#and at one point it was like. dark brown. somewhere around 2020 which makes sense i didn't go outside much you know why

[patronsaint-ofthedenial]

Having an identity crisis over the color of my hair because I'm normal

[imagineteamfreewill]

Chills

Title: Chills

Pairing: Reader x Model!Cas

Word Count: 3,911

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking, kissing

Square Filled: Model!Cas

Summary: Your night out with your friends has an unexpected, though not unwelcome, ending.

A/N: This is a submission for the 2020-2021 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo). It is also loosely inspired by the song “Souvenir” by Selena Gomez. I hope you enjoy—please let me know what you think!

_______________

The night was still young, but you were already growing sick of the new bar you’d been dragged to by your coworkers. You were supposed to be celebrating with them. Normally, you would have really enjoyed the opportunity to drink, talk, laugh, and dance with them, but this bar was more of a nightclub than anything else. Pounding music had been playing since the second you’d stepped over the threshold—after being carded by a broad-shouldered bouncer standing outside the door—and the lights were so dim that you could barely make out the faces of your friends if they were more than a few feet away. The bright white strobe lights flashing near the tiny stage near the back of the bar probably didn’t help with that, either.

“You want another?”

You looked up from your phone and nodded at the bartender, handing him the leftover cash from your last drink. He gave you a polite nod and took the tip in one hand before grabbing your empty glass with the other.

“You know what?” you shouted over the music. “I’m good, actually. Thank you.”

Nodding again, the man started to hand back the tip but you shook your head. 

“Keep it,” you told him. “Have a good night.”

He smiled at you this time and you gave him a small smile back, then stood. Looking around, you caught a glimpse of your co-workers somewhere in the crowd of people jumping, grinding, and dancing on the makeshift dance floor, but the girl who’d driven you was nowhere in sight. You probably couldn’t remember her name at this point, even if your life depended on it.

As the music transitioned into a new song, you pulled out your phone to text one of them that you were heading home on your own and that a seat in the car had opened up for a late-night conquest or a bag of takeout, whichever ended up taking precedence. You watched for a second as she pulled out her phone and glanced at the message, then went back to dancing like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I’m clearly not a priority whenever there are guys involved, you thought bitterly, and then you scolded yourself for being so bitter. You’re literally leaving early instead of trying to have fun with your friends or all the cute guys here. You have no right to be salty that she’s having a good time and you’re not.

You turned and started to make your way to the exit, tucking your phone in your bag as you walked. The crowd thinned out as you got closer to the door and you were almost clear of the bar when someone slammed into you, sending you tumbling onto the floor. Your bag went flying too, but you were too busy trying to keep your head from slamming onto the tile to care. You failed miserably.

“I’m sorry!” Someone’s hand wrapped around your bicep and pulled you upright, and your head swam as you adjusted to the all-too-sudden change. They started to let go, but when squeezed your eyes shut and brought one hand up to gingerly cradle the side of your head, their grip only tightened.

“Are you alright?”

You started to shake your head, then groaned and mumbled a curse when that made things worse.

“Is she okay?” That was the bartender, you recognized his voice, and a second later something cold was pressed over the hand still pressed against your head. 

“Here,” said the man who’d knocked you down. “Ice pack. Let’s find someplace for you to sit. I’m gonna lead you to the bar, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, and you opened your eyes just a sliver so you could watch where you were walking. Once you were seated on a barstool, you rested your elbow on the counter so you could hold your head up and press the ice pack against it at the same time.

The man took the seat in front of you. He watched in silence while you carefully situated yourself. It was unnerving to feel his gaze as you tried to find a comfortable position, and you tried hard to focus on how you were feeling instead. Finally, you opened your eyes the rest of the way and looked up at him. 

A chill ran up your spine and you shivered. He was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. Dark brown, almost black, hair swept across his forehead and bright blue eyes practically lit up the rest of his chiseled features. They brought a softness to his face, however, and you wondered if he wore glasses.

He’d look great with glasses, you thought.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked, and you blinked a few times, feeling your face grow warm at the realization that you’d been staring. Hopefully, the bar area was dim enough that he couldn’t tell how embarrassed you were.

“No,” you said, shaking your head just a little. It didn’t throw you off as much as you had before, which was a relief. “No, I’m fine. I think I’ll just have a bump.”

The man nodded. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. I wasn’t paying attention. I can pay if you think you need to see a doctor.”

You gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine, really. I’ll probably just have a major headache in the morning,” you told him. You reached for your phone, then sat up straight and looked around. Your purse was still somewhere on the bar’s floor and your stomach sank when you saw the crowd that had gathered near where you’d had your run-in with the man. Some skeevy guy had probably picked it up by now. You’d have to get a new phone in the morning, and you’d have to cancel all your cards, too. Add to that the fact that you’d now lost your driver’s license and you were bound to have a major headache from your fall, your morning was shaping up to be one for the books.

He noticed your distraught expression and looked in the same direction, then back at you. “What?”

“My purse,” you groaned, dropping your head back down onto the ice pack in your hand. “I dropped it and it’s probably long gone. I don’t see it and I’m gonna have to cancel all my cards and stuff tomorrow.”

“Maybe it’s still there. I’ll go look. Stay here?” he asked. You nodded and watched glumly as he stood and headed in the direction of the crowd. They parted as he approached, and a few of them pulled out their phones and held them out, smiling and chattering excitedly. The stranger leaned in towards them and smiled as well. Once they’d all pocketed their phones again, he said something, and suddenly the lot of them were all searching the sticky floor of the bar. It took less than a minute before one of them was holding out your purse to the stranger, and then he was heading back towards you.

Your ice pack had already melted and grown squishy. Sighing, you set it down on the counter and straightened up when he held out your bag. It looked completely undamaged and after making sure everything was still inside, you closed it again and looked up at the man. More people had come over and he was taking pictures with them while you were checking for your phone, wallet, and keys. When he caught you watching him, he quickly hugged a few of the strangers goodbye before he turned his full attention back to you. They left reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Everything there?” he asked, and you nodded. A dazzling smile spread across his face and you stared dumbly at him. “Good. How are you feeling? You should keep the ice pack on your head.” He picked it up and gently pressed it into your hand, then moved it up to the side of your head again. His hand stayed pressed over yours for a long moment and you swallowed thickly.

“Thanks.” You blinked and suddenly realized how foolish you were acting. Swooning over the very strange stranger that knocked you over at the bar you didn’t want to be at? Ridiculous.

“Do you have a ride home?”

Shaking your head, you dropped your hand and looked down at the ice pack, squishing it a little before replacing it on the bartop. “I was planning on taking an Uber..”

“Let me take you home. I’ve got— I’ve got my car here and I want to make sure you get home or something, especially if you’ve got a concussion,” he replied.

You squinted. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“I insist.”

“And I don’t know your name. How do you expect me to ride home with a complete stranger?”

He stared for a second, and then chuckled. “My name is Cas. And you are?”

“Diane,” you replied, after hesitating for a moment. There was no way you were going to tell him your real name, no matter how kind and attractive he seemed to be. You had been drinking, after all. “You’re a pretty popular guy, Cas. Does that mean I can trust you?”

Cas grinned. He glanced over at the small group standing on the edge of the dance floor that were staring. Some of the girls had jealousy burning in their eyes and you frowned at them, confused. Who is this guy?

“There’s plenty of people to see you leave with me, if that’s what you mean,” Cas answered, “but I like to think I’m a pretty trustworthy person.”

The warning bells in your head that normally went off during situations like these were oddly silent and you found yourself smiling as you replied, “Okay. You can take me home, but the second I sense anything’s off, you let me out of the car. Deal?”

“That seems reasonable,” he agreed. “Do you need to tell anyone you’re leaving?” You shook your head. “Alright, then. Let’s get going.”

You followed Cas out of the bar. You wrapped your arms around yourself as soon as you were outside. It was colder than you thought it would be, but your chill wasn’t long-lasting. Cas shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, and you looked over at him in surprise. 

“Thank you.”

He nodded politely and gestured towards a car off to your left. He’d parked near a light pole, allowing you to see inside the car without issue, and you peered into the backseat for anything unusual or alarming as you got closer. There was nothing there but a tan trenchcoat that had been half-hazardly strewn over the otherwise pristine, caramel-colored leather seat. It was a beautiful vehicle, and the seat perfectly complemented the cream exterior of it. Everything about Cas’ ride screamed wealth and you slowed.

“So are you some kind of influencer or something? Is that why people kept asking for photos with you?” you asked.

Cas slowed as well, then came to a stop at the back of the car. He looked at you curiously. “You honestly don’t know who I am? You don’t recognize me?”

You scoffed. “That’s a pretty egotistical thing to say.” Almost immediately you regretted the words, and you covered your mouth with your hand. He winced. “I’m so sorry, that was really rude. I’m not normally this brash.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I regretted saying what I did as soon as I said it. I’m a model. Usually I can’t go anywhere without everyone getting in my personal space. You not knowing who I am is surprising to me.”

“Oh.” You nodded, a little uncomfortable. “Well… I hope it’s a good surprise?”

His bright blue eyes lit up in an almost hypnotizing way. With his face half in shadow and the only light being the warm glow from the light pole up behind him, his chiseled jawline wasn’t as strong and he looked more like a boyish angel than the dashing model you’d met inside the bar.

“It is. It’s a very good surprise,” Cas laughed. He moved around you to the side of the car, then opened up the passenger door for you. Once you were situated, he shut it and went around to his own side. 

You took the moment to quickly pull out your phone and Google him as fast as you could. There were over a million hits for “Cas model”. His full name was Castiel Novak and he was clearly one of the more famous models right now. His Instagram was one of the first results, and he had more than a million followers. Your jaw dropped a little at the pictures at the top, too. Cas was even more stunning in real life than he was in the photos, but your mouth still went dry and when you turned and found him watching you, you were too dazed to respond right away.

“Did you just Google me?” he asked, amused.

“No.” You locked your phone with the button on the side and he laughed.

“You did! Did you find anything exciting?” He was grinning and you rolled your eyes. “I’m glad that I knocked you over instead of somebody else, Diane.”

Unable to stop yourself, you laughed and sat back in the seat, more relaxed than before. Cas continued to grin as he started the car and pulled out of his spot.

“Which way are we headed?”

You pointed down the street when he reached the lot exit. The two of you drove in silence, with you continuing to point and give directions when necessary, until finally he was parking alongside the curb outside your home. The attraction you felt towards him was simmering low inside of you and you glanced over at him as he put the car in park.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, secretly hoping to have one more snippet of conversation with him. Most likely, you’d never see Cas again, and you wanted your last memory with the beautiful, blue-eyed man to be a happy one.

“It’s the least I could do, considering I’ve given you a bad headache at the very least.”

You nodded, your hand on the door handle. “Do you… want to come in for a snack?” You winced. “That was lame, I’m sorry. Do you want to come in for a nightcap?”

Castiel’s grin softened and your stomach flipped. “Are you inviting me in because you want to or because you think you should?”

The question caught you off-guard and you blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want you to think you need to invite me in because I drove you home or because I’m famous. If we’re going to spend time together, Y/N, I want it to be because we want to.”

“I do want to,” you answered. “You… You seem like a nice guy and I’m not going to deny that you’re not attractive.”

He watched you for a moment before nodding and turning off the engine. “Alright, then I’ll take you up on that snack.” 

You grinned wide. Pulling the door handle, you began to climb out of the car, but you stopped and looked back at him before the door was even halfway open. “I have a confession to make,” you said. 

Cas paused and raised his eyebrows slightly. “A confession?”

“My name’s not really Diane, it’s Y/N. I was afraid to tell you in case you were one of those weird stalker guys, but I figured since I already Googled you and I’m letting you into my house…”

The car fell silent for a minute, and then Cas nodded. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N,” he replied, smiling again. He held out his hand for you to shake. You shook it with a smile of your own.

You and Cas climbed out of the car and he locked the car. Your neighborhood was dark and eerily silent, but Cas’ hand on your shoulder made the nervousness go away.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” he asked, and you nodded with a tiny smile before heading up the short walkway to your front door. He waited behind you as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him and then locking it behind the two of you.

_______________

    The hotel Cas was staying in for his extended promotional shoot was the most glamorous place you’d ever been. The outfit you’d picked out for the plane ride seemed like children’s clothes compared to what the other guests were wearing and you tugged self-consciously at your shirt. Even their suitcases proclaimed to the world that you had money, and you were secretly glad that your luggage had been taken up separately. Amazon suitcases you’d bought five years ago probably wouldn’t be something that they’d consider high class.

Cas held your other hand in his as he led you into the elevator. “Are you alright?” he asked once the doors were closing.

You nodded. You could feel his eyes on you as you watched the numbers above the elevator doors light up as you traveled towards his floor, and when he stepped closer, your breath caught in your throat.

“Cas?” you murmured, turning your head to look at him.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“We’re in the—”

“I’ll stop anyone gets on.” His usually bright eyes were darker and you nodded, finding yourself already a little breathless as he brought his hand up to touch your cheek. Leaning in, he captured your lips with his and you sighed, letting your eyes fall closed. You turned more in his arms and grabbed onto his blazer as he pushed you back towards the wall of the tiny space, until finally the railing was digging into your back and you pulled away just enough to breathe.

“I missed you,” he breathed, and then he was kissing you again. You made a noise, both out of pure pleasure and out of agreement, and kissed him back just as hard.

The elevator chimed with each floor you passed. When the floor beneath you seemed to slow, you reluctantly pushed him away and brushed the back of your hand over your lips. He continued to watch you as he stepped back, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Wasn’t expecting that until we got back to the room,” you said. You didn’t mind that you were out of breath, too.

Cas didn’t smile. The dark, needy look in his eyes was still there, but there was a hint of amusement as well. “I haven’t seen you in months, Y/N. You expected me to wait?”

The elevator doors opened and Cas grabbed your hand again, pulling you down the hallway. You veered around an older couple exiting their room and they exchanged a knowing look as you passed by. Your face grew warm, but you didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact that anyone with a brain knew what was going on between you and your boyfriend.

Once at the door to his suite, Cas glanced both ways down the hallway, then hurriedly pushed you against the wall.

“Wha—”

He kissed you before your question had barely begun and you melted into his touch. All other thoughts fled your mind and your hands found the button-up underneath his blazer. You tugged gently, wanting the separation between the two of you to disappear, and he pressed into you more.

Somewhere down the hall, the elevator doors chimed and Cas pulled away. He dug his key card out of his pocket and fumbled with it as he tried to get the door open. You watched on, a little stunned by the sudden kiss, but your insides were alight with desire and the familiar flutter of butterflies you always got whenever you and Cas were reunited.

Finally, the lock clicked and the little light turned green. Cas pushed the suite door open and you were right on his tail as he entered the room. The door slammed shut behind you and Cas had you pressed up against it in an instant.

“Cas,” you laughed, smiling as he kissed every inch of skin he could find. “Cas, hold on a sec. Let me get settled.”

He hesitated and you quickly grabbed his hands, gently prying him from you before he could go back to his task. You pecked him on the lips and then slid away from him so that you could take a look around the suite.

“This is gorgeous! You made it sound like there would be nothing to do here!”

“There isn’t,” Cas answered. He followed you into the sitting area and you dropped your purse on the couch. Through the open bedroom doors, you could see your two small suitcases sitting beside the bed. A bellhop had taken them from you when you’d first arrived at the hotel. You’d requested that they leave it unpacked—you had some surprises for Cas you didn’t want hanging out in the open just yet.

“Are you serious?” You gaped at him, laughing a little. “Cas, this is the Presidential Suite! There are two TVs in this room alone! You’ve got a wet and a dry bar, an air hockey table, and your own balcony with a million dollar view! How could you ever be bored?”

He watched you intently, his eyes searching your face before looking you over from head to toe. Finally, his gaze returned to yours and your cheeks burned. 

“You weren’t here.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“No buts,” he said. He shook his head and stepped closer, taking your hands in his. “You weren’t here. I hate going away without you. I used to love traveling and seeing everything the world could offer, but now I don’t want to do it without you by my side.”

A wide smile blossomed on your face and you ducked your head. “Cas…”

He squeezed your hands. “Do you want something to drink?”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to sit down and relax for a moment. It had been go, go, go since you’d got on the plane. Cas left your side for the first time that night and you leaned back onto the cushion. Everything around you was so beautiful—your boyfriend included—and it was sublime. You loved your house, but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy the things that Cas earned through his job.

Cas sat down beside you with a glass of wine in each hand. You could only assume it cost more than most things you owned, and you took yours gingerly.

“I’m glad you could come,” Cas said as you sipped the wine.

“Me too. I missed you.” With your free hand, you reached over and grabbed Cas’, squeezing gently. “I love you, and when I finish this glass, we’re gonna make good use of that bed.”

He laughed. Cas set his glass on the coffee table and looked over. The light from the windows behind you reflected in his eyes and you decided right then and there that you weren’t going to finish the wine. His eyes were big enough and blue enough to swim in and a chill ran up your spine at the look he gave you.

“I changed my mind,” you said, grinning. You set down your wine and stood, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go check out that bed now.”

_______________

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[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.25

Adventure Awaits

02/22/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,688

Warnings: language, light smut, angst, fluff, so much fluffffffffff, obscured nudity

A/N: Hopefully things will continue to come forth easily. The beginning of this chapter wrote itself, then I hit an emotional block but I finally got through it and here is the chapter! Things are a-moving and I can’t wait to share with you all what I have planned! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What’s this?” Her voice is wary, eyeing the spacious kitchen which has been cleared out of the two long tables used to prepare all your meals.

Every servant has been given the day off with the exception of your head cook who is busy preparing your meals in the smaller manor where Peter has been staying. And one servant to tend to your needs.

However, you don’t want any interruption so the first chance you had you sent her off to relax on her own.

At the center of the kitchen with it’s carefully decorated and cobbled floors in shades of dark grays and browns is a large copper basin, big enough for two.

Floating amongst the pleasantly heated bath waters are the deepest of burgundy rose petals. A few of your own signature peonies thrown in, but the deep roses darken the surface. The clear waters are made milky with oils and imported salts that your research indicated would reduce stress.

“What does it look like?” You tease, moving past Nat still wearing the white nightdress you’d been put in for your examination in the morning.

“It looks like a very large bath.” She says a small curl to her lips.

“Because it is a very large bath.” You chuckle. “Peter?”

Your partner in this endeavor moves forward from the large double doorway, smiling at the look of surprise on Natasha’s face.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Make sure no one enters? And inform me at once when Steve returns. Or of any news. Or if he sends word for me. Or-”

“Y/N…” Nat chuckles, watching you with amusement as she cuts you off.

“Sorry. I’m just-”

“Worried.” Peter nods. “He’ll be alright. Knowing about what we do isn’t easy. But trust us…we’re very capable.”

“And he has Samuel and Bucky with him this time.” Nat reminds you. “They are a tough trio to overpower.”

You’re not exactly comforted but knowing that Steve isn’t alone this time does make you feel better.

“I guess you’re right.” You sigh.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. I will make sure that no one disturbs you unless it’s Steve.” Peter promises.

With a quick bow of his head, he leaves the room and shuts the door tight.

“So, what is the bath for?” Nat wonders, moving over to stand by the edge of the large basin.

“For you.” You tell her and move to stand beside her. “Take off your clothes.”

You don’t wait for her to be ready. You reach behind her and start to tug at the ribbons underneath her bodice.

“Wait! Y/N!” She twists in your grasp, trying to see what you’re doing.

“For what?”

“Your Majesty…” She complains.

“Stand still.” You fuss, and finish tugging her bodice free then peel it off and toss it aside before moving onto her skirt.

“What are you doing?” She laughs, true happiness in her voice. “Why a bath?”

“Because…” You begin, getting her skirt off before tossing it onto her discarded bodice. “…I have wanted to repay your love and support for a while now and seeing as this is how you have taken care of me, I wanted to reciprocate.”

You peek up at her beautiful face to find her slightly stunned but also impressed?

“Have you been reading a lot?” She asks, no doubt noticing your improved vocabulary. You really are trying very hard to be the Queen that Broklin and Steve deserve.

You feel your cheeks flood with heat. “I’ve been studying.”

“You’re doing wonderful.” Nat smiles.

“Our first week here Steve was so busy I only saw him when we went to bed and a few hours in the morning, if that. I had a lot of time to read.”

“Are you finding it easier?” She wonders.

“A bit. My writing has improved as well. Looks a bit more polished now.” You declare proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Y/N.” Nat praises and you smile.

“Take off your undergarment and get in, while the water is still hot.” You tell her, then proceed to remove your own.

As you strip, you caress the tiny swell of your belly. Once you’re undressed, you very carefully climb into the basin and with Nat protectively holding onto your arm to help, sit yourself down on one end leaving the opposite open for her.

Settled, you watch as she strips, and feel your mouth fall open as she drops her underdressed and exposes the exquisite perfection beneath.

Natasha’s body is a vision. Beautiful and porcelain smooth. Every curve appears sculpted by a master craftsman. There is no bit of Nat’s body that is not the ideal of what you think every man hopes his lover will look like. You aren’t even ashamed of your gawking because she is stunning.

“No wonder James is so eager to marry you.” You realize.

Natasha scoffs. “He only wishes he’s seen me so exposed.”

Hm…you would have thought that they’d already been together with how affectionate and open they are.

“That’s my point.” You tell her. “He might very well faint when he finally sees how beautiful you are.”

Nat shakes her head but settles into the steaming water and with one heavy sigh, you see the stresses of her day to day life leave her. And though you know that she does not begrudge you her care, you must be an added stress too.

You should have done this a long time ago.

“Are you comfortable?” You check, wondering if maybe different oils might have been better or if the water has gone too cold.

“Perfectly.” Nat assures you. “Is this what you had in mind for our special day together? Getting me naked in a tub?”

You laugh but nod. “Since coming here, to Broklin marrying Steve, there’s a decorum that I-no, that we are expected to adhere to. So much of our lives are spent abiding by everyone else’s rules. I wanted to give you an opportunity to relax.”

“Thank you.” Nat nods. “But after the morning you just had I would think you need this more than I do.”

You feel your smile waver and then fall leaving a sorrowful grin in its place. Pushing yourself to sit a little straighter, you begin to gather your hair up and away from your shoulders. It drips a little at the tips but it’s mostly still dry.

Nat’s own fiery red locks are already piled up on top of her head in beautiful waves. You’re still absolutely dumbstruck by her beauty, milky skin glistening in the steam, her breasts just barely hidden in the clean yet murky waters.

The rose petals help to keep her shielded.

“I’m not bothered by the examination. Doctor Selvig was very gentle. And it’s good to know that the babe and I are progressing healthily. However, I am still worried about him. What if he’s born with all of the problems that Steve had as a child? Will we have to seek help as the Queen Mother did to cure Steve and save his life?” You chew on your lip, finishing up with your hair and sitting back carefully.

Your hands find your belly and you begin to caress the bump gently.

“I’m sure you and Steve have nothing to fret over. From what I understand of his cure, it changed him in every sense but who he was as a person. He’s always been a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot.” She means for it to make you laugh and you do smile, but your worries as a mother will not relent.

“I hope you’re right.” You sigh.

“Shall I distract you?” She offers. “I did promise to tell you my story.”

Suddenly, your worries are shoved to the wayside as your need to understand this woman, your closest friend, completely.

“I suppose I should start from the age of three?” She begins, “I grew up in a small village, poor. Very much like you did. I don’t remember it, but what I do remember is being somewhere new. I was taken from my home—or maybe sold? I’m not certain. I have searched for my parents but have found nothing—and placed in what I thought was an orphanage for girls. For a long time, that’s what I assumed.

“I had no parents. I was given a bed and food, but also other things that I did not know weren’t normal until I was almost fifteen.” She confesses.

“What kinds of things?” You wonder.

“Violent things. Styles of fighting. Techniques to infiltrate, mimic, a form of acting I suppose you could call it. I was taught to be a spy. To charm those around me and then extract from them whatever it is I should need from them.

“Most importantly, I was taught how to kill, proficiently. And I’m…I have done so many times. The number of people…”

“Is this why you think you don’t deserve to be with James?” You’re astounded by her reasoning. Everyone has done things that they are not proud of.

“It is part of the reason, yes.” Nat admits.

“Nat-”

“I should be dead.” Nat tells you, shocking you into silence.

You wrap your arms around your tummy, trying to hold yourself together at this stunning revelation.

“What do you mean?” You whisper, terrified of a world without your best friend within it.

Nat’s lips curl up into a small sad smirk. He shakes her head once and draws her eyes down to her hand as she passes a floating rose petal between her long feminine fingers, which you suddenly notice are calloused and scarred.

“Back before I met anyone on the team, I was on a…I’ll call it a quest as I think that is the best word to describe it…on this quest, what must have been my twenty-third in a fortnight? I don’t even remember where I was.

“I was closing in on my target, some duke or prince—it didn’t matter—when suddenly, an arrow shot straight through my arm. I still have the scar.” She says, reaching up to stroke the faded line on her left bicep. “It was Clint.”

“The Hawkeye?” You wonder, remembering the pseudonym for the effectively retired member of the Avengers.

“Yes. He was given the order to kill me on sight. And it’s no wonder for I had caused so much turmoil among the Southern kingdoms by killing many high-ranking officials and members of countless courts.

“The price on my head was high but an old group known as the Shield had the highest bid. The man in charge, General Fury had instructed Clint to bring him my head. But Clint instead incapacitated me. He tied me up and spent a week trying to get through all of the cobwebs in my head.

“It took another few months before he was willing to turn his back on me. Literally. He was no longer afraid I’d attack him.

“By the end of the year, every bit of mind control that the Orphanage had me under was broken and I could see myself for the first time in my life.” Nat smiles, this time more genuinely, but it shifts back into the sadness you’d seen in the examination room earlier in the morning. “But although he gave me back my truest self, there are things that the Orphanage took from me that I can never get back.”

“What do you mean?” You’ve shifted closer as she’s spoken, drawn in by this astounding life of violence that she’d lived before you met her.

“The reason that I won’t marry Bucky…” She picks some more at the petals as they float around her breasts, the pads of her fingers stroking the crimson velvet. “…is because I could never be a proper wife for him. Not as one should be to a lord of such high standing.”

“Nat-?” You begin, growing frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“I can never give him children, Y/N.” She meets your eyes, emerald jewels glistening with tears as she lets her words sink in.

Your hands wrap just a little more tenderly against your belly.

“Oh, Nat.” You lament. “And you can’t-?”

“There’s no way to fix it. They were very thorough.” She tells you, dropping her head as she lets her sorrow flow through her beautiful alabaster figure.

You scoot closer with a splash as your body cuts through the fragrant water. Your arms are around her shoulders as you meet her forehead with your own, shutting your eyes as you embrace her close and will yourself to take her pain.

“I am so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to speak louder for you might very well cry. “You have known a life that I would not have wished on my worst enemy. It pains me to know that I can’t help you or erase what’s happened.”

Nat sighs, bodily relaxing as your hands stroke the silky moistened blades of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, opening your eyes to look at her large lower lip as it trembles. “Even if you cannot have your own children, my son shall be your Godson.”

Your promise is true. If something should happen to you, you would hope that Nat and Bucky would take care of your boy. Raise him well. To be a good King and a good man.

“I will need you to care for him as if he is your own. He will be yours, as much as mine. How could I do any of this without you, Nat? I need you. My son needs you.” You lean away to meet her eyes, hoping she can see the sincerity in your own aching expression.

She stares at you for a minute, her eyes shifting between your two, back and forth as her mind races with mysterious thoughts.

Suddenly she smiles. “How are you so…so wonderful? So kind?”

You’re not sure what she means, and you try to think about what it is you just said. Whatever it is that makes her feel that you’re wonderful and kind, you know it’s only because it’s Nat and you would do anything to ensure her happiness.

“Because I love you.” You tell her, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Because you’re you and I want you to know that you aren’t alone. You’ve been with me every step of the way on this chaotic journey that has been the first year of my marriage…”

Has it really been less than a year?!

“…and you deserve every happiness.”

Nat reaches back to take hold of one of your hands then brings it up to her lips to kiss it.

“My gracious Queen.” She sighs.

You let her hold your hand to her lips for a moment as you watch her and the true fear that washes off of her.

“Nat?” You probe, “Does Bucky know?”

She nods, another small sigh escaping her lips. “He knows everything. Where I came from, what I’ve done, what I can never do for him…”

“He still loves you.” You realize.

“Yes.” Nat nods. “The idiot.”

You smile but reach up to caress the sides of her face to draw her gaze. “Nat, my love, Bucky adores you more than anyone or anything else in this world. If he has no qualms with your inability to give him children, then why should you protest?”

“Because he deserves more than that.” Nat replies exasperated and you don’t doubt that she’s had this discussion with Bucky countless times, and she must be tired of trying to get her viewpoint heard.

“And I understand that, but he loves you. If he feels in any way how I feel about Steve, there will be no getting rid of him.” You argue.

Nat growls, “I know.”

“Nat…” She looks at you. “…earning someone’s love can be as natural as breathing. It was that way for Steve and Margaret. Or it can be one of the most difficult things we ever have to do.

“Some of us have to fight for our love and the struggle can be grueling and exhausting. It can damn near kill you. Trust me. I know.

“You and Bucky have managed to find each other, and he loves you so much that he doesn’t care that you cannot give him what you think he deserves.

“If you can, if it doesn’t feel like too much of an imposition, I beg you to let him love you.

“Let yourself be happy.” You stroke her cheek with your thumbs, nodding as her eyes are glued to your own. “You deserve to be happy. Just as Steve did. Though his past will always be a part of who he is, it doesn’t weigh him down any longer. You can let go too.

“I worry, Nat, that if you continue to fight it, Bucky might very well run away just as I did. And then you would be without him…”

Nat scoffs. “I don’t think I could handle him going missing again.”

“Again?” Your brow furrows.

“It’s not important. It was years ago.” Nat shakes her head.

You open your mouth to protest, but your stomach gurgles loudly.

The sound breaks the tension and Nat chuckles then rises slowly before stepping out of the water to quickly drape herself in a thick deep green robe.

“I think you’re hungry.” Nat tells you, grabbing your own fur trimmed blue robe.

She holds it open for you beside the large tub.

“Or at the very least, our little Prince is.” She reminds you.

“You cannot just say something like that and not explain.” You argue.

“Later.” Nat brushes your curiosity off. “Come on.”

With a pout, you let her help you out and into your satin slippers, then reach to take your robe. Nat hisses, pulls it out of reach, then points at you with her chin.

Frowning, you turn around so that she can wrap you up in the soft warm fabric.

“Cheer up, your Majesty. Perhaps Steve has returned?”

This is a rude and shameless tactic of her to use, but it works and with a small pouty scoff, you move for the door suddenly eager to see your blonde, bearded, and blue-eyed scrumptious husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve hadn’t returned when dinner came. He hadn’t returned when it was time for you to go to bed.

You'd sat all night in the plush blue chairs by the fire, counting the haunting calls of the Barred owl, no doubt nesting in the aftermath of the blizzard.

You’re on call number three hundred and seventy-two when your eyes close and don’t reopen.

You hear a sigh and they’re coaxed to reopen.

In front of you, on the cushioned footrest that you rarely use as you much prefer to curl up on the large chair, sits a handsome king.

His blonde hair is damp with small flecks of snow still clinging to the strands.

His cheeks are red, flushed from the biting cold, his lips only slightly blue.

You don’t like that. You want to reach out and massage some life back into that frowning pucker.

Instead, your sleep weary body adjusts in the seat to lean your head against the left side as you wrap your arms around yourself more tightly.

You smile, happy to see Steve despite the disapproval he seems to have with you.

Blinking is a chore. You’re so tempted to just close your eyes again and drift into dreams.

Instead, you lick your lips and swallow.

“Hello.” You croak, voice protesting use so soon after regaining partial consciousness.

“Why are you sleeping in the chair?” Steve asks.

This is what has offended him. This is the source of his frown.

“You’re with child, my petal. You can’t be sleeping in chairs.” He states.

Your back agrees and as you make to sit up, you scrunch your face as the pressure in your back nearly overwhelms you and then subsides.

“I’mmkay.” You lie.

“Well, I’m not.” Steve argues.

With a bite to your bottom lip, you lift your head again, realizing his genuine irritation.

“Have I done something?”

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Not you, my flower. It’s…Pierce isn’t convinced of your pregnancy.”

“But…” You begin, your heart beginning to pound. You can already feel the fear and the stress building within you.

You cup your bump, fearful of what this means for your baby. Steve scoots closer, his arms tucking in beside your hips to cup the small of your back. It makes him get off the stool and he kneels in front of you, getting as close as the chair will let him.

You like this about him. He seems to know that you need the physical reassurance. Not just now, but all the time. He’s always touching you, holding you, making sure that you know he wants you to be near.

After so much of his distance, you appreciate the proximity in which he keeps you, both in private and in the company of others.

“He’ll have to wait to see the child born. He has no choice.” Steve tells you, voice low and soothing. “Doctor Selvig has assured him that you are with child, Lord Ross saw and was convinced by your growing belly. He has a daughter. Before his wife died, he was very devoted to her while she was with child as well. He knows what to look for.

“Pierce has never had a family. He has no wife. No children. He’s an idiot.” Steve sighs.

Although it’s comforting to know that Lord Ross believes your expectant belly, knowing that Lord Pierce will be looking for any signs that it is a farce—perhaps actively trying to prove it even if doing so should put your son at risk—fills you with a dreadful fear unlike any you have known before.

“Steve…” You shudder.

“It’ll be alright, my petal. I won’t let anything happen to our little prince. You and he are both the only thing that matters now.” He promises and you believe him, despite the crown that rests upon his head.

Your head.

You pull him close, resting your forehead against his, your hand a vice around the front of his shirt.

“Why can’t we just be?” You wonder in whisper.

“I’m sorry.” Steve grieves. “This is all because of me. If I was not your husband-"

“Hush.” You frown, pulling back to look at him. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to have you, I won’t have you wishing yourself away from me.”

He smiles softly, eyes brimming with love and pride.

“I would gladly suffer ten times what I suffered when we started if it meant that we could be as we are now.” You gush.

Steve’s smile widens, teeth exposed transforming his handsome face with more beauty.

“Is that why you ran away from me?” He teases, brows scrunched in amusement but genuine curiosity.

“I ran away from you because you were being an ass.” You shake him, hand still fisted around his shirt front.

“You are the best of women.” He states, “The only one that would have put up with what I did and the things I said…I wish I could take them back.”

“I don’t.” You realize, shaking your head, looking down at your hand clutching his shirt. “Save for our wedding night…there is not one moment of agony I would erase. I know you better for it. I know how stubborn you are, and unaware of yourself. I know how strictly you abide by your morals and how reckless you can be when your emotions are running high.

“But most importantly, I know how fiercely you can love. The lengths to which you’ll go to protect it.

“And if you hold ours in importance to a fraction of the love you had for Margaret, then I am content. All I wanted was a chance to love you.” Steve reaches behind your head, caressing the back and tickling the nape of your neck.

His face is torn with intensity, brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes piercing with their sorrowful passion.

“A fraction-" He begins but stops as he stares into your eyes, hopeful devotion is all you can offer him.

Is that enough?

“Y/N you are my whole world now. I may have duties and responsibilities to my kingdom but having you in my life now, I could never go back to one without you.

“I always thought that my purpose was to defend the less fortunate, the defenseless and it is…but you have given my life true substance. I thought my life would begin and end with the fight I have been struggling with since I could throw my shield.

“Even with Margaret our lives were nothing but this job, this unspoken calling. I didn’t know that there could be something more important than the fight. And there is.

“There’s you. Our family. Our life together is…if you asked me to give up this life, I would do so in a heartbeat.” Steve gushes.

You’re a blubbering mess. You began to tear up at his admittance that he could never go back to a life without you. You laugh once sniffling and probably looking insane with tears pouring across your cheeks.

“Don’t do that.” You argue, tightening that fist around his shirt. “You love doing it.”

You see it in the way his eyes brighten when he talks about it. As much as you hate the idea of him showing up, broken and bleeding the way he had before, you couldn’t take this part of his life from him.

It’s who he is. You see that.

“But I would stop. For you. For our family.” Steve insists.

“I’ll never ask you to.” You assure him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You won’t have to. If the time comes that the stress of this life becomes too much for you. I will abandon it.”

“No.” You fight. “I’ll deal with my own stress, you can’t stop!”

Steve chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck with affection.

“Have you always been this stubborn?” He asks.

“Have you?”

Of course, you know the answer to that better than anyone.

He laughs again but pulls you down to meet his lips with a kiss. It gets heated quickly and while your head is still spinning from the way his tongue rolls against your own, he’s scooping you up.

He places you in bed, tracing a line from your jaw down along your neck, collarbone, chest—he circles your nipple, pebbled from the attention over your thick blue nightdress—along your side, then around to your growing belly.

He cups the curve of it, nipping at your neck as your breathing heavies and a soft moan slips through your parted lips.

With your eyes closed, while your body burns for him, your mind races through a million thoughts before it settles on the fact that he’s in his Captain uniform, without his mask, sans his shield.

“Was everything alright?” You wonder.

“With what?” Steve asks, voice octaves deeper, rough as his hand begins to slip along the curve of your thighs, pushing the left one up to open you up.

“The attacks?” You clarify, voice breathless.

“Oh.” Steve stops, his hand drifting around to rest along your hip, still tight and possessive but he props himself up on his right elbow to look down at you as your heaving bosom slows.

“I was worried about you, of course, but the people…?” You explain.

“We lost a woman who was protecting her elderly parents.” Steve sighs, sadness in his storm blue eyes.

“Oh.” You reply, a small hitch in your voice as your chest aches.

You blink hard, trying to banish the tears from your eyes.

“Things aren’t going as well as I would like.” Steve explains. “I’m calling in some help. I’m afraid I will have to take Natasha with me next time. Peter as well, if things do not improve.

“But it terrifies me to leave you without some type of significant protection.” Steve brings his hand back to your belly.

If it were only you, you wouldn’t mind being left unprotected. But with your prince…

“I could always go stay with my father?” You offer.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m going to need him on this too. But you’re right. His castle may be safer for you as Pierce is always so present in ours. I’ll write to him today, see if he likes the idea. I doubt he would mind his own daughter staying for a few weeks.”

“I miss mother too.” You admit. “And Morgana.”

“Malibia it is then.” Steve nods.

Then he lays there, smiling at you, content.

But you shift beneath him, left leg still pushed to the side, bent at the knee.

“Steve…” You complain and bite down on your lower lip.

He grins. “My queen is ravenous.”

“Yes...please.” You plead and there’s a shift in his expression as you beg for him.

His jaw tightens and he dives down between your legs, hands renewed along your thighs, pushing them up to spread you as he devours you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Steve calls, drawing you away from the pile of books by the chair you’ve settled in for the afternoon.

After the exertions of your morning, Steve was eager to get you off your feet and his pleading for you to read to him became unbearable. You caved.

So while he’d settled in at the desk to write the letter to your father, you’d read to him, reciting from an old book of sonnets about spring and summer winds making your skin ache for the comforting rays of the sun.

You pull the small blanket from across your legs and your tempest blue gown spills out around your legs. The fabric is smooth but warm, like silk but thicker and better for the colder climate here at the cottage.

“What’s the matter?” You check, rising with worry at the tone in his voice.

“Nothing.” He assures you, then moves back into view from around one of the bookcases towards the door.

You’d chosen to sit by the large window to look out at the grounds as the snow continue to salt the already frozen earth.

“Agatha is here.” Steve tells you.

“Grandmother?’ You move towards him and he nods.

Steve has taken to the old woman like he would a parental figure. It’s sweet the way he tends to her and though you’re sure it’s because he’s a good man and she a sweet woman, you wonder if maybe it’s also because he knows how important she is to you.

“Where is she?” The aged voice asks.

“Through here, grandmother.” You call, making to walk to her but Steve places his arm around your waist to stop you.

The old woman moves into view and you can’t help the smile that crosses your face as stunning relief takes away any stress you still held in your body.

“Oh, my dear.” She fusses, and moves for you, hands extended.

You take her hands, bringing them up to your cheeks to warm them with your own heat. She’s so cold. You wonder if she didn’t bundle up enough.

“It’s so frigid outside.” You worry. “Where is your cloak?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, girl. Romanoff said that you were experiencing pains?”

You chance a glance at Steve, terrified of the worry it might bring him to hear this, but you nod when you see him looking intentionally calm. There’s a small shift in his jaw that tells you he’s keeping it in for your sake.

“Yes…” You nod. “I think. Just a bit. A small ache in my lower back and my stomach. But the pain was short lived and I have not felt it since.”

Your assurances don’t do anything to make her feel better. She frowns at you then glares at Steve.

“Your doing, no doubt?” She accuses him.

“Grandmother…” You disapprove.

“It is. Forgive me Grandmother. It was an oversight on my own part. I should have made certain to take care when I went out.” He wraps his arm around you more tightly.

“Yes, well, as long as you know that you were in the wrong.” She nods.

“Your Majesties?” A voice interrupts before you can defend Steve to the old woman.

“Come in, Peter.” Steve says, and all three of you turn to look towards the doorway and the bookcases that shield it from view.

There are two sets of footsteps you hear before two bodies round the shelf of aged and multicolored volumes of text.

One of them is, of course, Peter. Wearing a thick gray tunic with sleeves that button along his wrists. He’s getting bigger and bigger by the day. His muscles hardening even more than they already have.

He’s sprouting up. Filling out. He’ll have the girls at court in a frenzy when the lot of you return to Castle Town.

He’s smiling from ear to ear and for a split second you wonder what might have brought on such a pleasant visage when the second body rounds the shelf and your father saunters in.

“Tony?” Steve say, his eyes narrowing a little before his face breaks into a genuine smile.

He releases your waist to move forward and meet your father in a firm shaking of hands.

“Steve.” Tony nods.

“I was just writing to you.” Steve tells him, finding it all a little fateful probably. “What brings you to the cottage?”

You sweep past grandmother and Peter and sidestep Steve as Tony knowingly opens his arms for you.

Devouring him with your eyes, you appreciate the healthy way he looks. Skin glowing, eyes bright, dark chestnut hair layer with only the thinnest layer of snowflakes. His dark leather tunic is weathered and old but probably a comfort in such terrible weather.

“Father!” You gasp, as you settle within his embrace.

His chuckle brings you comfort, and you smile as he gives you a squeeze.

“I think I owe you a somewhat sincere congratulations?” He checks, leaning back to look at your face.

For a moment you’re utterly confused. “Why?”

“Aren’t you with child?” He asks, leaning back and holding you at arm’s length to look you over.

“Oh!” You laugh, so giddy to see him that your joy is infectious, and everyone laughs with you. “Oh, yes! Thank you. I’m so happy, father.”

Tony’s smile widens, a smug look of triumph on his face. “I knew you could make my daughter happy.”

His words meant for Steve are only slightly tinged with venom.

“Yes.” Steve nods, a strange look of remembrance flitting across both their handsome faces.

“I hope you can continue to make her shine like this.” Tony threatens. “I’m not afraid to punch you again.”

It’s like a lead weight falls into your chest and sticks your heart against the bottom of your stomach.

“What?” You gasp, quiet but sincerely shocked.

Steve laughs nervously, moving to stand closer to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders to give you some comfort.

“Nothing. He was only joking.” Steve assures you. “Weren’t you Tony?”

His insistence is so firm that you’re now certain your father wasn’t joking.

“You punched Steve?” You ask in shock.

Tony clears his throat, averts his eyes, and moves on.

“Why were you writing to me?” He asks, moving towards the letter on the desk, half written.

“I…things are getting worse here in Broklin and I was going to ask you whether it would be too much of an imposition to take Y/N in for a time? Perhaps until after she has had our son?” Steve doesn’t look at you, but he pulls you closer. He squeezes you in against his side.

“You know very well that Y/N will always be welcome in Malibia. Her mother is always in earnest need to see her and Morgana writes to her often. Does she not?” Father asks, looking at you for response.

You nod. “Yes. Very often.”

“Mm.” Father agrees, looking back at the letter and giving it only a cursory reading before he begins to adjust the cuffs of his tunic shirt, pacing before the large window.

“What is it, father?” You ask him, very aware of what he looks like when he’s deep in thought.

“It’s fortuitous that you should need to come to Malibia for safety when I was actually here to ask you both for a rather large favor. And I think you, at least, son-in-law, owe me.” Father stops, hands gathered behind his back as he stops pacing and turns to look at Steve.

“What is it that you need, Tony?” Steve waits, no sign of dread or apprehension of being in debt to your father it seems.

“The people in my Kingdom have begun to grow restless. When they heard about the hidden Princess, they were outraged at my deceit. We had only just begun to settle things with the public when word of your disappearance began to circulate.

“Some of them thought that you’d killed her.” Father tells Steve and your mouth falls open.

“Yes. I heard that rumor too.” Steve agrees.

“What?!” You turn to look at him. “You never said that the rumors were that specific.”

Steve shakes his head at you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Steve, maybe you should start to let me worry about what’s going to worry me? I don’t need to be coddled.” You snap, frowning up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve nods. “I should have told you. But it wasn’t important anymore. I just don’t want to risk anything with our little one on the way.”

He places his hand on your tummy and it’s hard to argue with that reasoning.

“Please don’t exclude me. I’m your wife. Am I not equal to you?” Maybe you aren’t? You don’t know how things work with Broklin. It seemed as if you and Steve were mostly on even footing, but perhaps as Queen your rule is less than his?

“Of course, you are. You’re my Queen. If I’m not around, you will rule in my stead. You are my partner, not my inferior.” He assures you, and it gives you ease of mind to know that he thinks this way.

“I don’t want to feel like you’re hiding things from me.” You sigh.

“You won’t. I’m sorry, petal. Truly.” He caresses the back of your head, hair stroke softly before a clearing of a throat brings your eyes back to your father.

“Is this what you look like when you fight?” He asks, amused for some reason.

“We’re not fighting.” You counter.

“Right…” Father says.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “I interrupted you, please father, continue.”

“There isn’t much more to it.” He shrugs. “The people of Malibia are in desperate need to see their eldest princess, now Queen of Broklin, in the flesh. So, will you come? We’ll make it a grand affair. Parade through the Castle city. Feasts. Dances. Celebrations in the streets. It’ll be extravagant and obnoxious.”

Father’s accompanying smile is almost tempting to refuse. He looks like he’s planning a joke or prank, not a royal procession and day of celebration.

“I have no obligations here at the cottage. I may have to take a few meetings with my councilors, but I am open to it. Y/N?” Steve checks, looking down at you.

Although you’d just told him that you wanted to be his equal, you’re a little surprised to have your input counted.

“I’m always eager to see my family again, and it would be nice to visit my old homeland.” You nod. “I’m willing to if you are my love.”

There’s a look of tempered shock on Steve’s face before his cheeks flush and his ears flare a bright burning red.

“What?” You ask him, amused by the expression on his face but confused by it.

“You’ve never called me that before.” He gushes shyly. “Your love?”

You smile, even more amused by his reasoning. “Well, you are my love. Are you not?”

“Always.” Steve coos.

“Oh, jeez…” Tony groans.

[dumb-hat]

Characteristics: Evander Winsome

♦ EYES: Blue | Green | Dark Brown | Hazel | Grey | Other ("Amber”)

♦ HAIR: Blonde | Brown | Black | Red | Ginger | Grey/White | Multi-color | Other (…)

♦ BODY TYPE: Skinny | Slender | Slim | Built | Curvy| Athletic | Muscular

♦ SKIN: Pale | Light | Fair | Freckled |Tan | Olive | Medium | Dark | Discolored | Other (…)

♦ FACIAL FEATURES: Scars (…) | Markings (…) | Scales (…) | Fur | Beard | Ears (…) | Other (Stubble)

He’s almost always sporting at least some scruff. Sometimes he lets it grow out into an actual beard, depending on his whim.

♦ BODY FEATURES:

Scars (…) | Markings (…) | Scales (…) | Fur | Tail (…) | Paint | Other (…)

Evander has a fairly normal collection of scars for a man his age that gets up to the odd bit of adventuring, mischief and thrill chasing. Most notably, there’s a dueling scar near his left collarbone, an old, faded, nearly invisible scar running from his left elbow to the palm of his hand, and what looks like a scar from an old gunshot on his hip.

♦ GENDER: Male | Female | Trans | Cis | No Gender | Other (…) ♦ SEXUALITY: Heterosexual | Homosexual | Bisexual | Pansexual | Asexual | Demisexual | Other (…) ♦ SPECIES: Hyur (Midlander) | Elezen (…) | Miqo’te (…) | Lalafell (…) | Roegadyn (…) | Au ra (…) | Other (…)

♦ EDUCATION: Can read | Can write | Tutor | Mentor | School | Other (Eclectic, self-chosen studies)

As a kid, Evander’s studies were really erratic, as his education mostly came from whatever books his brother could scrounge for him. Later in life, his adoptive family enrolled him in the best education their considerable wealth could afford. While he’s not currently much of a scholar, he’s prone to wheeling off in wild directions when something catches his attention, so there’s a lot of subjects that he knows an odd amount about, and a smaller number of really weird subjects that he’s studied at length. ♦ LIVING SITUATION: Lives alone | Lives with parents/guardian | Lives with significant other | Lives with a friend | Lives with a group of people (Free Company) | Drifter | Homeless | Other (…)

He kind of tends to just float from place to place, flitting between crashing on a friend’s couch or bed, or renting an inn room somewhere. He has an apartment, but given how he’s prone to wander, if he sticks around too long, he gets kind of itchy. When that happens, it’s not too uncommon for him to let a friend apartment sit or crash there semi-long term if they need a place to stay. His room at his Free Company headquarters is a ramshackle thing, mostly full of unpacked boxes, so he’ll stay there from time to time, but not usually for too long of a stretch. ♦ PARENTS/GUARDIAN: Mother | Father | Adoptive | Foster | Grandparents | Family friend | Other (…)

Evander’s an orphan. While he had an adoptive family for a stretch, the people who cared about him there have passed and no one left claims him. ♦ RELATIONSHIP: Single | Crushing | Dating | Engaged | Married | Separated | It’s complicated (“I mean, I don’t think it’s complicated. It makes perfect sense to me.”)  | Other (…)

Evander throws himself into things, often without a lot of thought toward consequences. This has been a big problem in the past, so he’s trying to be smarter about it and... it seems to be working, which has him a little worried. Nothing’s collapsing around him. People seem happy. He seems happy.

Honestly, it makes him a little nervous, but being nervous isn’t going to help anyone. He’d much rather be happy than nervous, so he’ll stick with that.

He doesn’t usually spend much time talking about any of this to people who aren’t involved. It all makes sense in his head, but people tend to make faces, ask questions and suddenly it seems a lot more complicated than it actually is.

♦ I’VE BEEN: In Love | Hurt | Sick | Abused | Other (…) I mean, yeah. Like, this covers a lot of ground, right? He’s been all kinds of stuff. ♦ I HAVE A(N): Learning Disorder | Personality Disorder | Mental Disorder | Anxiety Disorder | Eating Disorder | Substance-related Disorder | Other (…) Though he lacks the language to really discuss it, Evander suffers from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and executive dysfunction. I mentioned that a while ago in this ask (skip midway down to question 36, if that’s all you’re interested in) and dug into what it’s like for him here, in this post for the FFXIVWrite 2020 Challenge.

Evander drinks a lot. He’s actually kind of toned it down over the last few months, but it’s still a whole thing. I’m not inclined to say that he needs to go to meetings or anything, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to cut back and maybe find some more constructive ways to deal with problems.

♦ THINGS I’VE DONE BEFORE: Drank alcohol | Smoked | Done drugs | Stolen | Self harmed | Starved myself | Had sex | Gotten into a fist fight | Was severely injured | Gone to jail | Used a fake ID | Gone to a party | Killed someone I just wanna say I love how at the tail end here, it ramps up from “Gone to a party” to “Killed someone.”

♦ POSITIVE TRAITS: Affectionate | Adventurous | Athletic | Brave | Careful | Charming | Confident | Creative | Determined | Fearless | Generous | Honest | Humorous | Intelligent | Loyal | Modest | Patient | Selfless ♦ NEGATIVE TRAITS: Aggressive | Bossy | Cynical | Envious | Fearful | Greedy | Gullible | Jealous | Impatient | Impulsive | Insecure | Irresponsible | Possessive | Sarcastic | Self-conscious | Selfish | Unstable

Rules: BOLD what applies to your muse, ITALICIZE what applies under specific circumstances. Remember to REPOST. Feel free to add to the list. Tagged by: @kittkaleen, @thefreelanceangel, @luck-and-larceny, @twin-moons-ffxiv. I think that’s everyone. Sorry if I missed anyone! Tagging: So, uh... It took me a while to get to this one. I’m not gonna tag anyone specific because I’ll be honest, at this point, I don’t know who all had done it and hasn’t. Still though, if you haven’t done it yet, feel free to do it and tag me back so I can see your answers!

[eventidespirits]

Adam Allistair Freemont

Aliases: Edwin Lockhart, William Silva, Francis LaRue, Everett Brighton, James Fenwick

Apparent Age: "29"

Birthday: August 11th, 1897

Death Day: December 19th, 1926

Species: Vampire (Siren Bloodline)/Bloodbound Spirit

Gender: Cis Man

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Primarily Heterosexual

Occupation: Photographer

Residence: Santa Marta, California; Morgan Kendrick's Psychic Realm

Universe: Primarily original lore but also Vampire the Masquerade where he's a Camarilla Toreador who defected to the Sabbat.

Appearance:

Height: 6'0

Build: Tall and lanky with angular shoulders and long limbs. He has a trim, lightly muscled physique with long delicate fingers and soft hands.

Eye Color: Luminous Yellow/Gold with slitted cat-like pupils and a darker, amber band around the edges.

Hair Color/Texture: Black, 1b hair texture. Just long enough for the ends to brush against his shoulders. Partially brushed back and parted to the right but a significant amount of his hair ends up falling into his face.

Face: Angular with a square jaw and high cheekbones. He has a mostly straight nose with a slight convex curve to the bridge. He has deep set eyes with heavy lids and dark circles and usually looks somewhat sleepy but in a strangely sensual way. Defined lips that are usually curved into a sadistic little smirk. He's quite attractive but in a way that feels vaguely dangerous or even predatory.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Adam has bright golden eyes with slitted cat-like pupils. He also has a rather large, jagged scar on his back, located between his shoulder blades. I'd include his *other* distinguishing characteristic but that's kinda NSFW ;)

Posture/Body Language: Confident, even arrogant, chin up, shoulders back but not in a way that looks particularly stiff. His body language is generally relaxed and easy, bringing to mind a big cat at rest -- there's always something about the way he moves that implies a predatory nature laying beneath his cool, collected surface. Adam walks with clear purpose and long, smooth strides and always knows how to make an entrance.

Voice: Soft and smooth with a deep timbre and confident inflection. Adam's voice is somewhat like poisoned honey or arsenic laced velvet -- smooth and sweet but with something slightly off.

Clothing Style: Adam prefers dark colors -- burgundy, blood red, black, charcoal, rich deep browns and the ocassional pop of gold or cream or a white dress shirt. He wears primarily expensive, tailored button downs made from things like silk, velvet or very high thread count cotton with the sleeves rolled up and the top three (or four) buttons undone. Sometimes with brocade, floral or striped patterns. If it's cooler out, he'll wear a black blazer or something similar. When it comes to pants, it's almost entirely black or charcoal tailored pants or pitch black jeans. He usually wears very few accessories -- a nice watch, a belt, a silver and garnet ring and a pendant on a thin silver or gold chain. Generally wearing pointed toe oxfords or other dress shoes. When it comes to outerwear, Adam generally prefers things like wool coats and the ocassional leather jacket (always real leather, too) (to get a better idea, check out his [Pinterest Board]

Skills

Social: Manipulation, Lying, Gaslighting, Flirting, Proper Etiquette, Public Speaking, Blame Shifting, Negging, Seduction

Physical: knife combat, some hand to hand combat, basic combat training (circa 1914), long range firearms/sniping, Ballroom Dancing, Fencing, Horseback riding, the carnal arts

Talents: Photography, Drawing, Poetry, Lying, Being an Asshole, Manipulation, Painting, Seduction, Sex

Knowledges: Fluent in French & Italian, Masters in Psychology (circa 1926), Photo Development (wet plate, autochrome, modern methods), some basic knowledge of financial law and property law

Hobbies: Photography, writing, breaking pretty girls, avoiding his deep-seated psychological issues, general hedonism

Special: Emotional Influence, Telepathy, Emotional Transference, Enhanced Stamina, Enhanced Strength, "Immortality", Enhanced Senses (esp sight), minor regeneration, sweet blood, emotional radar/supernatural empathy, hypnosis/mind control

Psyche

Strengths: Charismatic, quick-thinking, clever, good at understanding the thought processes of others, empathetic, deeply romantic, treats service workers well, dedicated, generally calm, high emotional intelligence, has critical thinking skills, polite*, can be incredibly sweet, adaptable, pays a lot of attention to his partners in bed, passionate, artistic, creative, protective

Weaknesses: selfish, self-absorbed, arrogant, manipulative, almost completley lacks compassion, disdain for basically everyone around him, dishonest, has a horrible temper, needs constant attention and praise, has a massive inferiority/superiority complex, overconfident, easily susceptible to flattery, deep-seated intimacy issues, can't stand being wrong, terrified of vulnerability, paranoid, detached from his own emotions/denies his own humanity, callous, sadistic, can be incredibly rude, actually a bit of a coward, condescending, possessive, jealous and generally kind of a dick.

Fears: genuine intimacy, abandonment/loneliness,true death, being buried alive

Goals: To finally create the perfect art piece (i.e., break someone in just the right way -- he's not even sure what this MEANS, he's just sure he'll "know" when he finally does it), to just enjoy his immortality.

Personality: On the surface, Adam seems likable enough -- at least, at first. He's incredibly charming and thoughtful, often anticipating people's wants before they're even able to articulate them, witty, intelligent and seemingly very polite...

But beneath that surface lurks a spoiled rich kid who learned early on in life that having money, being good looking and charming meant he could get away with almost anything. Adam is self-absorbed and arrogant and almost everything he does is a carefully crafted performance intended to get people on his side and manipulate them into doing what he wants.

Beneath even that, which he desperately tries to ignore, is a little boy who was spoiled by his mother and entirely ignored by his (largely absent) father -- a young man who was traumatized by being forced to fight in WWI and who is full of deep-seated fears and insecurities.

To make up for this, Adam is often sadistic towards the people around him -- but in that way where it's difficult to tell that he's actually being cruel until one looks back at the conversation.

He has difficulty genuinely connecting to others because of those insecurities and instead uses his powers as a Siren to make the people around him love and adore him-- no matter how badly he treats them.

Life

Best Memory: Being gifted his first camera, meeting his Maker.

Worst Memory: Somewhere between when he almost died during WWI and his actual death...

Biggest Achievement: Getting his Masters

Prized Possession: Silver and Garnet ring gifted to him by his Maker, his first camera, his black 2020 Ferrari Portofino (with the red leather interior), (he also has an engraved custom sniper rifle but a friend picked the model and shit for me and I cannot remember what it is for the life of me)

Favorite Color: Red, Gold

Favorite Food:

-Mortal Food: Partial to anything rich and flavorful, prefers food that's not pointlessly ostentatious (nothing coated in gold leaf, that's absurd), dry red wines, Italian Cream Cake, Eggs Benedict, Crepes Suzette

-Blood: Blood taken in the heat of the throes of passion from someone that's truly and deeply in love with and obsessed with him...

Favorite Scents: Blood, Gasoline, Cloves, Cinnamon, Resin, YSL Nuit, roses, vanilla, rain, the sharp smell of a cloudless winter night

Favorite Songs: Winter, 1st Movement - Vivaldi, Raindrops - Chopin, La Vie En Rose - Edith Piaf

Can't Leave Home Without: At least one knife somewhere on his person.

Birthplace: San Francisco, California

Childhood: Adam is the only child out of six in his family to survive to adulthood with four older siblings who had either in infancy, had been stillborn or died of tuberculosis when Adam was still too young to remember them. He had one younger sibling, a sister named Mary who was killed in an accident at the age of 6 when Adam was 8 years old. His parents were already a little bit older by the time he was born and his father was the owner of an incredibly lucrative railroad line and had profited greatly from the Gold Rush as well as owning multiple properties in San Francisco and neighboring Santa Marta...

Due to the loss of her other children, Adam's mother doted on him -- giving into his every whim, supplying him with the best education she could and basically just spoiling the ever loving fuck out of him. His father, on the other hand, was always busy with work and when he was home, had nothing but criticism for Adam who desperately tried to gain his approval to no avail.

Adolescence: Adam developed a passion for photography as a teenager and discovered that being good-looking, clever and rich meant he could get away with A LOT more than most people and also meant that he rarely heard "no" and accepted it as an answer even less often (though he rarely resorted to force to get his way, relying instead on bribery, flattery, blackmail and implied threats). All of this gave him quite an interest in psychology and he intended to become a clinical psychologist. During his adolescence, Adam would have a great many girlfriends and despite being a selfish and manipulative little shit, was actually not the world's worst boyfriend and no hint of the violent temper and genuine sadism he'd develop after being Changed.

Adulthood: Adam's education would be interrupted by the outbreak of WWI,which if asked he will describe as "incredibly distasteful and personally inconvenient." He was a skilled marksman and sniper but was otherwise unremarkable -- much to his father's disdain. After nearly dying in one of the trenches of France after taking a grievous bayonet wound in the last few months of the war, Adam would be sent back from the frontlines and would shortly begin work on continuing his education...

However -- despite the fact that he would complete all seven years necessary to get his degree, Adam's interest in becoming an actual psychologist wouldn't ever come to fruition. In 1925, he would meet Amelia Madeleine Smith -- an unbelievably beautiful and charming socialite from Santa Marta who would see Adam's potential as a source of money and influence for the Nightingale Court of Northern California. She would spend the next year carefully grooming him to become her protege -- manipulating him much in the same way he would later manipulate the women he dates as a vampire -- using emotional transference, mind control and mundane manipulation to cause him to fall madly in love with her... In December of 1925, Amelia would finally perform the ritual of transformation on him and bring Adam over into the world of the Supernatural.

Unfortunately for Adam, his Change would take nearly two weeks to complete -- two weeks spent in absolute agony beyond anything he'd experienced before. Amelia, believing the most important first step for a newly born vampire is to break their bonds to humanity would kidnap his mother during this change and leave her for him to kill upon waking. Adam would remain with Amelia (who used her bond as Adam's maker to control most of his actions and her abilities as a Siren to continue to influence his emotions) until 1980 when she was killed by a member of the Bram Park Wolf Pack in Santa Marta, leaving Adam behind. During this period, Adam would end up being "taken in" by a bonded pair of Stryza -- Camille Belikova and Lucy DeSantos and would act as their primary draw for new playthings.

Recent: Adam met Morgan Kendrick at the Velvet Box goth club in Santa Marta when Morgan was twenty two years old and would sweep her off her feet, intending to make her into his "masterpiece"... Three years into this relationship, Adam would finally Change Morgan, which would break the initial control he had over her and result in her, in a fit of rage, completely draining him and through a magical fluke, causing his spirit to become bonded/fused with her blood...

Recently, Adam's presence has disappeared from Morgan's psyche due to the machinations of Miss Belikova and her wife -- though it appears that the two of them are still inextricably linked in a way beyond the usual bond between Maker and Fledgling.

Relationships

Family: Lawrence Freemont (Father; Deceased), Anne Freemont (Mother; Deceased), Mary Freemont (Sister; Deceased)

Lovers: Amelia Smith (Maker; Deceased), Morgan Kendrick (Fledgling, Ex, Soulbond), Many other unnamed girls.

Friends: Camille Belikova, Lucille DeSantos, Jonathan Andreason

Enemies: Morgan Kendrick, the Bram Park Wolfpack

Acquaintances: Miranda Cortez (Queen of the Nightingale Court of Santa Marta)

Income: Moderately Wealthy

Vehicles: 2020 Ferrari Portofino

Residences: Penthouse Apartment in Vista Rosa, a small Victorian row house in Val Del Mar and a 1br/1ba apartment in Park Verde (all located in Santa Marta)

[lilacyams]

The Savior

Wayhaven Week 2020, Day 6 - Daydream / Nightmare

@otomefandomevents

Pairings: F!Detective/Ava Du Mortain

Summary: Detective Kassandra Remender has trouble sleeping, she always has. As duties, guilt, and lack of sleep eat away at her, there’s only one woman who can give her some comfort: Commanding Agent Ava Du Mortain. After a bumpy start, the two have grown quite close – closer than Ava would like to admit. They’ve made a habit of meeting at night, in the quiet of the training room; tonight, Kassandra has something to say.

Word count: 3,725

Rating: Teen and up audiences (anxiety references)

AO3 link: click here

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, heaving myself up in a sitting position. The thump thump thump of my racing heart fills my ears and doesn’t let me think; I let few minutes pass, giving it enough time to slow down and clear the fog in my mind. There is no need to touch my forehead to know it’s drenched in cold sweat, so I stand up and drag myself to the bathroom. Washing the nightmare away from my face will be something, at least. 

It’s all fine, I tell myself, it’s routine at this point. Murphy might be locked down forever in a facility miles away from me, but in truth it feels like he never left. The vampire is still here; he haunts my sleep. I can see him in the mirror, right here in this faint half-moon scar on my neck. My index finger traces over it carefully, as if too much pressure might tear the healed wound open.

But it’s not just him. I see his victims in my dreams. Their cold bodies laying on a table, their cloudy eyes snapping open and burying into mine, accusing me. I failed them. I failed them, and I’ll carry this weight for as long as I can breathe.

Patting my face dry with a towel, I inspect the woman staring back at me through the mirror. She looks pale and tired, brown eyes dull with lack of sleep and long, dark locks disheveled by all the incessant tossing and turning over the previous hours. I brush them back in place. After all, I’m not going back to sleep now.

Wading through the gloomy corridors of the warehouse at night, my footsteps lead me to a familiar place – a place where I know I’ll find exactly what I’m looking for. Or rather, who.

The heavy doors of the training room have been left open. I head inside, now fully assured of her presence. 

It has become a common occurrence, ever since our first nightly encounter in the training room. Every time I decide to stay over at the warehouse, should I have trouble sleeping I know where to find her. Given the repeated scenario, I might even call it “our spot”. We either talk about the most random things – with me doing the bulk of the talking, of course – or we just sit in silence. It does not matter: it’s comforting. 

Does she really train every night, or does she only do so when she knows I’ll be there? Is she doing it for me? An interesting question I might ask her someday.

I have the impression that she feels bad for me, though she has no reason to. What I’m going through is nothing but the inevitable baptism of fire of a detective at the beginning of her career. And yet, the thought of the stoic vampire waiting for me in the training room every night, just to offer me some comfort in her own way, is… heartwarming. 

Moonlight spills inside of the broad, high windowed room. It highlights the contours of various equipment items, which shadows stretch and dance all over the floor, and makes every metallic surface glow in silver.

I notice Ava laying on a mat, busy with a series of crunches. Preferring not to disturb her, I sit cross-legged in a spot nearby and wait.

Her skin glistens with sweat as she works, and I can’t help but fix my eyes on the attractive lines of her side profile. Moon rays cast their shine onto her top lip, nose, and cheekbones; and the labor-induced dampness makes them shimmer in a rather entrancing way.

The silvery gleam highlights her pale body and golden hair, giving it an almost holy appearance. She looks like a Renaissance sculpture, magnificent and timeless.

The vampire is obviously aware of my presence, but she keeps on exercising for another minute before she finally halts to a stop.

“Last set?” I call out with a smile. She faces me, turning around with a heavy sigh to settle herself onto the mat in a sitting position.

“You had another nightmare,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.”

Ava frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Her breath hitches as she stares at me intently, lips parting as if she’s going to say something else; but in the end she doesn’t, and her lips press shut.

I acknowledge her concern with a nod. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. Don’t mind me now, finish your workout.”

Evidently not convinced by my attempt to brush off the subject, the woman pinches her eyebrows together tighter and straightens herself.

“I wish I could do more to help,” she states with determination. But her voice becomes uncertain as she speaks again. “I am not… good at this.”

My eyes widen in surprise at her words, what with not being used to such openness on her behalf. She’s definitely opening up to me as we’ve been spending more time together, but it’s always a welcomed surprise to see her showing her soft side… And admitting her feelings out loud.

Perhaps noticing my astonishment, Ava snaps her gaze away. I make an attempt to draw it back to me.

“You are good at this,” I reassure her.  “Actually… you are the only one who can help me now.”

Now it’s her turn to be surprised. As we exchange a long and meaningful look, her piercing gaze acquires a softness. It’s the softness I always look forward to see in her eyes; not the icy green everyone can see, so sharp in her usual guarded look, but the liquid emerald that melts its ice away. The warm look that makes me think I might actually be special for her.

Her words come out only a bit louder than a whisper. “Why?”

My lips curve upward in a gentle smile as I fidget absentmindedly with the hem of my shorts . The sudden need to be closer to her eats me alive; the urge to touch her and tell her how I feel is so strong that resisting it feels like torture.  I wonder if she can sense that.

Suddenly nervous and no longer knowing what to do with myself, I stand up and go sit on the first bench I can reach; much to my shock, Ava joins me almost immediately, taking the spot right next to me.

My head leans back to rest against the wall, the cold feel of it seeping through my skin as a welcomed sensation. Might help me cool down a bit, at least.

“Look how far we’ve come,” I start with a nostalgic smile, eyes fixed on the metal doors on the opposite side of the room. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Ava is looking at me.

“Do you remember the first day we met, blondie?” A chuckle catches my breath. “I mean… The one in my office, though we might count the one at the warehouse too if we want to be super precise.” I don’t need to look back at the vampire to know she’s shaking her head, not thrilled by the memory. Admittedly, shooting her was not the best way to introduce myself.

“What I mean is… Who could’ve predicted something like this? The first thing we did was arguing – and in a pretty heated way, and many, many times at that, and damn, I feel for whoever had to endure being in the same room as us – and now we sit here, just the two of us, with you keeping me company whenever I can’t sleep”

It does feel surreal.

“If someone back then told you we would be like this today, would’ve you believed them?”

Ava chuckles softly, drawing my attention to her amused face. “In all honesty? Never.”

“Right? And yet, here we are. And you know why?” I make a brief pause, my voice losing any trace of irony. “It didn’t take me long to understand it. You and I… we are similar. That’s why we butt heads so often, that’s why in moments like these I feel that you’re the only one who can understand me: because at the core, you and I are the same. We want to get things done, even though we might have a different approach at times.”  I let out a content sigh, releasing the tension bit by bit; a playful smile dances on my lips as I speak again. “See, I like my women with a strong character. Challenge is fun, after all.”

The vampire considers my words carefully, then she nods. “It makes sense, I guess. What I don’t understand though, is why would you approach me for comfort. I’m not the first person you’d think about for such a task. And as you said, we have a different approach to things. Why me?”

Her green eyes inspect my face from beneath blonde lashes, in anticipation.

My shoulders relax: this one is easy. “Because it’s you.”

She looks puzzled.

“You know what’s wrong with me? I’m always worrying. I’m a detective, so I can’t stop worrying about this or that. The people who lost their lives before I could help them, the people who took those lives away, the people who still live and trust me to always do my best to keep the town safe. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. But when I’m with you, all those worries stop for a little while. All those negative thoughts just… leave me be. When I’m with you, I feel in peace.” I smile at my own words, recognizing how much they ring true. “I don’t usually like to show my weaknesses, but I feel that with you I can be myself. I can allow myself to be weak, and you don’t judge me for it. Maybe it’s not that bad to be vulnerable sometimes, right?”

“Detective…”

“It’s Kass,” I cut her off, rolling my eyes. “And I needed to get that off my chest, because tomorrow it’ll be another unpredictable day, with brand new stuff to worry about. We might argue again, or you might be sent off somewhere for a while and… Hell knows.” I take a deep breath.

Is it just my impression, or has she shuffled closer? Her thigh almost brushes against mine, and I can swear her body is leaning in to me. I wonder if she even realized that. Shaking my head, I swallow down my excitement and get back to the subject at hand.

“I keep on thinking of the people who died. I see their faces when I can’t sleep at night. You said it doesn’t ever get better, so how do you move forward? Do you just live with it?”

My question wipes off any hesitation from her face, the fiery resolve slamming back in place as her voice comes off as solid as steel. “You honor them by doing better the next time.”

Her piece of advice catches me unprepared in its simplicity; it’s an option I didn’t even consider. My mind is exceptionally good at going into circles and chasing the most intricate possibilities… only to find out that the actual solution is never as sophisticated, in the end.

It’s easier said than done, but I appreciate the wise advice nonetheless.

“Our virtues and our failings are inseparable, like force and matter. When they separate, man is no more. Although I haven’t been human for a long time, I find that these words still apply to me. And they most definitely apply to you,” Ava’s voice is soft as she pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look back at her to find a small smile on her lips.

“I recognize that quote,” I say with a half-chuckle.

“I know your virtues, Kassandra, and I have no doubt that you will make it,” she states, her words tinged with pride. It’s still an unusual occurrence for her to call me by my name, to the point that it makes my heart skip a beat every time. But the way she pronounces it… she makes it sound like the most beautiful word.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she holds my gaze with confidence. A couple of unruly locks have escaped her bun and hang down on the sides of her face like a golden frame; others stick to the skin behind her neck, messed up by the previous workout. Even so, she looks otherworldly graceful. I find myself to be too stunned to say anything as a quick flush spreads across my cheeks.

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last as long as I hoped. A sudden seriousness snatches her gaze away, and the vampire straightens herself in her seat. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

I wait for her to continue.

“What you said earlier, about feeling in peace,” Ava pauses and clears her throat. Is she getting flustered? “You’re clearly at ease with this kind of thing. I could say I feel different as well, when I’m spending time with you.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Is she really going to…?

“However, it’s not peace that I feel. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s… turmoil. Tension. Chaos. I feel on edge and I find it difficult to think straight. I feel… out of control. It’s a most unexpected phenomenon, as unfamiliar as it is alarming.”

It takes an insane amount of self control not to topple over my seat at those words. I force myself to keep my composure, lest I end up ruining the moment before she’s even finished talking. “I know what you mean,” I only manage to mumble.

She turns back to face me. “So… what is it that you do, when you feel like that? How does it become peace?” There’s something different about her expression. It looks hopeless, almost pleading, as if she’s in trouble and I’m the only person on Earth who can help her out.

It seems it’s my turn to dispense wisdom. I take a deep breath and offer her a kind smile: it feels good to know the answer. “You embrace it.”

Ava leans back for a moment, a deep frown settling on her face in disbelief. “Embrace the chaos?” she asks, as if I just said something utterly nonsensical.

“You heard me.” Though my words ring with a playful tone, my gaze on hers is steady and reassuring. She knows I’m serious.

Silence settles over the training room for a while, as the vampire seems deep in thought and I have no intention to push her. The light pouring through the glass panels above us is starting to change its colors: soon enough, sunlight will replace the silvery palette painting the room with night. The moon will go to rest and call it a day, but not me. Not yet.

Looking over at the woman next to me, I purse my lips. Maybe it’s because my brain is foggy with lack of sleep, maybe it’s because I really just want to find an excuse to make some progress in our strange relationship; but my body moves on its own accord as I slowly lean in, the want to be closer pulling me in like a magnet. She snaps her head toward me with such a quick motion I almost flinch, green eyes widening in surprise at my unexpected move. Yet, after the initial shock wears off, she does nothing to stop me – though she’s still eyeing me carefully.

Uncertainty fills my gaze as I keep on inching closer, scanning her face in search of any sign of discomfort to pull back. My daring move is met with the most unsure frown, which knots and smoothes over her forehead several times, as if she’s internally struggling to decide whether or not to let me get close. Eventually she allows me, both her expression and her body seeming to relax, and I bring my head to rest on her shoulder.

The scent of fabric softener on her t-shirt and the warmth of the skin underneath fill my senses, and I let out a content sigh as her taut arm muscles progressively unclench against my cheek.

I close my eyes.

“Ava?”

“What is it?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

She stiffens. Even though I can’t see her right now, it’s not hard to picture her signature “I’m a big nervous soldier” pose with shoulders bunched up to the ears.

“Shouldn’t you go get some sleep?”

I groan loudly. “It’s Saturday, mom. Remember?”

No answer follows.

“I have. Been in love, I mean. Or at least, I thought I had. It was… a long time ago.”

The vampire remains quiet, but the silence isn’t an uncomfortable one. It encourages me to go on, and so I do.

“Have you ever been in a situation when you thought you really knew something, and then… something else happened, and you came to the realization that you actually knew nothing? That’s how I feel. I was an ignorant kid then… and now, now I think I know it for real. It doesn’t make sense, right? Sorry, I’m tired.”

Again, my words prompt no reaction. I think I can hear Ava drawing a deep breath, but I wouldn’t count on it.

Then, against any prediction, a soft hand reaches for my cheek and cups it, tilting my face upward. The sudden, unexpected contact sends a ripple of shivers coursing through me, and I open my eyes. Ava doesn’t pull back, but doesn’t advance either. She looks as stunned by her own move as I am.

A rare display of affection from the usually stoic vampire opens up a precious window of chance I don’t want to lose. This is where my straightforwardness comes to play.

As gently as I can, just as if I’m trying to approach a nervous deer that would run for the hills at the mere sound of a branch being stepped on, I mirror her gesture and cup her cheek with my own hand. The green in her eyes darkens, her pupils appear dilated; she parts her lips in such a slight movement I almost miss it.

Mere inches separate our lips, and all I want to do is to make them disappear.

As I move closer, I expect her to pull back and storm out of the room, like she always does when we have our almost-moments. I had never managed to get so close before, so I silently pray that this time she won’t leave. Losing a race always feels worse when you’re so close to the finish line.

Let me have it, just this once. Don’t leave, don’t argue with me.

Just this once, let me have it.

Her heavy-lidded eyes engulf me, her warm breath tickles my face as our parted lips are about to finally meet, after all this time, after all this longing. I close my eyes in anticipation.

The last inches of separation feel like an eternity, excitement heaving on my chest and stealing my breath. Her top lip brushes against mine and my mind goes blank. Goosebumps prickle at my skin and I forget about anything in the world that isn’t just me and her.

Then, just as my hopes were about to finally gain shape into the real world, two hands grab my shoulders with a gentle but purposeful amount of strength, keeping me in place and preventing me from diving in to the contact.

My lips purse as I fail to hide my disappointment. What did I just say about races and finish lines?

When I open my eyes again, I find Ava looking at me with an unreadable expression. You might think it’s another frown of hers, but this one has something different to it. Regret, perhaps?

This situation is unprecedented. She’s not running away. No jolting up from her seat, no marching out of the room and slamming doors off their hinges. She doesn’t push me back nor find a reason to fight. On the contrary, the woman seems reluctant to let my shoulders go.

After some moments of dealing with whatever internal turmoil is eating at her, her fingers unclench their grasp and fall down. There’s sadness in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” I readily reassure her with a smile. “That will be for another time.” I want her to know I’m willing to wait, that what I feel is real and I won’t give up so easily.

Ava chews at her lower lip and falls quiet, yet doesn’t move an inch. She lowers her head, and locks escaped from her bun fall on her eyes. Our thighs are still pressing together, our bodies close. She won’t run this time.

I wish I could know what’s tormenting her, so that I could help. She would do the same for me.

Birds sing their cheery morning songs from the outside: though it might seem to me that time has stopped, the spell doesn’t escape these four walls. It’s a brand new day out there, and life will go on.

Drowsiness and lack of sleep weigh on my eyelids, slowly dragging them down. I resist.

I glance over at the woman next to me; that crestfallen look on her face is something I’m definitely not used to see. Concern and genuine affection overcome my entire self and before I can stop myself, I find myself slipping an arm around her waist and pushing my head in the crook of her neck.

“If you wish to talk… I’ll always be there for you, do you know that?” I mumble against her soft skin. “I’ll be there to help. Whatever it is, you have me. Anytime.”

Ava slides her arms around me and holds me in silence. Her nose buries in my hair.

Soon we’ll have to return to our daily lives. I’ll go back to my worries, my friends at the station, my mom, the rest of the Unit, and whatever the new day will have in store for me. Days will go by, one after another, with no way of stopping them. I will grow, I will laugh, I will cry.

But now it’s just the two of us, and I wouldn’t ask for anything more.

The warmth of her body eventually lulls me to sleep.

[astxlphe]

Dazai Spring Multiship week 2020 @dazaimultishipweek

Umbrella // Dazaku / daaku

CW blood and injuries.

Guess who didn’t notice the week had already started until yesterday? 

So, we’re technically day 4, but here is day 2. If I do several days they’ll probably be out of order anyway.

It feels like a mess of a story too. 

It’s raining and Akutagawa is tired.

He stumbles in an alley, away from the crowded main street, to avoid being noticed.  

Blood seeps through his clothes and Rashomon tries, in vain, to contain it all. The wounds are deep, deeper than he thought they would be, and every single one of his muscle aches.

His opponent lost, in the end, but not without doing some damage themself. Every move sends pain all the way through his bones, and the rain doesn’t help, soaking him, mixing with the blood, making it drip on the ground.

It makes him want to scream with frustration. Even the weather is against him.  

He’s lost his phone in the fight too, broken beyond repair then fallen in the river, so he can’t call for Gin to come pick him up.

Nothing can possibly be worse than this, than bleeding out on the street, drenched, with no way of contacting the only person he trusts blindly to get him out of a tight spot.

He’s really down on his luck, lately.

His vision swims, and he stumbles again, catching himself against the wall. There are footsteps somewhere near him, and he tries to call on Rashomon. The beast rises, but the newcomer doesn’t react.

They feel familiar, spots of brown and beige. Akutagawa’s head hurts, he can’t see properly, can’t tell who it is.

The newcomer stands in front of him.

“Oh my, looks like someone did a number of you!” he says in a faux-cheerful tone which Akutagawa immediately recognize. “Did you meet Atsushi-kun on a grocery run again?”  

Scratch that, there is worse, and it’s bleeding out on the street, drenched, with no way of contacting the only person he trusts blindly to get him out of a tight spot and with Dazai Osamu as only company.

He tries to stand straighter, tries to hide the sorry state he’s in. His stomach reflexively twists in fear because even though the man has changed, the Dazai he knows isn’t kind in the face of weakness and Akutagawa is very aware of how utterly pathetic he is right now.

“Dazai-san—”

“That rain probably isn’t helping,” Dazai goes on. He takes a step forward and the rain stops falling.

Glancing up, Akutagawa sees the umbrella in the man’s hand, opened above his head.

“So? What happened?” The curiosity seems almost real.

Akutagawa wants to answer, but his knees buckles and his legs can't keep him upright anymore. Dazai moves, free arm wrapping around him, not fast enough to keep his knees from hitting the ground. He hisses in pain, falling forward.

Dazai crouches and fumbles with his coat buttons, and he wants to push him off, he doesn’t want him to see, but Rashomon has already faded under his touch.

The man stares, quiet, at the bloody shirt, for several seconds. “The wounds are rather severe.” His smile has disappeared.

Akutagawa’s face flushes and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Who did this?” Dazai asks, fingers skimming over a bleeding cut on his face. It’s not mere curiosity anymore. His tone is colder, eyes darker and, Akutagawa notices, he isn’t angry at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Akutagawa manages to say. He smiles, though it probably looks more like a grimace, showing off bloodied teeth, in an attempt to save face, maybe. “I won.”

“You haven’t won if you die so soon afterwards, stupid boy.” The words should have been cutting, full of contempt, but they’re said with something that sounds like fondness.  Dazai gathers him against his chest with a gentleness he doesn’t remember him having. “You need medical attention.”

“It’ll heal on its own.”

“Non, It won’t.” The umbrella above them swings lightly as Dazai shakes his head.

Akutagawa stares at it. It’s not black, like he expected, it’s transparent, and droplets of water run on it like he’s covered with an invisible dome.

Dazai’s hand is off him now, the man busy with his phone. “I’ll call Yosano for you.”

“I’m fine,” Akutagawa insist, “I’m strong enough to—” He coughs and his whole body shudders in protest. Dazai ignores him, obviously seeing through the lie. He isn’t sure why Dazai is doing this. He should be mad at him for being so weak in front of him.

He talks for a bit. I can’t move him, he hears. Heavy blood loss. He gives their location and hangs up, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“The person who did this to you,” Dazai says casually as they wait, “are they dead?”

“No.” Dazai stays quiet at his answer, and Akutagawa adds, just so he knows he hasn’t been cheating, that he has been like Nakajima wishes him to: “I have not killed in eight months.”

“Eight months?” Dazai repeats. “Really?”

Killing doesn’t feel as natural as it used to. It used to put him in a bad mood, avoiding killing, because it brought unnecessary limitations to his fighting.

He nods. His brain bounces in his skull.

Dazai hums, still holding tight on the umbrella. It seems so foolish to Akutagawa, for him to shield him from the rain like this. Being soaked isn’t painful, merely an added inconvenience to his wounds, yet he still insists on doing it.

The man could easily leave him here and wait somewhere he wouldn’t be cold and wet. And for some reason, he wants to spare him the discomfort.

A hand is running through his hair and Akutagawa’s instincts scream at him to slap that it away, to prove to himself and to Dazai that he can still stand on his own, that he’s still in shape to fight whatever opponent they point him at.  

But it’s soothing; the warmth it creates in his chest almost letting him forget the chill the running water got into his bones.

He can hear it, Dazai’s frantic heartbeat, feel the slight trembling of his fingers as they pet his hair, and he can almost dream the man cares about him as much as Akutagawa does.

If he dies like this, he doesn’t mind it.

Dark spots cloud his vision. It’s his whole body that shakes now, and he has trouble breathing.

“Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says, tone half-joking, half-serious. He leans his head towards him and presses his lips to his forehead. “While I’m very glad you are keeping up with the no killing rule, this isn’t why I asked. Now, I’m going to need a name.”

“A—”

He coughs. Static fills his ears and he barely has the time to see Dazai’s strangely panicked face before he goes under.

+

Dazai waits for Akutagawa to wake up.

After Yosano’s arrival, after she did her work, they carried him back to the agency, causing a great upheaval in the office, no one expecting them to walk in with an unconscious mafioso.

The president, thankfully, broke up the commotion and ordered for Akutagawa to be carried to the infirmary.

Now that his life isn’t in danger anymore, Dazai can relax.

He closes his eyes, trying to pull himself back together. The sudden, unexpected fear clawing at his guts as he collapsed, as Dazai realized he grossly underestimated the extent of his injuries. The overwhelming relief washing over him when Yosano arrived. All of this settles down, deep under a layer of cheerful smiles.

His fingers still card through his hair, until Akutagawa’s face scrunches up. Yosano stands as he stirs. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She does just that, closing the door being her.

When Akutagawa opens his eyes, Dazai grins. “Look at you,” he says cheerfully. “All fixed up!”

“Where—” He pushes himself in sitting position and reaches out, looking for something — probably his coat, it’s thrown on a chair, next to Dazai’s own, stained with the boy’s blood.

“The Agency’s infirmary,” Dazai answers before he finishes his question. “Yosano wanted to leave you on the side of the road but, well, I said no.”

He’s avoiding the subject, he knows it.

Akutagawa looks away. “You saved my life.” It’s said with such reluctant gratitude Dazai almost cringes.  

“I won’t be here next time.” The words come out harsher than he means them to, and they’re a lie as well. Dazai will be here to keep him alive if he can help it, though before he needs Akutagawa to understand. “You need to take a better care of yourself, you know?”

It’s rich, coming from someone who constantly talks of committing suicide, but the boy needs to know, needs to learn, that he isn’t allowed to die. 

Akutagawa doesn’t look concerned at all, and Dazai wants to stand, anger rising in his chest, and slap the bullshit out of him, to teach him to be such an irresponsible idiot.

He doesn’t.

Breathe in, breathe out. He’s not mad at Akutagawa, he just wants to the boy to have some sense. He lowers his hand, resting it on top of Akutagawa’s head instead, who stares up.

And Dazai tries to hide it all, to hide the fear and the worry. He doesn’t know if he’s successful. Whatever he sees on his face is enough for Akutagawa to change his mind.

“I will try,” he tells him, and Dazai hopes he’s just not trying to placate him. “I should probably go.”

“You should.” He tilts his head towards the folded clothes at the foot of the bed. “Your shirt was ruined, so this is one of mine. It might be a little big, but it’ll do.”

Once he’s dressed, Dazai hands him his coat and walks with him to the bottom of the stairs leading to the office. It’s obvious that everyone else is starring, and that Atsushi is barely containing himself from asking Akutagawa if he’s okay.

He grabs his umbrella on the way out. It’s still raining, after all.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Akutagawa says, bowing slightly. “And thank your doctor on my behalf as well.”

His tone is clipped and as blank as he can, pulling back the walls between them. It hurts, a bit. Dazai can’t hold it against him.

“I will.”  

He hands him the umbrella without a word, and Akutagawa accepts it. They stare at each other for a long time and Dazai thinks it��s slightly unfair that even with his walls up, he can still easily read what Akutagawa feels in his eyes.

The blind adoration is gone, replaced by something different that makes him feel like he’s looking at a mirror.

It’s not like he can’t place a word on his feelings. He knows, how could he possibly not be aware of it? It’s seeing it spelled out on Akutagawa’s face that throws him off.

“You still haven't told me who I must see about this.” He says it lightly, like a joke.

“No one. They aren’t a bother anymore.”

They’re not dead, but they’re either dying, or in such a terrible state they won’t be thinking of doing anything for a long time, then.

“If you’re sure.” He sighs. “Don’t die while my back is turned.” This is probably the closest to a confession he’s ever going to get.

Neither of them is quite ready to hear it said out loud.

Akutagawa nods and opens the umbrella, stepping out in the rain, walking away. “I’ll bring it back later.” He frowns. “And don’t die either.”

[hogbu]

Dream of July 1st, 2020 par Bill Rogers Via Flickr : So, a few nights back I had a dream. In it I was talking to a friend. She and I were in a small cabin out in the woods and at a certain point I saw across the road from our cabin a large orangey-brown humanoid form crashing through the small trees just up a small hill over a creek. I don't think anyone would ever understand the freakishness of this until they saw it for themselves. The sheer size of something, the bulk of it, moving so swiftly, almost effortlessly through the trees. You could hear some smaller ones breaking but mostly it was silent. I couldn't see a head only the arms, which hung below the knees, the lats and the legs. Absolutely immense. He must have been around nine to ten feet in height. There was a feeling of having seen something I wasn't supposed to see. Of course you want to see but you don't want to make eye contact. One never is fully prepared for this. However, I have been prepping for just such an encounter in dreams for sometime and I did once have a haint on my house that gave me lots of practice knowing how I would react in certain conditions. Ask me about that sometime. At any rate, I think I had just the smallest sliver of preparation and was still pretty taken. I didn't perceive evil, horror or anything like that. I just was crushed under the sheer weight of some presence that was so other. I think my friend and I had moved slowly away from the large open window on the front porch of the cabin. We were in the living room so we could hide ourselves from sight more than if we had been on the porch. I saw it crashing from the west to the east before we slid behind the curtains and into some shadows. I think there was one of those heavy oval rugs that looks like an old English Muffin. I think it had some dull yellow and brown fabric in it. I know because I was laying down on it and playing dead. This because at some point after I had seen the creature disappear into the trees across from our cabin's driveway I sensed a movement in the yard in front of the cabin porch. My friend hid behind a chair or couch and I just went face down on that oval rug. In the instant I was ducking down I saw the body step into view just outside the large window on our front porch. It was behind some hedges just in front of the porch. It was within yards of us. What I saw was definitely a blur. I did not have the time to see it all and I definitely did not look at it directly. I concentrated on becoming one with the carpet so to speak. So, yes, it was a blur, but it definitely looked in the face more like a man than some have described. All I know was that in the dream this was the closest I'd ever come to really running into one, you know, one of these catamounts, these woodwoses. This one had the visual impact comparable to the sound I had heard once in another dream, the one where Mom and I are inside an all glass house. All we could see outside was a lamppost and the freshly mown lawn. It was raining outside and after dark, but there was brief illumination from lightning combined with the light from the moon, the lamppost and a few lawn lights. The sound we heard was a short staccato grunt. But you could feel it on the inside of your rib cage. Mom and I had been in the center of our living room and heard the sound as if it had been projected from somewhere beyond the treeline of our yard into the house just to where we stood. The fullness and power of the voice was so complete. It was as if it was saying. I see you and I am here just beyond what you can see. I'm here! Back to the cabin. I felt my own well defined levels of fear mixed with respect. Fear but not horror. And I know that my friend was feeling her own. I couldn't speak but I sent her a thought message to simply stay still and imagine her body simply sinking into the surroundings. I could feel the weight of his eyes on us and could almost feel his pondering. I'm not sure if I actually saw his shadow or felt his weight on the grass. I just knew he was there watching us through the window. It just seemed like he was curious. It may have seemed like hours but I'm sure it was only a few seconds, maybe less than a minute. And then I just knew he was gone. When I looked up he was definitely gone from view. He may have been close. Who knows how far he went or where? All I knew is that, other than the afterimage of my own memory, I could not see him amy more.

[softlyjiminie]

oblivion | j.j.k

⇢ pairing(s): demon!jeon jungkook x fallen angel!reader.

⇢ word count: 10.3K

⇢ genre: angst, demon!au.

⇢ summary: oblivion, the inability to recall memories. forget. she had forgotten everything. banished from heaven, he was left with nothing. she finds him but he loses her.

⇢ warning(s): please read! angst, heavy makeouts, hickies, alcohol, mentions of religion (i.e. heaven, hell, god.), mentions of infidelity, violence, fight scenes, implied character death, mentions of torture (i.e. imprisonment and electric shock.) and swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): Hey hey! This si my first BTS one-shot here and I’ve worked so hard on it, so I hope you enjoy! italics indicate flash backs. (side note: this fic has been slightly edited and updated as of 2020!)

Oblivion: inability to recall memories. Forget.

She had forgotten everything. He was left with nothing. She finds him but he loses her.

“You know Jungkook, actions like this have consequences. I hope you’re aware of what’s going to happen.”

The ravenette nodded, despite his trembling form, his bottom lip sucked between his pearly whites as he looks on at the intimidating form in front of him. He wants to cry, fuck, he wants to cry and the burning, painful feeling that’s clawing at his throat tells him that he already was. He could hear her whimpers from his position on the ground, the rattling of her shackles against the cage attracting more and more attention as she desperately tries to escape.

He should have listened, he knew he should have listened and yet he continued to feed her with the false hope that they’d never fall into a shitshow like this. His dark hues drift up to the metal cage that hangs from the ceiling, taking note of how matted and gross her hair is, how beaten and bloody her once ethereal form is and most of all;

How torn and broken her wings are.

A strangled sob escapes from between the confines of his lips as he watches her grown weak. “Kookie please, please,” she cries from her confinement, causing him to flinch and drop his gaze to the floor. She’s hurting because of him.

“Silence her, please.” The silver haired male, the reason for her pain, orders but his minions, those worthless fuckers had already moved into place. Jungkook watched helplessly as they administered an electrifying shock to her already weakened form causing her to scream out with pain. It was like watching a murder, except this was legal. This was normal.

The rest of the committee were silent, as Jungkook lurched forward with shackled hands and wings, desperate to reach her. “Fuck-“ He barely managed to get out, his mahogany brown eyes flicking to the silver haired man. “Namjoon hyung stop please, you’re hurting- fuck- you’re going to kill her,”

The shocks don’t stop, despite the younger male’s desperate pleas and that’s when his attention flickers to Namjoon’s advisor. Jin, the black haired male catches Jungkook’s stare, looking down with guilt as he stands by his leader’s side.

“Seokjin-“ Jungkook sobs, the tone of his voice tipping into insanity. “Stop him, please stop him...”

His older sighs, looking at the poor boy with remorse before tentatively putting a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

And with a wave of a hand, it stops and the sounds of her screams die down into pants and heavy breathing. From his spot, Jungkook could see that she was hunched over, the burns on her wings, raw and bloody. He wanted so badly to pull her into his arms and tell her that it would be okay but it wouldn’t be. Even he knew that. Out of his peripheral, the ravenette could see Namjoon and other members of the council huddle around each other, whispering words that he couldn’t quite make out. With a sorrowful gaze, Jungkook looked at his hyung, Jin, who stared on with a void expression. Even he knew this was a hopeless situation.

“We’ve looked over your case, Jungkook…” the silver haired, white winged man sighed, sadness crawling its way into his voice. “You pleaded not guilty to a sin, you know that we have no choice. Right? We have to banish you.”

The younger bowed his head, knowing this was the inevitable. He heard a pained and vulnerable screech from above his head, knowing that it was her. He needed to protect her, he wouldn’t go down without a fight and if they banished him, they’d probably kill her. “Namjoon hyung, promise me you won’t hurt her. I know what I did but please, not her. I’ll do anything,”

There was a fifty-fifty percent chance that Jungkook’s pleads would even be considered, but even he was surprised (along with Jin and the council) when Namjoon leaned forward with interests. “Anything?”

“Do what you want with me, take my honour, my grace, my wings - fuck - just let her go.” Jungkook growled, stepping forward despite his restraints and the tears in his eyes. The silver haired hyung looked to Jin, who’s eyes were wide with disapproval as soon as he realised Namjoon’s plan. Jungkook’s hyung felt sorry for him, for the pain he would endure for the next few centuries, No one deserved this, not even the young Jungkook, but this world has rules and everyone had to follow them. The makane was no exception.

“I can’t let her go, but I can cast her out to somewhere that will accept her,” The Male begins, resting his cheek on his palm as he looks to the younger boy with a steely gaze. Jungkook perks up at the proposition. “We’ll take your grace, and your wings, granted that you know where you’ll go when we do.”

The boy nods vigorously as Namjoon deliberates on whether or not he should continue. “The only catch is that she’ll survive...but she won’t have her memories...”

It’s almost as if someone has sucked all of the air from the room, rendering Jungkook breathless. He drops to his knees, realising that not even on earth, will they be able to be together. His heart clenches as tears seem to build up in his eyes again, and it hurts to look up at her. The panic expands in her chest and he can sense her shallow and nervous breathing as she too register’s the older’s proposition.

“Jungkook, No,” she pleads, bloodied hands gripping the bars of her temporary prison. He feels defeated, but he’s doing this for her. It’ll be better this way and she won’t have to die. She watches with tired and dull eyes as he stands, weakly looking at his hyung. “J-Jungkook, jeongguk pleas...“

He flinched at the name she used for him, looking up at the ceiling as if he’s praying to god. Ha. As if he believed in that anymore. Both Namjoon and Jin could sense the hatred blooming in the younger’s chest as he advanced towards them to accept their deal. To accept his fate. He was definitely going the be banished there, especially with his blossoming hatred for their father.

“Do we have a deal Jungkook?”

“Jeon Jungkook don’t you dare!” the girl growled through her tears as said boy moved to let Namjoon strip him of his grace and wings. She felt her own flare up, cracking against her back as she stretched them. “I’d rather die than forget you, anything, everything would be better than losing you,”

“We have a deal, hyung.” Jungkook ignores her pleas, despite the pained and distressed tone in her voice. He falls to his knees in front of his silver haired hyung, gaze locked on the tiled floor. Namjoon can see how Jin turns away, from his peripheral, the man only nods down at the makane, who’s gaze drifted ft up his form. The silver haired man almost reels back in shock when his eyes locked with Jungkook’s.

They were completely black.

“T-then so be it...” Namjoon stutters out, and the makane can’t help but brace himself for the pain that he’ll feel when his grace is ripped from his very being. The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It’s unbearable, forcing a scream out of his throat as he collapses onto the cool surface of the marble floor.

Overhead, her yells echo out into the room, piercing the ears of the committee, Jin, Namjoon and even Jungkook. The makane can feel himself slipping away, his vision fading to black as an almost flame like sensation consumes him. Her voice is echoing desperately throughout his mind and the world around him falls away.

He feels as if he’s falling from the sky.

“Jungkook!” she screams.

“Jungkook!” it’s louder this time, and he can feel his chest heaving at the sound of her voice.

“JEON JUNGKOOK!”

“What?” He sneered, eyes flashing red as his head snaps in the direction of the pestering voice. Jimin gives his younger a toothy smile, a knowing look gracing  his features as he sips on an alcoholic drink. Jungkook rolls his eyes at his hyung, looking down at his own drink before knocking it back with one gulp. Her voice, it sounded so real. His gaze turned to the luscious grey haired male next to him, who’s still looking at him with a cheeky smirk. “What do you want Jimin?”

His voice is bored and tired as the older boy clicks his tongue with an amused smile. “No hyung?” He pouts and Jungkook shoots him an unamused glare. “You zoned out on me Kook, how many drinks have you had?”

“This is my first,” He growled back in response. “I’m just tired.” The raven haired boy knows it’s a lame excuse for his sudden daydreaming but he didn’t feel like talking to his hyung at the moment.

“Sure…” The grey haired male teases, tongue poking out to run over his pointed fangs.

Jungkook sifts a hand through his parted locks, looking at his hyung in annoyance. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I do, but I need energy and want to play, my target’s not here anyways,” Jimin’s chocolate hues  flash black for a moment before fading back to their original colour as he toys with the straw in his drink. The younger boy gags at his older’s words which causes Jimin to laugh. “Have some fun kookie, suck some souls!”

“Piss off Jimin,” the boy sighs, watching as his friend pushes himself from the bar. He winks, giving Jungkook a mocking solute before disappearing into the ocean of dancing people. The thought of moving amongst them made the Raven haired boy turn is nose up in disgust, sweaty bodies grinding and groping each other always made him feel uncomfortable.

Jungkook didn’t like earth, he didn’t like the humans in fact. They were all the same, filled with greed and unnecessary desire. Selfish, little  things. Humans were repulsive creatures, to him at least but it made it easier to take their souls. No need for guilt or remorse. Jimin hyung seemed to like being around them a lot, but perhaps that had something to do with him being a human once. That and the fact that he got pleasure off of them.

Hell wasn’t too bad, not his favourite place either. It was full of lost souls or dumbasses who’d made deals with the devil. If you were lucky enough and if he liked you, you’d get to join him as a demon but Yoongi was nearly never in a nice enough mood for that. There were some things that Jungkook did enjoy, like his friends, Taehyung and Jimin. They were soul catchers like him, did the devil’s dirty work but Jungkook had been around Yoongi for centuries, more or less acting like his right hand man.

The place Jungkook hated more than anything, was heaven. Just mentioning its name sent waves of anger crashing down on his muscular form. The demon boy despised the angels he had once called his family, Namjoon and Jin. He hated them for banishing him from his home all those millennia ago, taking his wings and his grace just because he fell in love.

But most of all he hated Heaven for what it did to her, for taking her away from him.

“Jeongguk…” She sighs contentedly, her pure and glowing wings unfolding at the pleasure of his lips against the hot skin of her collarbone. He smirked , nibbling the prominent feature as she lets out small whimpers of his name. Jeongguk, Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook. “Y-you have to stop doing that”

Her face is flushed as she leans against the tree in God’s garden, created just for the angels. He bites a little harder, causing her to gasp out loudly and grip his shoulders, her fingers lying just above his own angelic wings. “Why should I? You’re clearly enjoying it.”

“B-but K-kookie…ah! w-what if someone finds out? What about Namj-“ She mewled again, cutting herself off as his lips travelled up to her neck, sucking lightly. Her hands weave their way into his hair, locking tightly on his raven strands causing him to groan against her skin. This was wrong, dirty, sinful but he needed this, he needed her.

Jungkook grinned against her neck, leaving only minuscule marks. Although he cared not about what the other angels thought, he still didn’t want to get in trouble. “Namjoon? That old Arch Angel? he wouldn’t hurt us YN, I wouldn’t let him.”

“b-But,” She stammers, a whimpering mess underneath the boy’s touch. “we’re committing a sin, Jungkook...”

She wasn’t wrong, it was forbidden for angels to love anything other than their creator. Jungkook wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but he knew that it was something like how he felt for his father, the lord. It was an overwhelming desire to he near her at all times of the day, holding hands, talking or just being with each other. When he’d first met her, he knew he couldn’t ever let her go, the feeling in his chest too strong. Strong enough to break the rules. Jungkook was just lucky that she felt the same.

Slowly, he pulled away from her neck, causing her eyes to flutter open and her brows to furrow in confusion. Her wings retracted gently as she sat up from the tree and Jungkook knew he had disappointed her. “Why did you stop?”

“Didn’t you ask me to?”

Her eyes widen at his words and a gentle pout forms on her plump lips. Everything was so confusing to them, they didn’t know what this feeling was but Jungkook knew he had upset her. The raven haired angel runs a hand through his midnight strands, before pulling the girl that he cared for into his arms. Her back rested against his chest and he could see goosebumps rise on her skin from the feel of his hot breath on the exposed skin of her neck. “What we’re doing might be a sin, but it’s not going to stop me from feeling this way about you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, not even Namjoon hyung, okay?”

Her gaze is too busy focused on the blades of grass that sway gently in heaven’s breeze, but the slight smile that tickled the corners of her lips tell Jungkook that she understood. “I think I love you Jeongguk,” she whispered, moving to lay on his chest, intertwining their legs.

“I think I love you too,”

The raven haired demon jumps when the bartender slams another glass down in front of him, filled to the brim with some kind of colourful concoction. Jungkook raises a brow, looking over at the Barista who’s wiping down the counter. He can tell by the way she’s biting her lip and leaning over the bar more than necessary, that she’s interested and he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t order this” The demon states, bored.

“It’s on the house, refills are free, babe,” she winks, causing the male to scoff and turn away. Humans. The demon boy sips his drink, the bitter alcohol burning his throat as he looks over the sea of dancers. He could feed from the barista, but her energy is impure and probably wouldn’t last him very long. That’s when it hits him.

The scent is strong and he can smell her from the minute she steps in the club. A primal urge flares up inside of him as he scans the club for presence, it may have been a couple millennia but he never forgot her scent, even with his heightened senses.

A plan formulates in his head, he’ll claim her and make her remember. He’ll make her love him again.

“Fuck you, YN,” your best friend whined as you pulled him through the club, searching for an empty table. You roll your eyes, stepping over a severely drunk couple as you move past the clusters of people. “Why did it have to be here?”

“Shut up Hoseok,” you murmur absentmindedly as you spot a table, dragging the redhead along with you. You push him into a booth,  seats lined with purple velvet and finished with smooth black leather. He groans, adjusting his position as you hike up the black jeans that emphasises your enticing curves and slip off your flats so you can slide on the Louis V heels your ex got you for your last birthday. Quickly, you untie your hair, ruffling it out into a style that you like as Hoseok watches you with a bored expression. “Oh come on Hoseokie, brighten up! We’re here to have fun!”

“Did it have to be this club?” He snaps, unimpressed. An annoyed sigh escapes from between the confines of his lips as he peels his lightly sweating thigh from the leather of his seat. “You know this place is littered with demons, my ex was a demon and we both know how that went.”

“That was one guy Hobi,”

He frowns at you, as you clip in some earrings. “The little fucker tried to make a deal with me! It almost cost me my life,” Silence sweeps over you both as your friend’s expression falls serious. “You can’t go home with just anyone tonight, YN. You have to be careful.”

Demons were common on earth, or so people said. Some chose to believe in their existence whilst others just ignored it, ignorance is bliss right? You felt guilt rush through your body at Hobi’s concern, knowing something that he didn’t. Smoothing over your white crop top that you’d hidden under your work sweater, you gave your friend a light smile. “But what if I want to be making deals with the devil?” You winked at him, causing the redhead to snort and roll his eyes at you. “In all seriousness though, If you’d prefer it, we can just stay for a few drinks. We don’t have to go home  with anyone.”

Hoseok shakes his head fondly at you, handing you your red lipstick when he notices you searching for it. You thank him with a cute grin, before flipping open your compact and applying it neatly along the natural lines of your lips. “Nah, it’s okay. Besides, we’re both still hung up on our exes so let’s just get shitfaced!”

“Sounds like a plan,” You laugh to the point of tears, smiling at your friend. You quickly pack your cosmetics into your clutch before walking around the table, Hoseok’s gaze following. “I’m just gonna head to the little ladies room, see ya in a few?”

“We just got here YN, do you really have that weak of a bladder that you need to pee before drinks?” the older boy teases and you flip him the finger. “Drinks are on me tonight, by the way, what would you like?”

“Surprise me Hobi!” You call out sashaying your way into the bathroom, no doubt getting stares from the people around you.  Hoseok watches you walk away with careful eyes, worried. You had just gotten out of a relationship with your cheating ex, he’d been fucking your best friend behind your back for almost a year and it crushed you. Recently, you’d been partying more, sleeping around without consequences. It worried Hoseok, it was unlike you. Exhaling deeply, the red haired male pushed his way through intoxicated bodies so he could get the the bar. The counter was cool against his heated arms, the air of the club is thick with sweat but it’s not something he isn’t used to.

The bar isn’t particularly busy, there’s a few people lazing about, obnoxiously laughing and trying not to spill their drinks but the barista seems to be caught up with the black haired male beside Hoseok. “S’cuse me,” the redhead drones, causing the pair to look at him. For a second, Hobi swears he can see a flash of red, maybe even black in the male’s eyes which makes his words falter and catch in his throat. “I-i don’t mean to interrupt whatever’s happening over there, but I’d like to order two drinks. Surprise me sweetheart.”

The barista rolls her eyes but detangles herself from Jungkook’s raging form. He can smell her on the redhead beside him. Who is he? Why is her scent on him? She couldn’t have moved on from him, it may have been centuries for Jungkook but her scent was still fresh, indicating that she’d been reborn only recently.

Hoseok tried not to let it bother him but the continuous, low and intimidating growling from the guy beside him, started to send shivers down his spine. “Can I help you?” He asked through gritted teeth, causing the midnight haired boy next to him to immediately cease his noises. At this point, Jungkook’s primal instincts had taken over, it was almost as if he was to the point of starvation of energy but it wasn’t that, it was just that her scent was overwhelmingly strong.

“Why do you smell like her?”

The question was confusing to say the least and Hoseok found himself mentally pleading for the Barista to hurry up with preparing the drinks. “Excuse me?”

“If you know what’s best for you, I won’t have to repeat myself.” the dark haired demon sneered icily, voice dripping with intimidation with the hint of a threat. The redhead beside him frowned, brows furrowing as if he knew Jungkook wasn’t completely human. Something clicked in his mind and the devilish man before him smirked at the realisation that etched its way onto Hoseok’s features.

“You mean YN?” There was shock evident in the stranger’s tone of voice, but the satisfaction of hearing her sweet name once again was enough to make Jungkook smile. Namjoon had at least shown some kindness, by rebirthing her with the same name. On the inside, the human boy, Hobi, was freaking out. He couldn’t help but get chills as the raven haired guy in front of him smiled, it was menacing yet endearing at the same time and he only hoped to god that this guy wasn’t one of your one night stands, he didn’t want to deal with your crazy exes tonight. “Y-you know her?” He coughed out, causing Jungkook to meet his eyes with a demonic grin.

He nodded his head simply at Hobi as he sipped the drink the barista had made for him. “You could say that we’re old friends.”

Hoseok coughs again. “She’s...uh...she’s here tonight if you want to see her, clear things up,“

“Excellent, send her to me.” Jungkook smirks, turning to face the bar once more, leaving the redhead with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. ‘Well shit,’ He thought, grabbing the two glasses that the barista had set in front of him, before she went back to flirting with Jungkook. ‘What have you gotten yourself into YN?’

“Fuck me,” Hobi whines, more so to himself than anyone else. He was sacred for YN, that guy clearly wanted something from her and wasn’t going to give up until he got it. There was something particularly off putting about that man, maybe it’s the way his brown orbs were so dark that they were almost black or maybe it was the way he growled at Hoseok for even being near YN. Plus there was the fact that knew exactlywhat she smelt like. Yeah, something was definitely up with that guy.

“Fuck you?” You chirped, sliding into the seat opposite your best friend. He let out a quick gasp before pouting at you and knocking back some of his drink. You grinned at him, taking your own and sipping it. “No thanks Hobi, I’d rather not.”

“Good lord YN, I was beginning to think you ditched me! Besides I’d rather die than sleep with you,” He snorted, pushing your arm as you smirked around your straw.

“The hell’s in this stuff Hoseok?” You coughed, a light burn scratching at the ridges of your throat. “Anyway, looking as perfect as me takes time, you wouldn’t understand,”

The redhead before you rolls his eyes. “Please, you literally just put on some lipstick,” your friend teased, and you jutted out your bottom lip in a joking pout. “Also, I have no idea what’s in that, I asked the barista for a surprise but she was too distracted gawking at some guy.”

“He must be attractive, that girl never usually puts on a show for anyone,” Hobi nods in agreement. biting at the dry skin of his lower lip as you focus your attention on trying to find this ‘mysterious’ man swooning the barista. “What does he look like?”

“Pretty lean, dark haired, freakishly dark eyes...” your friend mumbles as you lick your lips with piqued interest. “Probably tall,” he adds monotonously and you sigh dreamily, chest tightening with excitement. Hoseok feels nerves tug at his heart strings, he had a bad feeling about his guy, but he also valued his life and the threat he’d received earlier didn’t feel like much of a joke. “I think he’s looking for you, he says he knows you...”

‘Oh?’ Your facial expression reads as you glance back over at your best friend, a light smirk making its way onto your ruby red lips. The redhead in front of you almost regrets sharing this information with you but before he can stop you, you’re standing up clutch in hand and glass in the other.

“YN, wait this guy, he-“ you look back over at Hobi, excitement dancing in your orbs at the prospect of meeting someone new and he softens. “j-just be careful okay? this guy made it out like he was one of your exes.”

You nod cautiously, smiling brightly in the dim lighting of the club before swiftly pushing your way through the mass of sweat-licked bodies. Something in the atmosphere changes as you reach the bar, your chest constricting, almost suffocating you as you feel a searing pain at your lower back. Shaking it off, you force yourself forwards and towards the bar.

It’s almost immediate, the way your overwhelming scent has Jungkook a shivering and groaning mess at the bar and he tenses when you slip into the seat next to him. Just from a quick glance at the side of your face, the raven haired male can tell that your hair is much longer, maybe even a few shades lighter than what it once was. Your features have shifted slightly too, and only Jungkook would notice that your nose has moved up my merely a millimetre but god, oh god your scent was still exactly the same. Jungkook wanted you. He needed you.

“What can I get you miss?” The barista asks monotonously, as if you’re a nuisance to her. Your gaze testers over to the dark haired male next to you, his jawline sharp and hair slightly tussled. He’s good looking, you can’t deny him that, but some part of you is still confused by the feeling of familiarity that swells in your chest.

You take a peek at his drink before lazily looking back up at the barista with a half smile. “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” You decided, voice smooth like honey. Jungkook sends a surprised glance your way, causing you to bite your lip cheekily. “But stronger.”

He gulps visibly, eyes wide as the Barista nods with irritation. The darker haired male had never noticed you to be so bold. The YN he knew was shy and timid, far from the flirtatious one who sat next to him now. “It’s on me,”

“Sure,” The barista growls, clearly unamused by yourself and Jungkook’s interactions. She moves away to tend to the alcohol, leaving you alone with the mysterious male who claimed to know you. Turning in your seat, you lean your face on your palm, looking at him with engrossment and finally, he returns your stare. Those cool chocolatey orbs ignite some sort of fire in you, a passionate emotion that you can’t quite place your finger on, he looks even better now that you’re face to face. Dark hair pushed back lightly, soft pink lips and chiselled features. Something within you wants him and you don’t think you’ll deny yourself of the unknown desire.  

You chew nervously at the skin of your lip. “That was certainly chivalrous of you,” you whisper sweetly, trying to lure Jungkook in and he smirks at you, a daring look his in eyes.

“Just trying to do right by a gorgeous girl like you, sweetheart,”

You roll your eyes at the cliche line but the smile on your face tells Jungkook that you enjoyed it. “Flattery will get you nowhere…” you trailed off tilting your head upwards as you stare at him with a sensual smirk. The way you were looking at him sends a spark of heat down Jungkook’s spine, he wants you and it’s almost as if you know it. You eye him patiently and he almost forgets that you want his name, with a quick swig of his drink to calm him down, he finally responds.

“Jungkook,” he grins coolly, when your eyes flash, captivated at the new information. “Jeon Jungkook.”

You smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Jeon. I’m LN YN,” for some reason, the mention of his name sends you into a flurry of blurry and unclear memories. A clinch of your heart tells you that they’re that they’re yours. You can’t tell whose in the vision but one of the figures gives out a similar aura to that of Jungkook’s.

He starts talking again, his voice breaking through the ringing in your ears. “I know,” he whispers, with an emotion you can’t quite place. It’s cold and bitter but switches when he notices you spacing out. “Hey, are you okay?”

“M’ fine,” you reply half haphazardly, waving a hand with nonchalance. Lazily you draw your eyes back up to his almost sinful face. “My friend said we knew each other, I’m sorry if I can’t remember you. My memory’s always been a bit spacey. Did we date? Hook up or something?”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating from deep within in his chest causing the hairs on your arms to stand with enchantment. God, the noise sent shivers down your spine.  Another fiery burn erupts in the same spot on your lower back and you start to wonder what the heck is going on with your body. “You could say that, we’ve known each other for a while.”

You nod silently when the barista returns with the drink you ordered and you’re half tempted to check if she’d spat in it from the way she’s glaring at your dolled up form. The raven haired man before you asks for another beverage as your fingers trace the rim of your glass. You’re confused. Very confused. Before tonight, you’d never felt any type of way about a man since your boyfriend had committed adultery. Every interaction since that day had left you cold and cruel, your relationships never lasted, simply decaying at your lack of commitment and passion for love. Then all of a sudden, Jungkook waltzes his way into your night, claiming to have known you although you don’t remember. And for some reason, your body seems to have a mind of its own, seemingly remembering for you.

The tentative touch of Jungkook’s calloused hand brings you back into the brutality of reality. Your eyes lock as he moves a strand of your tousled  hair away from the soft skin of your cheek and you feel your body flush with heat at his closeness.

“I’m sorry I just-fuck,” he curses when he notices you looking. His eyes seemingly slip into a dark shade and you blush furiously. “You just look so beautiful...”

“Jungkook...” you murmur, causing him to almost groan at the way his name slips from the confines of your plump lips. Sexual tension is settling in the air, weighing it down and almost suffocating you. Your eyes dance to the crowd over your shoulder, watching their every move as you long to leave the awkward silence that’s crawling between you both. It’s indisputable that you’re drawn to him-Jungkook-but beneath layers of that, you feel it in your heart that there’s something more. “Let’s go dance,” you almost plead, moving to stand from your seat when his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

“I hate dancing,” he whispers huskily, standing up behind you. You don’t turn, feeling his hot breath fan over the exposed skin of your neck. The demon can smell the desperation and need growing within you, and he’s one step closer to claiming you. Making you his again. “I’d much rather do something more private, with you.”

That’s when you spin on your heel, turning to face him as his arms sneak around your waist, pulling you into his muscled chest. Desire swells within the deep pits of your stomach. You decide, that despite your uneasy feelings, you want him. Whether he truly did know you or not. “Do you want me babygirl?” He teases, casually against your lips as he bends down to reach them. You nod feverishly, eyes falling shut at his lustful words.

“Yes please...” you whimper, as he brushes his luscious lips against yours. Jungkook smiles devilishly, his own chocolate hues flashing red without your notice. It’s not long before you’re both dashing out of the club and into the night. The drink he’d ordered, long forgotten.

“Oh,” you gasp as Jungkook pushes you against the door of your apartment, not even letting you lock it first. You twist the key with one hand, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the ravenette works his soft lips against your collar bone, marking it. Marking you as his. The feeling is sinful, almost recognisable as he works his way up to your lips. He finds the sweet spot on your neck easily, the plains of your skin engraved into the back of his mind.

Jungkook practically moans as your nimble fingers trace up to the nape of his neck, tangling in the little hairs there. Your lips meet in a fervent and passionate kiss, as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip desperately, begging for entrance. The demon had never known you to be such a tease, your lips clamping shut, a smile spreading across them as he kisses you with more force. He tries again, only to be denied the satisfaction of being able to kiss you deeper. So instead, his grips your thighs, hoisting you up so that they wrap around the narrowest part of his waist causing you to gasp out and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips.

The both of you fight for dominance and Jungkook can feel heat trickling down his spine, primal instincts of being a demon, coursing through the cool blood of his veins. The need for oxygen burns at your lungs and you have to physically tear yourself away from the Male before you in order to catch your breath. “W-where’s your room?” he breathes out in a pleading tone as he rests his sweat licked forehead on your own.

“Down the corridor and f-first room to the left...” You direct with a pant, lips dropping to suck at Jungkook’s neck as he peels you away from the door and down the hall as fast as he can. The dark eyed boy can feel his demonic urges taking over him as he moves, and he tries his best to suppress them. He’s hungry for you, there’s no doubt about that, and your touch is feeding his energy levels too but he doesn’t want to rush this with you, he wants to love you, make you remember the way you’d once felt about each other. He never thought he’d see you again until tonight and he wasn’t about to let you slip through his fingers again.

Dropping you on your feet at the door, the midnight haired male let you push it open, he watched as you kicked off your heels and playfully ran at your bed before jumping on it. Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle along with you as you bounced up and down on the mattress, before you moved to sit up with messy hair and a cute smile. It was innocent, yet enticing.

“Aren’t you gonna come over here, Mr. Jeon?” You tease, toying with the hem of your cream crop top. Jungkook smirks, walking towards the bed as he unbuttons his shirt before throwing it into the oblivion of the room. He joins you, sliding his slender waist between your legs as he begins to attack your neck again, listening out for your soft mewls. He missed you. God he missed you. And now, you’re right here in his arms, whimpering and clawing at his back to draw him closer.

The male’s large hands run over the exposed skin of your waist, savouring the softness of your (skin tone) flesh. You shiver when Jungkook’s finger tips trace over the ink at the right of your lower back. A tattoo. The midnight haired demon sits back on his thighs, as he pushes your shirt over your head to get a better look, your breathless pants filling the silence. “You have a tattoo?”

“Yeah,” you suck in a breath when he touches the inked design on your skin, the area bursting into flames. “Angel wings. I’ve always had em’, my mum told me it was the mark of my guardian or some dumb shit like that.”

Jungkook grunts in approval as he dives back in to kiss you, his senses and urges heightened at the new information. The angel wing mark had been his claim on you whilst you were both in heaven, whilst you were both angels. Your mother hadn’t been wrong, it was a mark only used by guardians and Jungkook had sworn to protect you as much as he had loved you. He smirked against your lips as they moved in a perfect dance. ‘At least Namjoon hyung had been kind enough to leave my mark.’

He wants you more now. He wants to claim you again and make you his. He loved you once and he’ll love you again, he’ll make you remember . As if by instinct, the Demon who was now thriving from your touch and his love for you, started grinding his hips feverishly onto yours, causing you to gasp out and thread your small fingers between the roots of his black locks. (Eye colour) hues fluttering shut, you force yourself to savour the way his lips suckle on the junction at your neck as if they were made to be there. This felt natural, familiar and for the first time in a while, you felt truly loved. Truly worshipped.

Desperate for more, you whimpered out, unknowingly. “Jeongguk please,”

And he freezes. The blood that’s pumping through Jungkook’s veins runs cold and he’s knees grow weak and suddenly he feels sick. Because the tone in your voice is familiar, heart wrenching as he remembers. He remembers what happened. He remembers that night. The night you were ripped from his very hands.

Nausea bubbles up within the pits of his stomach and he feels like he’s going to throw up. The demon boy weakly drops his head to your neck as he begins to pant with rising panic. “J-Jungkook? Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He whimpers out in response, exhaling shakily but he can’t hear you, a ringing sound intensifying in his ears. A painful memory clouding his vision.

Jungkook had never felt so…alive. He’d thought he had been happy as an angel but nothing could ever compare to this. She was finally his,more so than she’d ever been. He’d claimed her, she’d claimed him and nothing could ever separate their eternal bond. The ravenette has sealed the mark of a guardian in that spot just at the base of her spine and although no-one could see it, it was his own way of making sure everyone knew she was his.

He knew he loved her, that’s what it had been all along. Even if it had been a sin, to love someone other than the lord, he would never stop, his heart beat too strongly for her. For YN. Jungkook knew in his mind that this whole thing was risky, that someone could find out and even then, he’d try and take her out of that life. He would try anything to stay in her arms.

The dark haired angel was going to see her today, under the luscious green leaves of the Garden of Eden. He could picture her now, the golden light of the suns rays filtering over her supple, unmarked skin. The cherry blossom petals gently falling around her, almost like confetti as she smiled at him gently through them, the soft sounds of water in the ponds soothing them. The makane decided right then and there, that she was it heaven. He couldn’t wait to see her.

Upon nearing the garden, a small smile graces the pink of his lips and he finds himself moving much faster to meet her at their usual spot. Emerging through the leaves, he feels different. Something is off. Not quite right. And as Jungkook pushes himself towards their meeting place, air around him shifts. Something is definitely wrong.

“YN?” The raven haired angel whispers into the thick of the air, his dark doe eyes are darting about, and he can’t seem to see her. Dread builds up in his core. “Where are you?”

“She’s over her Kookie,” A dark voice calls out, almost teasingly. The makane’s head whips around so fast that anyone would have thought hehad whiplash. His heart stops in his chest and his expression falls. There she is, forced into kneeling position, hands cuffed with multiple angels (who were in a higher up position) point weapons, spears at her. The voice belongs to none other than the head guard. His smile is almost devil-like, too evil to be that of an angel. Nodding to another guard, they prod her slightly with the spear, causing her head to drop as she bites her lip in pain. “Why don’t you say hello sweetheart?”

“Jeongguk,” she whimpers through streams of tears, fingers desperately clutching the metal that’s pushing into her supple wrists. “I’m so sorry I-”

A guard nearby nudges her again, forcing her forward and Jungkook takes a leap at him before being restrained by several other guards. “That’s enough darling.” The head whispers, looking up at meeting Jungkook’s fiery dark orbs.

“Why are you doing this to her? Let her go!”

The angel before him lets out a tsk as he his lips broaden into a smirk. “You know exactly why, Jungkook,” the older and more powerful angel looks down at the girl, watching as the sun’s rays catch on the tears rolling down her soft cheeks. “You committed  a sin, treason too. Loving someone who isn’t God”

A dry lump stalls itself in the raven haired makane’s throat as his dark hues flicker between the love of his life and the man before him. His defensive stance drops and his pure wings retract. They know. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This isn’t your mark?” The guard snorts, grabbing her violently and forcing her to stand. He takes one of her wings, the soft feathers crumpling beneath his touch as he pushed it upwards, causing (Y/N) to yelp in pain. The mark sits there in all its glory, surrounded by a pinkish tint from where it had been so lovingly brandished into her skin. Jungkook gulps, his gaze dropping to his feet which stand out against the lush blades of grass. “That’s what I thought, now take her away. We’ll see you at trial Kook.”

And with that, they start to drag her, YN away. To imprisonment. Leaving Jungkook, scared for her, scared for himself, in their wake.

Without warning, Jungkook rips himself away from you with such ferocity that you become dazed and within an instant, he’s tugging his black button up over his muscled arms whilst frantically carding his fingers through is blackened locks. Feeling embarrassed, you sat up slowly, cheeks burning at the fact that he’d been so quick to pull away from you.

Had you hurt him? Did you trigger a bad memory? Did he suddenly find you repulsive? Insecurities wrapped around your mind and clouded you thoughts as Jungkook looked back at you with a pained expression. You wrapped your arms around your exposed other half as if to cover yourself.

“Jungkook,” you choose your words carefully as he shuffles about, looking for his belongings. “If I did something wrong… just know I didn’t mean it.” You may have slept around recently, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care if someone was in pain.

“I have to go,” was his response, as the demon boy stilled at the centre of your room, not even bothering to look at you. Hesitantly, you move towards him, desperately wanting to reach out and reassure him. You’re compelled to him.

“I know but...but if I hurt you…please tell me because I-“

“You did nothing,” he snapped, a growl pushing its way out of his throat and you flinch, drawing your slightly smaller frame away from his. “Now, fuck off.”

Flushing red, you inhale deeply as rage slips into your bloodstream and moves around your body. “Excuse me,” you force out through gritted teeth. Jungkook gives you a bewildered stare as you glare back at him. “You can’t just tell me to fuck off, after you scare my best friend, make a scene of wanting to fuck me at the club then drag me to my house only to say that you have to go. I just want to know what’s going on with you, if I hurt you or if I-“

You don’t even get to finish your rant when your back collides roughly with the wall behind you. Your head throbs leaving disoriented as you register Jungkook’s strong arms caging you in. “Is this what you wanted?” He sneered, lips twisting into a cruel smirk as his demonic instincts creep up on him. Your eyes flutter shut and when you open them, you’re met with bright red and glowing orbs.

All the oxygen in the room seems to be sucked out, leaving you breathless as it hits you. Jeon Jungkook is a fucking demon. Fear expands in your chest as he looks over you darkly. “What’s the matter, princess? don’t want me anymore?”

You look away, tears welling in your (eye colour) hues as you screw them shut. “P-please-“ you weren’t ready yet. Not now. “Please I don’t want-“

Jungkook frowns, tilting his head as his simmer back down to their natural shade of brown and the tone of his voice seems softer this time. “That’s too bad, darling, the old YN, the angel, would have wanted me.”

And with that, he pushes off of you, turning around to get ready to leave. Sifting a hand through your now frazzled (hair colour) locks, you slide to the floor, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened and calm your vigorous heart beat. You could’ve sworn that he was about to murder you but his words had sparked curiosity in you. ‘The old YN.’

Momentarily, the dark haired demon exits the room to grab his shoes, leaving him alone with his thoughts. What had gotten into him? He couldn’t even control himself around you and now, you were afraid of him. The petrified look that had tickled at your features made him feel nauseous. When he returned you were still sitting against the way, letting out uneven puffs of air.

“I’m sorry for-“

“What did you mean by the old YN?” You interject, rendering the male silent, his mouth opens and closes. “Your angel?” you ramble on, eyes not even meeting his. “I mean, yeah I have an angel tattoo but trust me I’m far from it.”

He lets a soft exhale escape from between his lips, moving towards you and sitting beside you on the wall. He tries to ignore the sting in his heart as you flinch away, but he knows that it’s his own fault. “You’re an angel to me,” he whispers, looking at the side of your face.

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook bites at the dry skin of his lips and looks the ceiling. He had to tell you. Even if you couldn’t remember, you had to know. “I was in love with you, hundreds, even thousands of years ago.” The demon starts, ignoring the light frown of your lips. “We were both angels then, and for some reason we were drawn to each other. I couldn’t describe it, but for the first time since I had died. I felt something for someone other than God, other than myself. I felt love and thank fuck you felt it too.”

You shifted uncomfortably as he spoke, listening to how he spoke about you, it was confusing. “What were we?”

“Angels,” Jungkook smiles bitterly, a lump forming in his throat as you finally lock eyes. All you can see is pain, and you wonder what must’ve happened for him to feel this way. “We were angels, wings as large and as beautiful as you could imagine. You loved to fly, it was why I fell in love with you.”

“Me? An Angel?�� You whisper more so to yourself than the dark haired male sitting beside you. He nods, feeling hot water spring to his eyes as you evaluate the information that he had shared with you. It’s highly unlikely that you’ll believe him, but it’s worth trying. He still loves you.

“It would explain your tattoo,” he adds, coming to trace the thick ink with a tentative hand. You shiver. “It’s the mark that a guardian angel leaves on their human, but for us it meant a vow or declaration of our love if you will. I gave it to you before they found out.”

His jaw tightens and expression hardens as he wills himself not to cry in front of you. You jump into action, grasping his hand as the tears begin to flow soundlessly, you don’t need to ask who found out, knowing that he would explain. “The angels who were in higher order found out about us and took me to trial. They tortured you and I had to fucking watch as they sentenced me. I knew they would kill you, so I gave them my grace in order to keep you alive. Hyung - Namjoon - erased your memory and sent you to earth in order to keep you alive. Whilst I was banished to hell.”

A gasp stops in your throat as you listen to Jungkook tell you about your previous life together. You understand now, how he knew you, why you felt so strongly about him even though you had just met. The pieces were slowly coming together. “I never thought I’d see you again, I used to have nightmares about the day they took you from me. When I found out you were at the club, I wanted to claim you. I wanted you to love me again and I- fuck,” he takes a deep breath, body shaking as he cries. “I-i thought we could be together again.”

You bite your lip, hating how distraught he looked. For the first time that night, the mysterious and suave Jungkook looked vulnerable and lonely. “Jeongguk, you know she’s - that’s - not who I am any more” you tried to reason, heart clenching when he looked away in pain. “A-and I know I can’t give you what I had once before but,” you pause, trying to sort through your messy thoughts and confusion. “I promise I won’t leave you, not until I remember...because for some reason, I feel drawn to you and I find myself believing all this crazy stuff that you’re saying.” The demon looks up at you with hopeful and glistening eyes, and something within you feels lifted when he smiles slightly. You take his hand in your own, you grin back. The raven haired demon’s chocolate hues flick to your lips and back up again, when you lean into him and although you’re confused, you can’t but feel it within you to kiss him back.

So you do, lips meeting his halfway as you engage in a soft and gentle kiss. It’s different this time, the kiss. Instead of being desperate and fast, it’s slow and sweet and even though you told Jungkook that you’d try to remember for him, you know that he’s savouring the feeling of your lips moving in sync. “I won’t let you leave me again...” he mumbles possessively when you move away, his inner demon breaking free again.

“I won’t leave...” you confirm, gazing at him through hooded eyes as you move to kiss him again. You know that deep down within you, you love him. You just have to remember how. Before your lips meet again, there’s a knock at the door. Once, twice, thrice times.

“I’ll be back,” you murmur, standing as Jungkook nods with a smile before you head out to the front door of your apartment. An uneasy feeling settles in the pits of your stomach as you approach the door, you opt to go against your better judgement, clicking open the lock to see who it is. It’s probably Hoseok, ready to give you a three week lecture on how you abandoned him at the club.

But god, oh god are you wrong. Leaning against the doorway is the toned, silver haired male you’d come know as Jimin. His plump lips morph into a cocky smirk when realisation washes over your features. “J-Jimin,”

“Hello sweetheart,” he grins, pushing himself off the frame and stepping into your apartment. He closes the door, before spinning on his heel to meet your nervous form. Your frozen with shock, and if you weren’t? You would’ve slammed the door in his face. The older demon towers over you, and you wish that you could just shrink into yourself. “How are you baby?”

Despite being in a fear stricken state, you find it in you to let out an unimpressed scoff to which Jimin raises a brow. He steps forward again, forcing you into the wall behind you, and you screw your  eyes shut in fear. “As if you gave two shits,” You snap, voice wavering. “Leave me alone Jimin.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you innocently as is brown eyes flash black. “You know I can’t do that sweet girl, I have a job to do. I’m going to enjoy sucking the life out of you, baby,” Jimin runs a hand down your cheek, his lips forming a greedy smile before he pauses, furrowing his brows. “That’s odd, you seem to smell a lot like-“

“Jungkook!” You gasp when he tugs you out from beneath his hyung’s iron grip. Pushing you behind him, the demon boy takes a protective stance as he stares down the older and more experienced demon. The silver haired male’s eyes glimmer with realisation as he straightens his posture and bits the swell of his lip playfully.

“Well, well, well...” Jimin practically purrs, eyeing up his younger companion. “When I told you to go out and have some fun Kookie, I didn’t mean go on ahead and sleep with my target. I have a job to do!”

Jungkook frowns at his hyung, still standing in front of you, practically guarding you. “What are you doing here Jimin? What do you mean by target?”

You watch as the silver haired male shrugs, smiling at you from over Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m here to collect her soul, dumbass,” Jimin lets out a low chuckle before switching his focus back to the younger demon. “This sweet thing and I had a deal, I got her soul if I brought her boyfriend back to life. Turns out he was cheating on her.”

You don’t even try to defend yourself when the demon who claimed to love you looked back at you with disappointment etched onto his features. Jungkook glares back at his hyung with fiery eyes, stepping towards the slightly shorter man. “You’re lying.” the makane growls through gritted teeth making Jimin laugh.

“I’m hurt kookie,” Jimin feigns a pained expression. “I’m a professional, I don’t lie.”

Jungkook can feel the anger building up within him at Jimin’s taunting, and he steps forward to push to older boy in the chest. “I won’t let you take her.”

“And why’s that? because you love her?” The other demon jokes with a laugh, but it ceases when he realises that Jungkook actually does have feelings for you. The older demon’s eyes darken with seriousness. “That’s cute and all Kook, but I can’t let you get in the way of my job.”

With that, the silver haired demon launches himself at the younger, causing you all to tumble to the floor. You whine with pain as your head collides with the hard wood, and you roll onto your side, blinking rapidly clear the dark spots that cloud your vision. “Shit...” you groan, feeling blood trickle down your neck.

Grunts and growls from near by lull you out of your discombobulated state and the world falls back into a slower speed when you lock eyes with Jungkook. You can’t quite make out the words that he’s saying, but you know he’s screaming at you as he struggles to hold the more powerful Jimin in a tight headlock.

“YN run!” He practically screeches, gritting his teeth in ail as Jimin delivers an elbow to his stomach. The world start to move at normal speed and your vision lets up, returning to normal. This time you can hear the ravenettes words more clearly and you scramble to your feet as they do so. “God fucking dammit YN! RUN!”

You give the two demon’s one last glance before bolting out of the hallway and into another room, your heart racing. You need to get out, fuck you need to get out but your mind is too scrambled to think of an escape. You force your way into Hoseok’s room, locking the door behind you as you card fingers through your hair as you try to think. Your eyes dart to the window that Hobi seemingly left open and it clicks. The fire escape.

Quickly tugging on one of your best friend’s hoodies and unlaced shoes, you climb out of the window and onto the metal railing of the fire escape. You’re a couple floors up and the height makes you feel queasy, but you force yourself down just in time to see Jimin burst through the door, only to be thrown back by Jungkook. “Keep going, I’m right behind you!” He calls and you nod as best as you can through the wind that’s whipping at your hair.

Shakily, you run down the steps, moving as quickly as you can and you feel as if your heart is going to rip through your chest with how fast it’s beating. You can hear the boys’ shouts from up above, driving you to move faster until your foot gets stuck between one of the metal steps.

“No, no, no fuck!” you whimper, tears beginning to stream down the apples of your cheeks. Jungkook lets out a scream of anguish, causing worry to flare up in your chest and you start to tug harder to get your foot out of the gap. When you finally break free, you stumble forward into a rock hard chest and that’s when your blood runs cold.

You look up, only to be faced with the pitch black orbs of Park Jimin. The demon you owe your soul to. The corners of his lips quirk up into a smirk as his hands clasp around your wrists to prevent you from running away. “We meet again sweetheart” he drawls icily and you blink back your tears.

“W-what did you do to Jungkook?” You stammer out as the demon before you leans into your face.

He smiles. “Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine princess,” the silver haired male cocks his head to the right, the moonlight filtering over his features making him look even more sinister, yet beautiful at the same time. “Now, lets get this other with shall we? See you on the other side.”

Before you can register, he’s crashing his cool lips against your own, kissing you to seal the deal. The warmth of life starts to leave your body, as you begin to grow weak in the demon’s arms. His kiss isn’t soft like Jungkook’s, but hard and meaningless, almost robotic. He smirks against as your attempts to fight him weaken, and you drop your hands to your sides in defeat.

Screams of your name seem to pierce the night, as you fight to keep your eyes open, the life literally being drained from you. Everything begins to feel numb as the world around you fades to black and you feel as if you’re falling into an oblivion.

[faithfulnews]

Work, Play, Poetry

Work, Play, Poetry

By Anthony Domestico

March 4, 2020

The life of the late novelist Robert Stone was filled with improbabilities. As Madison Smartt Bell puts it in his new biography, Stone, whose globe-spanning novels took on American history and the American soul, had “a taste for marijuana and alcohol (and for quaaludes and opiates).” In the 1960s, Stone was friends with Ken Kesey; you can imagine how much imbibing that entailed. While in Vietnam on a reporting trip, he experimented with heroin. (He “snorted, smoked, [and] possibly drank it on one occasion,” Bell writes.) Yet Stone lived to the ripe age of seventy-seven, writing a strong novel, Death of the Black-Haired Girl, two years before he died in 2015. “A connoisseur of women of all varieties,” Bell writes, perhaps a little too forgivingly, “Bob was far from above the occasional fling.” He had an open marriage—so open that he had a child with a family friend in the 1960s and a tempestuous affair with a younger writer three decades later. Yet he stayed with his wife Janice for fifty-five years. By Bell’s reckoning, and it seems accurate, theirs was a happy marriage.

But the most pleasant surprise, for me at least, was the decades-long friendship Stone had with Marilynne Robinson. What a literary odd couple they make: Robinson the proud Calvinist and Stone the lapsed Catholic; Robinson known best for her quiet, lovely novels about mid-century Iowa and Stone known best for his wild, prophetic novels—A Hall of Mirrors (1967), A Flag for Sunrise (1981), and others—all probing the manic brain and corrupted heart of American empire. What must the two writers have talked about? The nature of God, I’m sure. (Stone in an interview: “As a result of having been a Catholic, I’m acutely aware of the difference between a world in which there’s a God and a world in which there isn’t.”) The nature of craft, I imagine. (Stone taught at Johns Hopkins and Yale, among other places.)

Bell was friends with Stone, and his affection for his subject comes through. Writing in the first person, Bell recreates trips the two took to Haiti and conversations they had about fiction’s moral purpose. Despite this love, though, Bell doesn’t hold back, especially when it comes to the suffering brought on by Stone’s addictions. The last hundred or so pages are difficult to read, an onslaught of car crashes—Stone was a terrible driver, even when sober—narcotic dependence, increasingly frequent falls, and an attempted suicide. Stone was charismatic, everyone agrees. He was also destructive, to others occasionally and to himself consistently.

Bell is an accomplished novelist in his own right, and Child of Light, like a good work of fiction, lives through its details. Stone “huffed as much oxygen as possible in a back room of Politics and Prose” before giving a reading. David Milch, the producer of Deadwood, put Stone on the payroll at his production company to give him something to do, and some money, after a stint in rehab. Annie Dillard and Joy Williams vacationed with Stone in the 1990s. (Dillard and Stone went white-water tubing in Missoula and saw a brown bear.)

Stone’s writing offers an imaginative record of America’s political and spiritual dimensions: “That is my subject,” Stone wrote, “America and Americans.” Bell reads this wild life and lasting achievement with grace and sympathy.

Child of Light: A Biography of Robert Stone Madison Smartt Bell Doubleday, $35, 608 pp.

  Baseball here is a business, and Nemens gives it to us from all angles

Robert Coover’s The Universal Baseball Association, Inc., J. Henry Waugh, Prop. is the best baseball novel ever written, and I won’t hear otherwise. But The Cactus League, the first novel by Paris Review editor Emily Nemens, is also very good.

If Nemens’s debut is not quite in the same league as The Universal Baseball Association, that’s partly because it’s playing a different game. Coover’s is a postmodern novel about the postmodernism of America’s pastime. (We often care less about the game itself than about its statistical representations—batting averages and win shares.) Nemens’s is a work of straightforward realism. Baseball here is a business, and Nemens gives it to us from all angles: superstar outfielders losing fortunes at the gambling table; groupies hanging out by the bullpen; agents hushing up scandals; elderly stadium organists whose stiff hands can’t hit the keys they once could.

The Cactus League takes place in Arizona during spring training. Each chapter, nine in all, follows a different figure associated with the imaginary Los Angeles Lions franchise. Most of the particulars are right. Nemens knows that Notre Dame’s baseball team is in the ACC, and she nicely skewers the increasing encroachment of hot tubs and goofy sound effects in new ballparks. A lovely small detail: Jason Goodyear, the book’s self-sabotaging superstar, gets a signature sneaker—“the first time they’d named a shoe after a ballplayer since Griffey.”

Not everything works. No fan would call a pitcher a “fastballer,” as one character does. (At least it’s not “speedballer,” à la Bruce Springsteen.) No partial owner could demand that a prominent outfielder be traded because of sexual jealousy—and then have it happen within days. (Partial owners don’t have that much power; star players don’t get traded overnight, especially when their replacement has only played college ball.) Such details wouldn’t much matter in a postmodernist romp. They do here.

But the pacing is good and the prose generally strong. Nemens refuses to engage in the romanticizing many fall into when spring comes around. Bartlett Giamatti famously and poetically said that baseball “is designed to break your heart.” After all, Giamatti rhapsodizes, “the game begins in spring…blossoms in the summer…[and] leaves you to face the fall alone.” Fair enough. But Nemens shows how baseball also breaks your heart for more prosaic reasons: because rotator cuffs fray, because spring-training towns are depressing, and because billion-dollar franchises don’t give a fig about poetry.

The Cactus League Emily Nemens Farrar, Straus and Giroux, $27, 288 pp.

  In baseball, there can come a point when you’ve so often been described as underrated that you cease to be underrated. Trot Nixon, for example: a decent right fielder in the early 2000s who Red Sox fans so often dubbed underrated that he became overrated. Charles Portis, the Arkansas-born novelist who was famous for being underrated and who died on February 17, never suffered this fate. There’s a certain kind of greatness that, no matter how many times we remark upon it, will always be underrecognized.

People who know Portis, whose out-of-print novels were reissued in the 1990s, probably know him as the author of True Grit. It’s a great novel, and it’s been made into two great movies. But every shaggy-dog story he wrote, every picaresque comedy of American naiveté and dreaminess, was great. His sentences display a funny, poetic, loose yet disciplined, absolutely American prose style. Since his death, fans have been passing around some of their favorite passages. Here are a few of my own. From The Dogs of the South: “I don’t believe we’ve ever had a President, unless it was tiny James Madison with his short arms, who couldn’t have handled Dupree in a fair fight.” From Masters of Atlantis: “It’s not healthy, locking yourself away in here so you can eat pies and read all these monstrous books with f’s for s’s.”

Rest in peace, Charles Portis.

The Dogs of the South and Masters of Atlantis

  For decades, the poet and critic Paul Mariani has been a shining light for those interested in the Catholic imagination. We can hear Gerard Manley Hopkins, that great poet of the dark night, when Mariani laments no longer being able to see the “greengold grass, / glistening the bright skin of the copper beeches.” And we can hear Hopkins again, that great poet of the shining day, when Mariani describes “know[ing] that somewhere, now as then, the wind keeps whispering still”—the Holy Spirit moving and transfiguring always, even when we can’t sense it.

Mariani’s new work of criticism, The Mystery of It All, is a twilight book. Its epigraph, addressed to his wife of more than fifty years, begins, “Moon, old moon, dear moon, I beg you / answer when I call out to you.” Its final sentences read, “‘In His Will Is Our Peace.’ The very words I have etched into our gravestone.” In recent years, the eighty-year-old Mariani has been diagnosed and treated for brain cancer. This gives his epilogue, titled “On the Work Still to Be Done,” particular force.

Yet what is most striking about this book is how buoyant it is, how joyful is its account of a life of reading and writing. Hopkins, Stevens, Berryman, O’Connor: they’re all here, and Mariani attends both to their smallest formal decisions and their most expansive metaphysical concerns. “I have read and taught Stevens for over fifty years,” he remarks. “He is someone who never ceases to delight.” Great critics are able to turn the readerly delight they experience transitive: to explain it, yes, but also to pass it on to the reader. By this and many other standards, Mariani is a strong critic.

Here he is on Hopkins’s darkness: “All is unselved, untuned, and, just as violin or catgut strings go slack, all clear voweling lost, so do we, the words themselves as if swallowed, until ‘all is enormous dark / Drowned.’” And here he is on Hopkins’s sacramental, perceptual joy: “Look at the Welsh farmers with their horses in the countryside about him, breaking up the moist clods of earth: how the light shines upon them, catching the quartz glints, in an instant turning them into diamondlike shards of light—‘sheer plod’ itself doing this, allowing the plow and the sillion both to shine in God’s light.”

Even and especially in twilight, Mariani shows us the light.

The Mystery of It All Paul Mariani Paraclete Press, $25, 240 pp.

  Even and especially in twilight, Mariani shows us the light.

Hopkins, who broke and remade form in almost everything he wrote, would have loved the poet Jericho Brown. The Tradition is Brown’s third collection of poetry. It’s also his best—the most interesting in form, the most wide-ranging in reference, the most daring in its wedding of the private and public, the spiritual and the sexual.

Brown has talked about reading T. S. Eliot’s “Tradition and the Individual Talent” obsessively while working on this book. Eliot’s influence can be felt in this collection’s sense of tradition speaking to, and being changed by, the present. Eliot’s ghost is here. So too are the ghosts of James Baldwin, Lucille Clifton, and Essex Hemphill.

Brown writes several poems in a new form he calls the duplex: a combination of the sonnet, the ghazal, and the blues. “Though I may not be, I do feel like a bit of a mutt in the world,” Brown has said. Queer, black, and Southern, he wanted to create a form that felt as unlikely as himself. These duplexes work by repetition and reconfiguration. Here’s a snippet:

                        My first love drove a burgundy car.                         He was fast and awful, tall as my father.

Steadfast and awful, my tall father             Hit hard as a hailstorm. He’d leave marks.

Light rain hits easy but leaves its own mark Like the sound of a mother weeping again.

As seen here, Brown often writes about trauma: the trauma of being a hurt child or a hurt lover; the trauma of being black in America (“I promise if you hear / Of me dead anywhere near / A cop, then that cop killed me”) and the trauma of being queer in America (“My man swears his HIV is better than mine”).

But The Tradition also gives witness to joy—in sex and language, in the traditions of black art and the black church. Brown was raised Baptist, and you can hear this legacy in his imagery and music:

                        Forgive me, I do not wish to sing                         Like Tramaine Hawkins, but Lord if I could                         Become the note she belts halfway into                         The fifth minute of “The Potter’s House”

                        When black vocabulary heralds home-                         Made belief: For any kind of havoc, there is                         Deliverance!

That duplex I quoted from above begins and ends with the same line: “A poem is a gesture toward home.” Brown finds a temporary home, a form of deliverance, in and through tradition in its many forms.

The Tradition Jericho Brown Copper Canyon Press, $17, 110 pp.

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[hisashi-monogatari]

Flower Gazing (story fragment)

A story idea I brainstormed and wrote up in March 2020. I never finished it, and the ellipses within parentheses signify missing, never-written chunks of the narrative I would later fill in. This scene would take place during Act III of the storyline as a whole, during which Daniel and Hisashi take a trip to China to try to uncover the mystery of Hisashi’s past and origin, and spend the night at an inn for spirits. The writing is old, so it’s stilted and overwrought, and not very good, but I’ll post it anyway.

The man in question turned around then, at the sound of his name, and Daniel took a step back in reflex. The man must have been near 200 centimeters in height, and was obviously heavily muscled underneath the simple loose clothing he wore. He had a shaggy mop of hair that hung low over his eyes and which grew long in the back, which was gathered into an uneven ponytail near his nape. Daniel couldn’t decide if his hair was dark-blond or brown; the shade somehow simultaneously seemed both golden and caramel-like. His skin was light brown, a shade or two darker than his hair, and his eyes were dark, and he had some scruff on his chin. A pair of small horns poked out from his forehead past his bangs. His eyes were dark, nearly black, but ringed with gold at the edge of the iris. He shifted an arm forward, and brought a hand up in front of him. Daniel blinked at it a moment, then took and shook it. The man squeezed hard then, and Daniel winced in reflex, though it hurt less than was uncomfortable. Daniel tried to pull away, but the man held him there for a moment longer, before finally releasing his grip. Daniel immediately took a step back, and looked up at the man’s face. The other stared back impassively at him, expression unreadable to Daniel. Apprehension and a sense of fear welled up inside him. Daniel immediately disliked the man, heartily. he looked away, and swallowed. […]

[Scene break]

Daniel awoke to a cacophony of noise somewhere outside the room. He instantly felt his blood pressure rise. If whatever is going on doesn’t stop, God help me, he thought. There were loud voices and banging going on, though he couldn’t place where. He shut his eyelids tight, and tried to ignore it. The commotion continued. It sounded like it was coming from next door, to the right of their room. Shut up, shut up, Daniel hissed under his breath. The noises did not shut up. No, they seemed to be coming from the left. Daniel shrunk deeper under his covers, and curled his fingers around the edge of the bottom-most sheet. he clenched his fists tight around the hem of it, and tried his best to drown it out. The noises seemed to get louder. They were coming from below him, in fact. People were talking in a crowd excitedly, with voices loud yet too indistinct to make out any words. It sounded like a party or a moving team. Shut up, Daniel demanded. Shut up, he begged. Shut up. Shut up, or so help me God— Something enormous dropped with a metallic tang and an impact that sent shockwaves up the support pillars of the lower level and through the floor to rattle him in his bed. Daniel bolted upright with a scream, flinging the covers off him. He whipped around in a mad frenzy, lusting for blood, and hoped desperately to spot someone, anyone to suck dry in revenge. In the blur of his surroundings he spotted Hisashi sitting upright on his own bed, arms crossed tightly against his chest. In surprise, he stilled, and looked him over worriedly. Hisashi was leaning against the wall, his head tilted back against it, his eyes shut as if in meditation. After a moment, he sucked in a slow, rattling breath through his nose, then straightened up, unfurled his arms, and opened his eyes. Daniel didn’t move, and kept looking at him. “You’re awake,” Hisashi observed. “Yeah,” Daniel replied. he cringed internally at his own curtness, unmeant. He stopped himself, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “You too?” “Yeah.” No elaboration from Hisashi. “Why didn’t you go down?” “I was going to let you sleep if you could. I don’t mind it, myself.” Hisashi, for his part, had a look of stone-cold fury, and a vein in his forehead was bulging, looking ready to burst. Daniel scrunched up his face in reaction, nonplussed at such an obvious lie. What does he have to gain from hiding it? he wondered helplessly. They remained where they were in the dark, not moving for a minute. Hisashi finally heaved a sigh. “Well, shall we go down and see what all the noise is about?”

[Scene break]

Daniel crept down the stairs, Hisashi behind him. “Hisashi!” [girl 1] called out, spotting him. She grinned, and quickly pulled him close by the hand. “What’s going on here?” Hisashi asked her, looking faintly amused at the commotion around them. “We’re going flower-gazing!” she said. “In the moonlight!” Daniel’s eyes widened and he whipped around to look at her, wondering if he’d heard right. “Flower-gazing?” Hisashi asked incredulously. The front door to the inn was ajar beyond the bustle, and past the heads the night looked dark and uninviting. “There will be fires, and lanterns lit,” [woman 1] said smoothly, gliding up to them with a calm gait. “And wine!” [man 2] shouted. “Rice wine, of course, and some grape wine from Turpan, and—” “You said flower gazing?” Daniel asked [girl 1]. He felt excitement slowly rising in him. “Yeah!” she said, looking back at him with big eyes. “You have done that before, right?” Daniel paused to reach back into his memory, and felt a grin tugging at his lips. He found vague recollections of watching the cherry blossoms one spring or two with his parents, before they’d divorced. “Not since I was a kid,” he said, grin widening. […] “Come,” said [man 1, host], with a benevolent smile, “let’s head outside, and set up the blankets.” […] “Here!” [undecided] cried, thrusting a cup in front of him. “Drink!” Daniel felt his breath catch in his throat, and he stared at the cup in front of his face with a rising pang of panic. He glanced over at Hisashi beside him, who smiled, and nodded reassuringly at him. “Go ahead,” Hisashi encouraged. Daniel turned back to the cup, and after a moment, he took it, ignoring the trembling in his hand. Another cup was offered Daniel’s way, and he took it after a split-second’s pausing. The smile on Hisashi’s face faltered, and as Daniel grasped the cup with both hands, leaned in close, and rasped in his ear “Don’t rush.” Daniel flinched, and turned quickly to look at him, confused and unnerved. Why had he done that? But Hisashi was already leaning back, straightening up. Daniel turned back to the cup before him, and found himself drawn in to the brown surface as it rippled and glistened in the sliver of moonlight. How pretty, he thought, distantly. Then he gulped it down. […] “You wanna get married, and take me to see the human world?” Daniel choked on his drink and started coughing. Hisashi handed him a napkin as he sputtered, and he tried to think of what he could possibly reply with. Before he had a chance to speak, however, [woman 1] chimed in. “You’d have to turn into a woman if you want to marry him,” she said evenly. Ox blew from his mouth derisively as he poured himself a cup. “What the hell for?” “The human world doesn’t allow marriage between men.” “What?!” The bottle slipped from his fingers in shock. “Since when?!” “Hey, you spilled on me!” [male 2] exclaimed. “Uh, since forever!” [girl 1] said, an impish grin plastered on. [Male 2] grabbed a napkin and started dabbing at the quickly-widening puddle on his tunic. “It’s been that way for centuries,” [woman 1] said. “A millennium, at least,” Hisashi threw in. […] “Augh! I hate trying to fit myself into female disguises, they’re so cramped.” Ox turned to Daniel, and pointed a finger accusingly at him. “Your women are too small!” “That’s because they like their women petite,” [woman 2] chimed in. “It’s not inborn—they like them to be pretty, dainty things, so they half-feed them, half-starve them as they grow up.” She turned to Daniel, and fixed him with a lazy, benevolent smile. “Isn’t that right?” “Daniel sputtered. “What?” he asked “I—” [girl 1] turned to look at him. “Is that true?” she asked, sounding dismayed. “Do you humans really do that?” “I—I don’t—” Hisashi, his cheeks pink, stared with unrestrained delight. “Go on!” he goaded, “answer the question.” “I don’t know!” Daniel shouted.

[sepiadice]

NavyDice Campaign (2019/12/30): Evil Snowglobes

Finally finished. Three months of schedules just not working out, and nearly before the year was out, and I had to teleconference in because I had a cold that made driving to NavyDice’s place and back an excessively inadvisable idea, and the call froze a couple times[1] so I know there’s details that got lost, but the story of Maple reached a conclusion!

Which means I’m in a great place to make the 2020s the decade of the DiceJar Adventure Club! Especially since I’ve got a new campaign with a set schedule starting January Third!

Still need to set up a personal website to host it and my other projects. Stand by for an announcement.

But first, the final Maple Write-up!

Acer ‘Maple’ Palmatum (SepiaDice/Me) Level 9 Elf Fighter. Knows honesty is easier than coordinating cover stories.

Garland (LimeDice) A wizard(?) and educator. A worryingly squishy wizard who probably should see a doctor. Or take up jogging.

Grumble (Ichi) Bard and chronic mumbler. Best investigator since he’s good about not getting killed early.

Poppi (Ni) Also a spellcaster. Probably the most invested in the actual mechanics of what’s occurring.

Game Master (NavyDice) Everyone else, most of whom need a good punching.

Cycle 11

In the darkness, Maple shares the plan I’ve been over-thinking for three months.[2] The rest of the party is on board while also working their own angles.

My plan was sheer elegance in its simplicity: Maple was going to beat Masem to the marketplace, fake the deaths of the brigands, then delay Masem until the Lord arrived, at which point Maple would use her knowledge of the location of three orbs to prove something wonky is up, then reveal the Lord’s Advisor is working both sides of the conflict for mysterious and probably nefarious ends, and it would be very helpful if the Lord would go with her colleague to retrieve the ice orb. Also, I’d hoped to use this massive revelation to get Masem to work with the Brigands/ the Dawn.

After which, Maple would go talk to Eli, who is made of clay, which is a weird thing that hopefully ties into the Earth Orb that still needs finding.

The actual attempt to execute this plan got derailed by Masem stabbing Maple with a dagger. Like a jerk.

But that’s jumping ahead.

There’s a knock on the door, and Maple runs off to get her plan in motion. Meanwhile, Grumble occupied Masem to buy some time. Garland and Poppi, meanwhile, went to the Lord’s manor to try and get the ice orb.

Poppi took point as Garland played decoy in the foyer. Poppi snuck into the Lord’s room and found the hidden chamber with the instant death field, and discovered the room also has an anti-magic effect, so Poppi can’t cast anything. She puts her fire orb through the death field as an experiment, and destroys the orb. Oops.

Eventually the Lord arrives and Poppi stealths around to get out of the anti-magic chamber and turn invisible again to observe.

When passing through the field, the Lord’s skin gets wrinkly and generally in a bad state, which is suspicious. The Lord pockets the Ice Orb and leaves.

Grumble goes to investigate the church, claiming to be an interior decorator to access to the catacombs. We’ll return to this later.

Which brings us to the Marketplace: Maple and the Dawn do their very cool and very fake combat, and Maple gets control of the vest as Masem arrives. Maple does more wild talking to keep Masem occupied until the Lord arrives, along with Poppi and Garland.

Turns out there was a massive flaw in my plan: there was a traitorous conspiracy occuring, but it wasn’t Masem behind it.[3] Also the Lord was swapped with some sort of skinwalker. And my plan hinged on those two being who I assumed them to be. Oops.

Poppi discretely alerted me to the suspicious effects the death field had on the Lord as he retrieved the ice orb, but I had already turned the two against me, I didn’t have an alternate plan, and we might learn something if we proceed with my plan anyways.

So Maple refuses the invitation to go somewhere discreet to discuss her concerns, Masem stabs her, and Maple punches Masem’s stupid face and combat ensues, during which Bane possesses Masem.

The “Lord” gets killed and Poppi attunes with the ice orb.

Maple decides to let the vest explode and cause a lot of damage to Bane!Masem, and thus Maple dies again.

Bane!Masem survived, though heavily hurt. I believe Poppi fled while Maple and Garland lay dead, hiding away to attune to the Ice Orb.

Fed up with the day, Bane!Masem limps off to take his frustrations out on Eli before hanging him with cruel efficiency.

Grumble, meanwhile, searching the church crypt, finds a mysterious obsidian coffin that needs a key to unlock. He doesn't have a key, so Grumble leaves to meet up with the party at the marketplace. Where he sees the mess, so he goes to the jail and catches Eli’s execution, at which point Bane relinquishes his hold on Masem.

Grumble talks to Masem, and finally convinces him that something way above everyone's pay grade is happening. Also, as the only party member neither dead nor occupied with attuning to an orb, it falls on Grumble to investigate Eli's corpse.

Grumble and Masem attempt to run to the crematorium before Eli is cremated. They don't beat the furnace, however, and find a pile of melted clay.[4] Grumble senses magic, and inserts his hand into a lump of hot clay, which hurts. Grumble successfully pulls out the Earth Orb. Yay! 

The orb begins petrifying Grumble, solidifying his hand as the effect moves up. Masem cuts off Grumble's hand to save the dwarf, and it's decided that there's nothing further to be done, and we wait for the end of the loop.

Cycle 12

We’ve got things pretty much figured out. Poppi gives the Ice Orb to Garland to attune to before she heads out to reclaim the fire orb, which fortunately wasn’t removed from reality when she put it into a Death Field.[5] Grumble obtains the key from the mysterious murdered man, and heads to the church crypts.

Maple, meanwhile, has to get the final orb. So she runs to the market, fakes a battle with the Brigands, goes to bomb the jail,[6] and talk to Eli in the escape tunnel.

Maple tells Eli she’s got a lead on where the Earth Orb is. Eli is excited and totally game to find it and Navy really laid it down thick to make the reveal more awkward. But Maple tells him that the Orb’s in his chest.

Eli takes a breath, rips open his shirt, and braces for whatever’s going to happen.

A greatsword is probably a bit unwieldy for a medical procedure, so Maple grabs the smallest cutting instrument she has: a hand axe.

Eli winces in pain as Maple cuts through the skin, revealing clay beneath, which he doesn’t feel. Continue cutting deeper, and find a darker brown lump. Maple takes a moment, and starts ripping out his heart, which Eli does feel every agonizing portion of, screaming in torturous pain. But Maple’s a trained soldier, so she powers through.[7]

Earth Orb in hand, Maple attempts to attune with it by inserting it into her sword, while the artifact turns her into stone. Eventually and unfortunately, she’s rendered entirely in stone. So that’s not ideal.

In the church crypt, Grumble applies the key to the obsidian coffin, which causes the lid to flow off and reveal stairs to a mysterious chamber. Within is an obsidian wall with indentations and markings hinting at three amulets and a sword. He goes upstairs to find Poppi and Garland waiting for direction. The absence of Maple is troubling, but her location shouldn’t be difficult to parse, so Grumble goes after her.

The Bard finds the Fighter in the escape tunnel, and casts Greater Restoration on her. Maple is now flesh again, with a boosted AC and a stronger sword.

The flayed corpse of Eli is not remarked upon.

Everyone reunites at the church, they descend through the crypt, through the obsidian coffin, and to the JRPG-styled final checkpoint. The orbs are inserted and the wall melts away, revealing a room lined wall to wall with shelves holding many glass orbs of various sizes, each holding a looping moment in time. The party locates the one belonging to us, which is one of the larger[8] orbs, and has a noticeable crack in it.

Maple picks it up. It’ll make a good hostage as the party proceeds through a door on the opposite wall.

We enter a room I imagine is round, but I might’ve missed the proper description. There’s a throne near where we enter, upon which sits Ricton (the former leader of The Dawn) with injured hands. Good environmental storytelling, there.

Bane arrives, and starts doing the usual villainous “you ruined everything, why couldn’t you be content to be heroes in this time loop?” which the party happily riffs, because what are TRPGs for except to undermine the particularly egregious tropes by talking over them?

Anyways, Bane asks us to return the orb, and Maple just drops it so it would shatter on the ground. The room becomes the hiccuping world we last saw in Cycle ??. Bane says he wished we didn’t do that. Roll for initiative. Maple rolls pretty low.

He raises four pillars, from which emerge our shadow selves. Navy also asks how many times we’ve died, with Maple getting the high score in that. So that probably means Shadow-Maple has Six respawns.

Everyone else takes their turns (stuttering internet means I likely missed details, so forgive me if I don’t lay out their cool turns), and we come to Maple.

I raise an idea I had, but didn’t want to do without getting the group’s consent. I would run back to the previous room to start smashing the other orbs, hoping the influx of other looping memories would disorient or otherwise inconvenience Bane.

However, it’s decided to keep the fighter in the fight.[9]

Instead, Maple starts attacking the pillar of her own doppelganger, using the full range of level 9 fighter abilities on it, as well as bardic inspiration from Grumble, to sink a bunch of damage into the pillar that maybe she should’ve saved for Bane, but whatever.

The party takes it in turns to destroy the pillars, as they seem to mitigate damage Bane can take while they’re still standing. Once the pillars are all down, attention is turned to the Anthropomorphic Iron Throne man.

Bane summons another pillar, but short work is made of it. He follows by trying to entangle our heroes in dark thorns. However, Maple was already positioned to attack him and the others have range, so not a great strategy, and everyone is free by the next round anyways.

The commotion rouses Ricton, who is also channeling the spirit of Eli. Eli!Ricton and Bane move to confront each other as the combat continues.

Garland hits 0 health and falls. Garland had very low HP.

With the help of Eli!Ricton, Bane is finally slain, and the Stuttering world and the chamber we were in fades away, leaving the party in the Marketplace

Cycle 13 (but not really)

We’re a little further back chronologically than we’re used to, and also a physically different location, to the point we’re able to identify that Masem was the one who killed the bloodsoaked man who gives us the key before going to grab our heroes from their bed and breakfast.

Time to try to set things right permanently.

Maple goes and tries to get the Dawn to stand down, doing the identifying bird call and such. Unfortunately, she fails to convince them their task is unnecessary. Maple decides to just let them go spring Eli.

Poppi went to look into Eli, to discover the man in prison is someone else. Still Eli, just not the one we know.

Grumble goes to talk to the Lord to nudge the governmental reform forward quicker. It goes well.

I’m afraid I forget what Garland did during this time.

Maple and Poppi follow the Dawn back to the hideout, where the advisor shows up to say that they’ve succeeded in getting their reform and that everything is going to be okay. Maple interrupts to ask why he was playing both sides, which annoys the advisor but he explains anyways, but I’ve forgotten his explanation! I think it wasn’t as profound as I hopped.

In the coming days, the reform is announced, Masem is discovered to be conspiring a coup with the help of the skinwalker that’s been stealing the Lord’s identity the last few rounds,[10] and time moves (mercifully) on.

Garland sits by a fountain to grade papers he’d apparently been putting off, and has either Eli or Ricton come talk to him and thank him. Garland barely acknowledges them. He goes on to continue searching for a cure for his wife’s infliction.

Grumble goes on to found a department store with his player’s previous characters.

Poppi searches for Ricton, and asks him if there’s other places in a similar state, as we saw many time orbs before the final battle. Ricton reveals a steamer trunk with a chamber containing the orbs, and the two quest to find the places the orbs correspond to and set them right.

Maple leaves and continues to walk the Earth, stone sword in hand, fading into folk legend. She’s a simple elf, and such a fate felt appropriate.[11]

Thus concludes one of the few campaigns I got to see from start to finish. I really enjoyed it (outside one player having difficulty letting unimportant arguments go), and would gladly play with most of the group again. Maybe the whole group if some growth happens.

Now it’s time for me to take the GM screen again. This one’s got scheduling commitment involved, so hopefully reports will be consistent!

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting!

-

[1] It was my first time using Discord’s video system, so i don’t have enough data to know if the fault lies on my end, Navy’s end, or Discord itself. Historically I’ve never had issues with just voice, so… [2] I attempt to avoid planning too far in advance as both GM and Player so I don’t get disappointed when the narrative in my head doesn’t play out. Usually try to stick to what’s immediately actionable and a few branches, then hold back to improv the rest. But three months is three months. [3] I still don’t know what’s up with the advisor. I did ask, but I was sick and connection was unstable, so I don’t know if I got a satisfactory answer. [4] Not sure how a kiln and the cremation process lines up, but now I'm curious. [5] Though imagine if it’d have. Defeating the evil demon by removing his super weapons would’ve been interesting. [6] So disappointed we didn’t find a more subtle method to accomplish this. [7] Were I not sick, and if the group wasn’t dedicated to finishing tonight, I might’ve taken the time to play up the horror. But conditions weren’t ideal. [8] It was mimed as being held by two hands, but the accuracy of that is iffy, considering I assumed our orbs were about soft-ball sized when they’re truthfully about the size of a large marble. [9] The reason why I like playing rogues is they get plenty to do outside of combat. I’m mentally tuned to playing with the world over the system. [10] A subplot we totally missed, and one that I’m not… completely satisfied with? Masem was unwillingly taken over by Bane, and was the only guy who seemed to have it happen to him, and doesn’t recall the time he’s controlled. This innately puts Masem into a sympathetic narrative light as an unwilling puppet, so making him a bad guy just seems weird. [11] Mostly she just didn’t want to deal with Poppi’s barely restrained violence anymore.

[fictionshewrote]

THE HUNT: Prologue

So I’ve decided to post a few snippets of my wips here and there, starting with this one. I can’t say for sure how much I’ll be posting and when. I don’t want to post something unless I feel like it’s reasonably polished and ready for a second set of eyes, but I love seeing other people’s writing on here, and I’d like to join in the fun! Anyway, here’s the prologue for THE HUNT, a dystopian urban fantasy political drama ft. witches and a mountain of queer content.

December 26, 2020

8:17am Train, London, UK

Augie started regretting the note the moment he got on the train. Not that it wouldn’t help, of course. It would help, he reckoned, for his mother to know he’d thought of her. He was her only son, after all, and she would feel so alone in that dinky little cottage without him. But it was too honest, the note. He’d said sorry and forgive me and I have to and so many other silly things, things only scared little boys write, but he was done with being a scared little boy. He almost couldn’t bear the thought of his mother reading that heartfelt rubbish, building a memorial in her mind to him in all his stuttering, slouching shyness, but oh well. It was done, and she at least would probably appreciate the gesture.

If she poked her head into his bedroom to wake him, as she did every morning, even the day after Christmas, she’d see the little red envelope on his pillow. She’d know it was for her. Surely the note would be something for her to hold, to cling to while she watched the news and tried to understand. Augie didn’t want her to think he would go without leaving her so much as a word.

The train was packed tight with the Boxing Day rush, people shoved together like cigarettes in a carton. Augie let an older lady take his seat and pressed himself tight into the corner of the car to avoid notice. It was best if no one took notice of him or his face. He didn’t want anyone to remember him as this shaky, pale thing shuffled to the side, clutching his phone with white knuckles. If he was going to do this, he wanted people to tell the reporters how strong-jawed and unwavering he had looked to the end. It would be a lie, but wouldn’t it be a wonderful way to go, with no one to recall a crack in his resolve or a tremor in his breathing? He didn’t want to make the Order look weak.

His phone went off just as he stepped onto the platform in Covent Garden.

Ready? asked Charlie.

I’m ready, Augie replied. He hesitated, then added a period at the end before pressing send. It added a nice little touch of finality.

The station was teeming with shoppers and tourists. Augie mixed in with the crowds and let them pull him forward, onto the escalator, up the stairs, until he and everyone else poured out like ants onto James Street. There was still a bit of slushy snow melting in clumps along the pavement. He sidestepped it so his trainers wouldn’t get wet—just out of habit, but with a shock-quick smile it occurred to him that it wouldn’t much matter in a few minutes if his feet were dry.

Augie made his way down the street, past the man painted gold and the magician doing tricks for a rapt crowd. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a shop window and stopped for a moment, transfixed, as the crowds molded around him. The boy he saw was a familiar stranger, with the same thin, pale hair and long nose and pointed chin, the same spindly limbs and the same brown winter coat he’d worn for four years. It was all Augie Mathers of Uxbridge, and yet someone entirely different. His head was held high, his shoulders squared, like he’d finally settled into his own skin.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Bring them light, Charlie’s message read.

Augie sucked in a shaky breath, then slipped the phone back in his coat and started walking. The open piazza was filled with throngs of people carrying little shopping bags. Somewhere in the square, a violin was playing something classical, the sound whining frantic and sour in the winter air. Augie pushed on until he stood in the center of the crowd.

“Bring them light,” Augie whispered to himself. He let his eyes slip shut.

It was easy now, after months and months of practice, to find that pinprick of focus in his mind, to snag on the edge of it and rip it wider. He let the three words fill him, catch and spread until they were razor sharp and vital. Bring them light, bring them light, bring them light. The sounds of the crowd and the violin and the nearby traffic fell away, stripping the space around him down to its parts. He kept chanting silently, skin prickling, sweat gathering on his brow, until instead of people and pavement there were elements, molecules, atoms.

It was tooth-gritting, bone-grinding work getting here, but Augie had been so patient, listened so well to Charlie’s lessons. His mother had only ever crafted by accident, shrieking as she accidentally dissolved her house key in the lock or shattered a glass vase, but Augie had gone well beyond accidents.

He tested himself first like he’d practiced, pulling carefully at nearby threads of minerals and chemicals and nutrients until he felt the soft stem take shape between his flexing fingers. When he looked down, he was holding a pink peony, petals still shivering to life. His mother’s favorite.

“Mama, look!”

Augie looked up to see a girl, no older than six or seven, standing a few feet away, pointing at him with a mittened finger. Her dark, bright eyes were fixed on the flower in his hand. Beside her, a tall woman who had to be her mother followed her gaze to Augie before frowning.

“What, Moira?”

“He—” Little Moira shook her head, braids swinging from the movement. “Didn’t you see? He made that flower! It just appeared!”

Should he deny it? She was young enough to be dismissed for imagining things, which the mother looked on the verge of doing as she gripped her shopping bags, one booted foot extended like she was ready to be on her way. It would be easy to pass it off as a magic trick or slip back into the crowd where they couldn’t follow.

“Would you like me to make you one?” Augie asked instead.

Moira’s eyes went wide. She looked up at her mother eagerly.

“All right,” the mother said, rolling her eyes. She placed a hand on her shoulder and led her forward. Her eyes were narrowed on Augie, lips pursed, as though to impress upon him just how silly and bothersome the whole thing was. Around them, the crowds moved on, oblivious to the scene in front of them.

Augie knelt in front of Moira until his eyes were level with hers. “What kind would you like?”

She thought for a moment. “Can you do a rose? But no thorns!” she added hurriedly.

“I can do that.” The little pinprick in his mind was still bright. He had only to give a gentle tug to feel the matter around him trembling, broken down into its basest elements. Nitrogen, potassium, phosphorus, and a hundred others shimmered and twisted as he crafted them into shape, until a yellow rose flexed sweetly into Moira’s outstretched palm.

Behind her, Moira’s mother gasped, but Augie kept his attention on Moira, on the way her mouth fell open in an awestruck smile. “Do you like it?” he asked her.

She nodded vigorously. “How did you do it?”

Augie smiled. “I can’t tell you.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret.”

“Why is it a secret?”

Augie shrugged. “You don’t think it should be? A lot of people might be scared of what I just did. They wouldn’t understand it.”

“But it’s just a pretty flower.”

“I can do more than make pretty flowers.”

Moira leaned forward, eager. “What else can you do?”

Her mother pulled her back with a hand clasped tightly on her shoulder. “That’s enough,” she said. She was watching Augie, eyes flashing nervously down to the rose in her daughter’s hand. Augie could feel the machinery of her brain, could tell she was trying desperately to make sense of what she’d just seen, to fit it into the humdrum of her imagination.

He stood, and the mother froze, watching him with sharp eyes the same rich dark as her daughter’s.

“Would you like to see it, Moira?” he asked. “What I can do?”

Little Moira bounced on the balls of her feet, clasping that thornless yellow rose in her small hands. “Please!”

Augie smiled. Bring them light, he reminded himself. The words soothed him, stilled the waters so he could find his way back into the silent calm of his own mind. He repeated them again and again, narrowing his strength into that needle-sharp point of focus until the crowded piazza was falling apart once more into elements, a mass of moving grains of sand, all his to craft as he liked. Suddenly that peony felt like Excalibur in his grip.

It was as easy as breathing then, to strike the match. One by one, those grains lit up, carbon and nitrogen and oxygen bending and shivering into something new, something hot and sun-bright. Augie pushed out as far as he could, let the effect domino until he could reach no further, and then, like a light switch being flicked, he set Covent Garden ablaze.