent times the boy would sit and watch him do whatever needed to be done. The longing looks, the constant rambling about missing his family, the somber smile when he noticed the mustached man was too busy. When he thought the mustached man was too busy. The altean would’ve stopped everything he was doing if the boy so much hinted he needed something, no hesitation, no regret. But maybe he didn’t let it clear, maybe he didn’t show enough to the paladin how much he truly cared, maybe instead of waiting for Lance to come to him, he should’ve taken the first step. Once again, Coran the beautiful man was Coran the mourning father.

(He vowed to never again have children. He followed that vowel so vehemently; he was never able to marry again, for he didn’t had the heart to tell his partner he had no wish of having their own children.)

(In his deathbed he asked out loud if he had ever been a good father. When Allura, holding one of his cold hands, said yes, he thanked her, but said hers was not the answer he wanted.)

Then Allura started crying. Ungrateful, useless, egoistical little girl, her mind screamed. She couldn’t save him that time. Because his death that time was more than just his consciousness leaving his body, his life, his everything was gone. Everything that was Lance McClain was gone. She could see then. His bad pick-up lines and stupid jokes were his way to comfort her. He preferred seeing her annoyed with him than stressed because of the universe. For her he took the harsh words and eye rolls, for her he held his feelings back, for her he put a smile in his lips and a flirty joke in his tongue. Even when she disregarded his feelings, even when she fell in love with another in front of him, even when she asked him for comfort because of her heart being broken by another, Lance shallowed his feelings and put hers first. She wished he hadn’t, she wished he screamed and cried and let her see all the hurt she caused and let her feel all the anger she brought and rightfully blamed her for both. Allura knew he would never do that. He was too selfless. He was too… Lance.

(She was never able to bond with someone like she bonded with him. She didn’t even try, she had no reason to. No one was him. No one would ever be.)

(After her death, she was known as the Distant Princess, and her days of soft smiles and kind gestures were tales only the elders could confirm.)

Tears ran down Hunk’s face, no matter how much he tried not to. How much he tried to be as strong as his best friend, his brother. Lance promised him the stars, he would sit in the kitchen counter, both in Earth and in space, while Hunk cooked and talk about constellations and the dreams they brought. He would smile, both sitting in his room near the window, lights off, and bask on the gentle light of the stars until Lance himself looked like a constellation full of dreams. They would share insecurities, their anxiety and low self-stem finding their way out of the boys’ lips. The Cuban boy was always the one to make the conversation better, assuring his friend things would be better, they just needed to have patience. After all, they already had all the support they needed, right? Hunk had all the support he needed, just enough to forget he was also a leg. And Lance didn’t bother to remind him, why would he? Lance was too selfless; he probably didn’t want to bring Hunk back in the hurricane of self-doubt his friend was finally leaving behind. Hunk hated himself for knowing Lance enough to understand that, but not being able to hear the cries for help his best friend shoot his way. Hunk hated himself for forgetting that nothing is unbreakable, and his brother from another mother definitely wasn’t. Hunk hated himself for leaving Lance behind in the hurricane.

(He rarely cooked after that. All the food had either the bland taste of emptiness or the bitter taste of heartbreak. His only exception was a cake on July 28, every year without fail. The cake was delicious and always left a bad taste on his mouth.)

(His last wish was to eat the last piece of the last cake he made. It was delicious. Left a bad taste on his mouth.)

Shiro tried so hard to keep it inside him. He was the leader, he had to hold the team and protect them. Nevertheless, he failed. In more ways than one. The worst was… he saw it. He saw the loathing and the doubt and the fear and the sadness and the forced smiles and the dimming shine in the blue eyes and the half-hearted attempts to joke and flirt. He saw it all for he was the same. He hid all the bad parts of himself to not worry the others. He understood Lance, even if their problems were a bit different. Shiro never loathed himself before, and he discovered he wished he didn’t then. When you hate someone, you avoid them, however how will you avoid yourself? He knew Lance was strong, he had the eyes of a warrior, determined and powerful, but after his death, Shiro finally understood how much strength that boy had. Lance had to live with himself, the person the loathed the most, and he did it alone. He gave all the love he should have for himself to others, to them, without thinking twice, without regretting once. The leader was filled with so much admiration, he almost missed the little voice in his head calling him weak. Almost. Takashi didn’t say anything before because it would’ve been hypocritical on his part. But if being a hypocrite was what he needed to save the heart of Voltron, then Takashi chastised himself for not being one.

(His eyes turned cold and his tone somber. He would always be found training, even long after the war, mumbling words like “weak” and “hypocrite”.)

(For years to no end, people would ask themselves why he never accepted the title of hero.)

When Keith finally broke, the lions together with him, the team was relieved he hadn’t been the first. If he was, they would’ve cried all together, the symphony of breaking hearts resonating among the stars. Because the cries, the almost inhuman howling that left his mouth, together with the sorrowful roars from the lions were too much already. He fell in his knees, his own pain be damned, and let the tears burn the floor like they burned his eyes. Lance was his closest friend, Lance was his right hand man, Lance was his support, Lance was the person he trusted just as much as his brother Shiro, Lance was the one who helped him get where he was and understand who he was. Lance was everything Keith was not for Lance. In a mix of rage and sorrow, he let the whole reality hear his voice, the let his throat be destroyed by the raw despair. He was angry at Lance for never coming to him, he was angry at him for never trying enough, he was sad for the loss of the Cuban boy and he was sad that he couldn’t do nothing! Nothing! He was so absorbed on his own problems, and Lance, that goddamn selfless prick, held so little love for himself, he wasn’t able to do nothing but watch the man Keith would trust his life without hesitation destroy himself. His hands pounded painfully on the ground, strong enough to bruise. The pain wasn’t strong enough, though. Not if compared the pain their Blue Paladin must’ve felt.

(He talked never more. The others wondered if his vocal chords were really damaged that day, but no one asks, not even his mother. The permanent glare in his opaque eyes was enough to keep them away.)

(He died in the final battle against the Galra Empire, the legend says he died staring at the eyes of the Galra Emperor, both their lives fading at the same time. Legend says he died with a peaceful smile and contented sigh.)

(Legend says only two of the Voltron team died smiling.)

(Legend says the lions will never move again, diligently waiting for their paladins to be reborn. Some say if you stay near Red and Blue for long enough, you can hear them softly purring, as if comforting each other.)

Their cries together are so loud, so sorrowful, so desperate, weren’t them crying so painfully, they would’ve wondered if the other realities were able to hear it. To hear their loneliness, to feel their guilty, to taste their regret.

(They could.)

(Sven and the others never had such desperate urge to hug Isamu before.)

Team Voltron forgot what mercy and kindness was that day, the tear washed everything out of them like the dirty in a shoe. And they let it. The only thing that would make them a little less ruthless was telling the tales of their hero.

(The legend of Lance McClain was known in every inch of that universe.)

(A story told by those Lance trusted, those Lance loved and those who never moved on.)

[wtnvwritings]

Alarms (Kevin/Reader)

Summary: Though StrexCorp is now defunct and Kevin has, with you, a new life to live in the desert otherworld (New Desert Bluffs), he is still haunted by nightmares and trauma from the years he spent under the company's weight. He often wakes up broken, but at least he has you there to put him back together.

Warnings: Implied self-harm, implied past abuse and mentions of blood

AO3 Version

It’s strange to wake up without the sound of an alarm. Screeching. Howling. Stabbing. It’s hard to let your consciousness come over your mind naturally, to open your eyes and peer up to the ceiling of the bedroom without that painful yet familiar noise forcing you awake to start your day. 

It was a noise you hated, hated so much especially because you could not turn it off, could not change it--the alarm was wirelessly controlled by forces outside yourself and optimized by those forces for ‘peak productivity’.

You waited in bed for several long minutes, counting all the little specks on the ceiling and waiting for an alarm you knew would never come, hands clenched tight to the sheets with a nervousness that only time could help numb.

They are gone, you reminded yourself. They are gone.

Eventually you get out of bed, pressing your bare feet to the cold, hard floor. The gentle shock of temperature difference from the warm bed is enough to tighten your focus and thoughts, enough that you turn your head to realize that the other side of the bed is empty. Where a person should have been you saw an attempt at neat and orderly sheets pulled taught and tucked under the mattress. They didn’t look all that neat, but that was probably largely due to the fact that the bed had yet one more occupant when the other had fruitlessly tried to tidy up their side of it.

Still, you’re not surprised to find it empty.

You get to your feet with a gentle breath in, and then a breath out, collecting yourself before making your way out the bedroom and to the main hallway. The only noise you could hear was the sound of winds outside, gently brushing against the windows, sand whipping up and around in what almost sounded like gentle rain if you pretended hard enough; there was never any rain in the desert otherworld, and you quite missed that weather feature.

As you step down the hallway another noise becomes loud enough to focus on. It’s a gentle mumbling, a creek of a chair and the occasional (but just as gentle) curse. It’s coming from one of the rooms, the...old room to be precise. His room. His...hobby room. You’re still at least persuading him to call it a hobby room, hoping to pull away another thorn of manipulation that company had driven into his mind.

“Kevin?” You ask, a moment before knocking gently at the door. There is no answer, so you give it another moment before finally clutching a hand at the cold metal doorknob. A heavy feeling of familiar terror and dread start to settle in your bones as you enter the room as if already knowing what you were about to see before your eyes could see it.

The room is in complete and utter disarray. Furniture is turned over, as if flipped violently and there is something resembling broken glass shattered on the carpet. Though you do your best not to let your eyes glance to see in more detail, there looks to be dark streaks of dull red on the walls, as if someone had wiped their hands across the surface in a hurry; you try not to let your thoughts dwell on the metallic smell hanging dull and putrid in the air.

No, no you don’t dwell on any of those things. Not the sight, not the chaos, not the smell--instead you focus your eyes on the man on the other side of the room. You can see him standing in just flannel sleeping pants, shirtless, turned away from you and facing the opposite wall of the room. Though the room is dim you can still see little scars criss-crossing over his skin, highlighted cross-hatches that healed a touch lighter than the rest of his flesh. You can see him with a hand reached out to the wall though you can’t yet tell what he’s doing with it.

“...K...Kevin?” You ask, barely finding your voice.

It’s suddenly then that the man seems to realize that you’re in the room. He snaps from his trance and quickly spins around, meeting your gaze with his--

Black eyes, too-wide of a smile and his face, his chest, his hands--they are blood-stained.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you there, dearest!” The man’s smile grows wider, nearing something almost inhuman. “I assume you woke up. Without your alarm. Ah, I suppose that’s a thing that people normally do! I woke up a few hours ago because I didn't want to miss my alarm--but how funny it was that I forgot we don't have one anymore!”

If you were anyone but yourself this sight, this room, this man would have terrified you, would have left you shaking and crying and begging to wake up from such a nightmare--but you are you and that man is Kevin. You know him, you know this and you’re not scared; no, you’re scared and concerned.

“What...were you doing?” you ask after a breath. Kevin giggled, his voice sounding almost childish, as if you were asking such a silly thing.

“I was just writing down the hours I was asleep for the daily productivity log!”

You shift your weight, eyes briefly catching the writing behind him. It’s a messy jumble of numbers and letters that don’t even begin to make sense to you. The writing looks nonsensical and written in that same dull red color as everywhere else on the walls.

“Well, since you’re finally awake and I’ve already gotten this going, I’ll write your hours too!”

You take a step forward before the man can turn back around.

“Kevin,” You are very careful in how you line your words together. “Whose blood is that?”

You know you have to ask though the notion makes you feel a little sick. There is a flash of emotion over Kevin’s distorted features, something akin to worry, but it quickly falls away as hallow joy takes it’s place once more.

“Oh don’t worry dearest,” the man said in a lilting, sickly-sweet tone. “I didn’t hurt anyone--I know you don’t like it when I do that. I just...well, it seemed like the laptop wasn’t working when I tried to log into the StrexCorp database to log in my mandated hours of behavior. I figured I could write them down on paper, but then I couldn’t find any pens or pencils and I just...”

He gestured to the wall. When your eyes slowly looked back at his face, you could see a thin drip of blood rolling down from the corner of his mouth.

“...I just had to make due with what I had! You know how my supervisor gets when I don’t notate my behavior hours on time. Oh... So... Angry...”

There’s another flash of emotion over the man’s face, this time something you can’t discern. You don’t care to take the time to figure it out because you’re already stepping forward, throwing your arms around Kevin’s blood-stained body with a level of lacking self-preservation one only had when they loved another.

“Kevin.”

The name is thin, terse, and serious.

“It’s...okay now. You don’t have to do this.”

This isn’t the first time he’s shattered. This isn’t the first time he’s awoken with the distorted awareness of his current life, trying to go about his day-to-day habits beneath the excruciating weight of a company that had broken him emotionally as much as they did physically.

This isn’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.

Kevin stills in your arms. He still barely knows what it feels like to be cared for. He still barely understands what it means to be loved, even less on how to truly and healthily love in return. He stands there awkwardly for a few moments before you feel his body shake and, slowly, his arms loosely wrap around you in kind.

His face presses into the crook of your shoulder and neck, buried against your skin. You can feel the sticky, slick feeling of half-dried blood on your palms and fingers where they lay on his back. If Kevin was human you would worry more for the amount of blood on the wall, on the floor, on him. Instead you worry for the man’s shattered psyche and broken soul.

“...It hurts,” the man finally says, his voice a soft, weak whisper in your ear. He can barely keep the sounds strung together well enough for you to even discern that they are words. “Everything hurts and I don’t like it. Please.”

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur in turn, your roles so painfully switched between the two of you. “I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

In the still-painful breadth of memory you remember when you were the one in his arms, crying yourself to sleep. You remember feeling the ever-constant presence of that company over your shoulders, watching you at every moment of every day. You remember the fear and the threat of pain--but you remember Kevin...protecting you. You remember him saying the same words in your ear every night--did he mean them then? Did he even believe in them then? You still aren’t quite sure, but you hold Kevin tighter still in the present day.

“Lets go wash off all this and bandage you up,” you say after a few more heavy moments, eyes closed so you don’t have to look at the sight of the room, feel reminded of the pain, the weight, the company the---anything. You didn’t want to think of anything but the man in your arms.

Of healing. Of growing. Of settling in a new life in the new town the two of you were in, somewhere in the vastness of a desert otherworld.

Kevin doesn’t say anything but gently nods, face still pressed to the crook of your neck and his arms still wrapped, loosely but genuinely, around you.

[evilelitest2]

Something that your piece on "Good Night, and Good Luck" reminded me of, and a fact you've brought up before in your series: why ARE Americans (and the West in general, really) so easily scared?

That is a very good question, and like all good questions, it doesn’t have a single answer.  I mean all people are easily scared, a lot of Muslim Fundamentalists are doing basically the same thing our political right is, but the west gets more scared over less so lets talk about the various factors.

Firstly, we aren’t very well educated about the world around us.  This is less true for Europeans but its still stands, we know very little about these situations and political realities, which makes things easier to get confused.  If somebody’s understanding of say, Islam, is just a vague nebulous threat that they imagined as a hoard of brown people with funny hats and suicide vests, its really easy to imagine the enemy as something inhuman and thus more threatening.  If you are actually knowledgeable about the subject you learn how our enemies are just as incompetent and stupid as we are

Secondly, a corporate culture, because fear is extremely profitable.  Now don’t get me wrong, I am not saying there is a cabal of men in business suits sitting around with cigars going ‘Mar har, we need to make the people afraid” its more just part of capitalism tendency to hyperize anything. Marketing fear is really really easy, because people who are afraid will buy things to try to make the fear go away.  Take gun companies for example, their product is something which kinda requires you to be afraid to get one, if you weren’t terrified of getting shot, then the only reason why you’d buy a guy is if you were a hunter or a sports shooter.  And while that is a serviceable market, if you have an aggressive marketing campaign to get people terrified, you can get people who otherwise would never buy guns to…buy guns, because do you know how scary things our outside right now (they say as crime rates are steadily reduced).  Or for people who have guns…why not get another gun, because you never know if like, 8 guys will break into your house and you will have to defend it with your 80 guns.  

This also applies to a lot of other markets, its just good business to have a scared audience, because they will buy you’re useless shit.  For example, if men are supposedly having their masculinity stolen from them by…something then suddenly testosterone supplements make sense.  

   Or most infamously, punditry.  I mean, if there is a giant conspiracy of Leftists controlling all the media and the only person you can trust is Rush Limbaugh, then you listen to him religiously…which makes the ads on his show much more valuable.  It just makes a lot of business sense 

Which leads too

 Thirdly Because our media’s level of success is based upon ratings rather than quality of reporting, our media priorities things that make people scared.  I mean, 9/11 was great for the news industry in terms of money, and you never get a wide spread selling headline saying ‘Everything is fine”  Apocalyptic pronunciations and constant fear just gets you better ratings, so they keep doing it 

Fourth, it is really good for politicians, particularly those who are trying to get people to vote against their own interests.  Let me give three examples on the right, center and left of this behavior.  

So to take a right wing belief, for poor Americans in rural red states, tax breaks for the wealthy don’t actually help them, in fact they hurt them because that leads to cutting of benefits.  So how do you get these people to vote against their own interest?  Simple, you get them fucking terrified of the liberals/communist/muslim/jews and they will vote against their own interests.  Or in the French Revolution, the Jacobines were able to seize power by playing on fears of a Royalist conspiracy.  Or to use a centrist example, Hillary Clinton’s primary campaign was basically telling people who didn’t like her policies to support her because only she could protect them from Trump…whoops.  

There is a reason why Republicans call the Estate Tax “The Death Tax” 

Fifth, our media loves conspiracies in fiction, and the wide spread which makes people more inclined to believe it.  People don’t understand how like…things work so they imagine conspiracies, and since most people get their understanding of reality through fiction, the prevalence of such narratives makes this stuff seem more reasonable.  I mean a lot of Alt Rightsits get their understanding of Terrorism through 24, their understanding of Crime through the Dark Knight Returns and/or Dirty Harry, and their understanding of history through Forest Gump 

Also people kinda like being scared, its exciting, which is why when the News covers a natural disaster they try to make it as dramatic as possible.  

Actually Fahrenheit 9/11 does a good job talking about this whole issue