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from-memphis-with-love · 11 days ago

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Just Because - an Elvis Presley oneshot

Synopsis: When she wrote Elvis Presley a letter so many years ago, she had no idea he'd become her destiny.

TW: None! This is a fluffy story about Elvis and his new bride on their wedding night. Enjoy <3

Las Vegas glittered outside the window of the Flamingo Hotel, a carnival of neon and promise. Inside suite 702, Elvis Presley turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, standing back to let his bride enter first.

"Well, Mrs. Presley." Elvis dropped the room key on the side table and loosened his black tie. "Think we gave ‘em enough of a show?"

Lizzie kicked off her white satin heels, wiggling her toes against the plush carpet. Her wedding dress - a simple, elegant sheath - whispered around her ankles as she moved.

"If I had to smile for one more camera, my face might have cracked." She massaged her cheeks. "Pretty sure my jaw is permanently damaged."

"You looked beautiful the whole time," Elvis said. "Even when Senator Wilkins talked our ears off about his hunting dogs."

"I counted," Lizzie said, laughing. "Seventeen minutes about beagles. I timed it on your watch."

"Atta girl. Always paying attention to the details." Elvis shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and slung it over a chair.

The suite was extravagant even by Vegas standards - a sprawling living room with a crystal chandelier, plush white couches, and a panoramic view of the Strip. Flowers covered nearly every surface, congratulatory bouquets from friends, fans, and industry people. A table by the window held a pyramid of champagne bottles and gift boxes wrapped in silver and white.

"Did ya see who sent this?" Elvis called, holding up a bottle of champagne from the collection and wiggling his eyebrows.

Lizzie unzipped her small suitcase on the king-sized bed. "If it's the one with the red ribbon, that's from Frank."

"Sinatra knows his champagne." Elvis studied the label. "Think we should save it?"

"For what?" Lizzie pulled out her nightclothes, neatly folded. "Another special occasion? Elvis, we just got married. I think this qualifies."

"Good point." He searched for glasses. "Although technically, we've been married for" - he checked his watch - "eight hours and twenty-two minutes. The special occasion ship might have sailed."

"Are you saying our wedding night isn't special?" Lizzie arched an eyebrow.

"I'm saying" - he popped the cork with practiced ease - "that every night with you is special, so we'd better start drinking now or we'll have a serious backlog of champagne."

Lizzie laughed, the sound warm and real in the artificial perfection of the suite. She turned back to her suitcase, unpacking with methodical precision. A sundress for tomorrow, toiletries, a dog-eared paperback.

As she lifted out a pale blue nightgown, something slipped from between the folds - a piece of faded pink stationery that fluttered to the carpet.

Elvis, crossing to hand her a glass of champagne, bent to pick it up.

"What's this?" He turned the worn paper over in his hand. His eyebrows lifted as he read the envelope. "Elizabeth Colasanti Presley." He whistled low. "Been practicing that name for a while, honey?"

Lizzie lunged across the bed. "Give me that!"

Elvis held it up, just out of reach. "September 1956," he read from the top corner. "Dear Elvis Presley." He looked at her with growing delight. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It's nothing." Her cheeks flushed pink. "Just something silly."

"Don’t look like nothing." He unfolded it carefully. "This paper's been folded and unfolded a hundred times."

"That's private." But there was no real fight in her voice.

"Not if it's addressed to me," Elvis countered, eyes twinkling. "Besides, what kind of secrets could my wife be keeping on our wedding night?"

He perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing the letter across his knee.

"'Dear Elvis Presley,'" he began, his voice in a singsong imitation of a young girl. "'I saw you on Ed Sullivan last Sunday. My daddy says you're corrupting the youth of America.'" Elvis glanced up. "Your daddy sure changed his tune."

"Keep reading." Lizzie hugged a pillow to her chest. "It gets worse."

"'I told him music that makes people feel something real can't be bad.'" Elvis paused. "That's pretty profound for a teenager."

"I had my moments."

"'When you sang "Don't Be Cruel," I felt like you were singing just to me-'"

"Oh God." Lizzie buried her face in the pillow. "Skip ahead."

He ignored her. "'My mama's been sick, and sometimes your songs are the only thing that makes the house feel normal. Like there's still good things in the world.'" His voice softened. "Lizzie..."

"I was sixteen," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "We found out mom had cancer that spring. It was a rough time."

Elvis continued reading: "'I know you'll never read this. But sometimes I imagine you're just a regular boy from Tennessee, not a star, and we might run into each other at a soda shop. You'd smile at me, and I'd finally work up the courage to tell you how your music makes even the bad days better.'"

His eyes moved down the page. "'I'm going to be somebody too someday. I'm saving up for design school. Maybe one day I'll make costumes for your movies, and you'll never know that the girl fixing your collar once wrote you this letter.'"

Elvis looked up at her, his expression soft with wonder. "'Yours truly, Elizabeth Colasanti.'"

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Elvis carefully refolded the letter.

"How long have you been carrying this around?" he asked.

"Since I wrote it." Lizzie lowered the pillow, her embarrassment fading. "It's my good luck charm. I take it whenever I'm starting something new. First day of design school, first apartment, first job..." She shrugged. "First marriage."

"You never mailed it."

"Of course not. Famous people don't read fan mail from nobody girls in Maryville."

"I read my fan mail." Elvis looked wounded.

"You read some fan mail. You get thousands of letters a week, Elvis."

"Still." He tapped the letter against his palm. "Funny how things work out."

"Funny strange or funny ha-ha?"

"Both." He nodded toward her suitcase. "You keeping anything else I should know about? Lock of my hair? Chewed gum?"

"Very funny." She snatched the letter back. "You know very well I didn't even talk to you until Blue Hawaii. I wasn't some obsessed fan."

"Blue Hawaii." A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You never did give that handkerchief back. I kept waiting."

"You remembered that?" Lizzie looked genuinely surprised.

"’Course I did. It was my lucky one. Had Dodger embroider EP on it and everything."

She moved to her suitcase and carefully extracted a small fabric square from an inner pocket. "You mean this old thing?"

Elvis stared at the worn handkerchief. "You actually kept it? All this time?"

"It was my something blue today." She placed it in his palm. "I figured after the wedding I should finally return it."

His fingers closed around it. "Three years for a handkerchief to find its way home. That might be a record."

"I did try to return it the next day," Lizzie said. "But you were filming that beach scene-"

"-and you decided to keep it instead."

"I was going to mail it to you."

"Sure you were." He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. "Hold that thought."

Elvis went to his suitcase, digging beneath his clothes until he pulled out a wooden box about the size of a cigar box. A small crown was burned into the top.

"What's that?" Lizzie asked.

"Just a little collection." He sat beside her on the bed and opened the lid. Inside were dozens of folded notes, ticket stubs, and small scraps of paper.

Lizzie picked up a faded receipt. On the back was her handwriting: Coffee, black. Two sugars. I noticed. She looked at him. "You kept this? It was just a coffee order."

"It was the first time anyone had paid attention to how I take my coffee without being told." He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "The little things matter."

She sifted through more papers. "There must be fifty notes in here."

"Fifty-seven." He didn't hesitate. "Including the one you left on my dressing room mirror after our first fight."

"Our first fight wasn't a fight," Lizzie protested. "It was a minor disagreement about your inability to be on time for anything."

"Sure felt like a fight. You didn't talk to me for three days."

"Two and a half." She picked up another note. "'Elvis - Dinner at 7. Not 7:05, not 7:15, and definitely not 7:45. Some of us respect punctuality. - LC.'"

He grinned. "You were so mad."

"You showed up at 8:30."

"But I brought flowers."

"Dead flowers. You left them in the car with the windows up. In August."

Elvis laughed, the deep, genuine laugh that so rarely made it to television or film. "I did, didn't I? God, you're the only woman I know who would've thrown them straight in the trash."

"I have standards."

"You certainly do." He nudged her shoulder. "Lucky for me, punctuality wasn't a deal-breaker."

Lizzie's fingers found a movie ticket stub. "Our first real date."

"Was that a date? I thought you were just taking pity on the poor ole lonely movie star."

"You asked me to go. You paid for the tickets. You bought me popcorn. That's the textbook definition of a date, Presley."

"Huh." He took the ticket, studied it. "Guess I've been dating you longer than I thought."

Her expression softened. "Remember what you said after the movie?"

"I said a lot of things. I was nervous."

"You said, 'It's nice seeing a movie without being in it.'"

"I meant it. That night..." He hesitated. "That was the first time in years I felt like a regular guy."

Lizzie picked up another scrap of paper. "What's this one?"

He glanced at it. "List of baby names."

"Baby names?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Whose baby names?"

"Yours and mine, someday." He took the paper gently. "You fell asleep in my trailer last year, and you were talking in your sleep. You said we'd have a daughter with hair like mine and your mother's eyes."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. You were out cold. Lettie Ann and Celie Jane, those were the names you said."

"And you wrote them down?" Lizzie looked at him with soft surprise.

"Told you. The little things matter." He touched her cheek. "You matter."

In that moment, Lizzie saw not the Hollywood draw or the magnetic presence that dominated every room, but the boy from Tupelo, Mississippi who'd once been as ordinary as she was. She leaned in and kissed him softly.

"Who would've thought?" she whispered against his lips. "The fan and the star."

"I'm not the star tonight." He kissed her back. "Tonight I'm just the luckiest man in Vegas."

"Now who's being profound?"

"Must be your influence." His smile faded to something more serious. "You know what's crazy? If the Colonel hadn't insisted on those sequined costumes for the charity show, and if the regular costume designer hadn't quit in a huff, and if they hadn't hired your boss as a replacement..."

"...and if I hadn't been assigned to your dressing room..."

"...we never would have met." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Thank God for small miracles."

The mmemory rushed back, vivid as yesterday:

The Blue Hawaii set, 1961. Lizzie sat in a corner of the costume tent, struggling with a torn Hawaiian shirt. Her first week as a junior costume assistant, and she was already drowning in a sea of alterations.

"Need that in five, Colasanti!" Mr. Hanson barked as he passed by, arms laden with garments.

"Yessir," she mumbled, jabbing the needle through the fabric with more force than necessary.

She'd been working since five that morning. Her fingers were sore, her back ached, and the humidity was making her hair curl in ways that defied professional appearance. But she wasn't about to complain. Jobs like this didn't fall into the laps of girls from Maryville who were seven credits short of a design school degree.

"You're new here." The voice came from behind her, casual as a Tennessee breeze.

Lizzie nearly stabbed herself with the needle. Elvis Presley stood not three feet away, wearing street clothes instead of his costume, twisting a ring over and over on his finger.

"Yes." She managed the single syllable. "First week."

"Tough break, getting stuck with the repair pile." He nodded toward the mountain of clothing beside her. "Hanson's got a reputation."

"He's just particular." She defended her boss automatically.

"That's a nice way of putting it." Elvis smiled, and it was different from his album covers. Even better in person. "You from back home? I can hear Tennessee."

"Maryville," she admitted. "Nothing special."

"I've played Maryville. Good people."

"I know. I was there." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "At the Parkway Theater."

Something lit in his eyes. "No kidding?"

"You wouldn't remember." She bent her head back to her work, feeling foolish. "It was sold out."

"The Parkway's not that big." He leaned against the workbench. "Good acoustics, though."

"Need something, Mr. Presley?" Mr. Hanson emerged from the racks of costumes, his voice sharp.

"Just checking on my blue shirt for tomorrow." Elvis straightened. "The one with the palm trees."

"Being pressed as we speak. I'll have it delivered to your trailer within the hour."

"Thanks." But he made no move to leave. Instead, he watched as Lizzie fumbled with the needle, her hands suddenly clumsy under observation.

"Colasanti!" Hanson snapped. "That's the third time you've threaded that needle. Stop wasting time."

Lizzie's cheeks burned. The needle slipped again, and she pricked her finger. A bright bead of blood welled up, threatening to stain the pale fabric.

"My fault," Elvis said, stepping forward. "I was distracting her with questions."

Before anyone could react, he pulled a pale blue handkerchief from his pocket and gently pressed it to her finger.

"You'll want to use peroxide on that," he said to her, his voice quieter now. Then to Hanson: "Got any of those blue and green shirts for the backup dancers ready? I'd like to see one."

Hanson hurried off to find the requested items, leaving them momentarily alone.

"You didn't have to do that," Lizzie said.

"Do what?" Elvis winked. "Just looking out for the costume. Blood's hard to get out."

She tried to return the handkerchief, but he shook his head.

"Keep it for now. Might need it again in this place."

As he turned to go, she noticed the embroidered initials in the corner: EP.

"I'll return it," she called after him.

He glanced back, that half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'm counting on it."

But she never did.

"Earth to Lizzie." Elvis waved his hand in front of her face. "Where'd ya go?"

"Just thinking about that first day." She smoothed the handkerchief between her fingers. "You were kind to me when you didn't have to be."

"I'm always kind to pretty girls from Tennessee."

"Uh-huh." She rolled her eyes. "That's why you have such a sterling reputation."

"My reputation is greatly exaggerated." He sniffed with mock offense. "Unlike my talents."

"Modest, too."

"Never claimed to be modest." He gathered the scattered notes from the bedspread, returning them to the box. "Just talented."

Lizzie watched him, this man who now belonged to her in a way the teenage girl who wrote that fan letter could never have imagined. Not just the most famous man on the planet, but the man who kept handwritten notes and remembered her coffee order. Who'd asked her father's permission to marry her with the same nervousness as any other suitor.

"Hey." Elvis grabbed a sheet of hotel stationery from the desk. "We should write a new one."

"A new what?"

"A letter." He found a pen in the desk drawer. "To mark the occasion. Your letter brought you to me. Maybe this one..." He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.

"Maybe this one what?" Lizzie prompted.

"Maybe this one carries us forward." He sat beside her, their shoulders touching. "I'll start."

He wrote a few lines, then passed the paper to her. Lizzie read silently: To my wife on our wedding night. I used to think fame was the best thing that would ever happen to me. Then I met a girl from Maryville, Tennessee.

"Your turn," he said.

Lizzie took the pen, her handwriting a stark contrast to his bold scrawl. I used to think loving your music meant I knew you. Now I know that the real Elvis Presley talks in his sleep, can't match his socks to save his life, and makes me feel like the most important person in any room.

She passed it back. Elvis read her words and smiled. "I don't talk in my sleep."

"You absolutely do. Mostly about food."

"Lies and slander." But he was already writing again.

They passed the paper back and forth, adding lines, building something new together. Outside, the lights of Vegas continued their electric dance, but in suite 702, time seemed suspended.

I promise to cherish our quiet moments above all else - the ones where it's just us, with no cameras or crowds, Lizzie wrote.

I promise to always hear you, even when the noise of everything else gets too loud, Elvis added.

Lizzie finished the letter with a final line: I promise to keep every moment, good or difficult, like a note in a wooden box - safe, cherished, and ours alone.

She placed the pen down. "There. What do you think?"

Elvis read over their joint creation, his shoulder pressed against hers. "I think we write pretty well together, Mrs. Presley."

"It's strange, hearing that name." She turned to face him. "Good strange."

"I like how you say it." His voice dropped lower. "Like it's just another name, not something that comes with a whole lot of baggage."

"To me, it's just your name." She reached up to touch his face. "The name of the guy who saved my button-sewing career."

He laughed quietly. "Is that all I am to you? A career savior?"

"Among other things." The space between them had shrunk to almost nothing.

"What other things?" His eyes held hers, gentle but intent.

Instead of answering, she kissed him. This time, the kiss was honest, a little clumsy, and entirely theirs. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, tender as if she might break.

When they pulled apart, the air between them had changed. Three years of knowing each other, of careful waiting, of building something real beneath the spotlight's glare - it all converged in this moment.

The truth was, they'd come close before. In the darkness of his car after late-night drives, in stolen moments between filming scenes, even once in her small apartment when a thunderstorm had knocked out the power. They'd explored each other in countless ways over these years, his hands and lips teaching her body things she'd never known to want. But they'd always stopped short of this final intimacy - this sacred line that Lizzie had determined to save for marriage.

"Lizzie." His voice was rough at the edges. "We don't have to-"

"I know." She smiled, though there was a slight tremble to her lips. "I want to."

A single tear slipped down her cheek before she could catch it.

"Hey." Elvis brushed it away with his thumb. "What's wrong?"

Lizzie took a shaky breath. "I've never done this before."

"I know, honey."

"But you have." It came out smaller than she intended, almost a question.

Elvis hesitated, then nodded. "I have."

Her eyes dropped, and something like a pout formed at the corner of her mouth.

"No, no." He tilted her face back up. "That's not a bad thing, Lizzie. It just means..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It means I know how to make it good for you. I'll show you."

"You'll show me?" The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

"I'll be gentle," he promised. "We'll take it slow." His fingers traced the line of her jaw. "I want this to be something you remember for all the right reasons."

Lizzie nodded, leaning into his touch. "I trust you," she whispered, and the simple truth of those three words seemed to affect him deeply.

"I won't let you down." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Not in this. Not ever."

She moved closer, her nervousness giving way to curiosity. "Will it hurt?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, honest even now. "But then it gets better. I promise."

"You'll tell me what to do?"

The hint of vulnerability in her question made his expression soften. "You don't need to do anything but be yourself. That's all I've ever wanted."

She nodded, drawing courage from his steadiness.

With the same deliberate care he'd shown that first day with the handkerchief, Elvis reached out and turned off the bedside lamp. In the semidarkness, the neon lights of Vegas filtered through the curtains, painting patterns across the ceiling.

"Come here," he whispered, and she did.

The first hint of dawn was breaking when Lizzie stirred awake. For a moment, she was disoriented. Then she felt the weight of her husband’s arm around her waist, heard the steady rhythm of his breathing, and remembered: She was Mrs. Elvis Presley now. The thought made her smile.

"What're you smiling about?" Elvis's voice was husky with sleep, his eyes still closed.

"How do you know I'm smiling if your eyes are shut?"

"I can feel it. You radiate when you smile. Like a little sun."

"That's the corniest thing you've ever said to me."

"Give me a break. It's not even eight AM." He opened one eye. "And I stand by it."

She shifted to face him, studying the familiar lines of his face, softened now by the dim light and intimacy. "Did you ever imagine this? Back when I was just the costume girl with the bleeding finger?"

"Not exactly this." His thumb traced the curve of her shoulder. "But I knew I liked you a lot.”

"I was terrified of you."

"No you weren't." He grinned. "You're not scared of anything."

"I hid in the supply closet three times that first week when I saw you coming."

"Yet here you are."

"Here we are," she agreed.

Elvis reached over to the nightstand where their letter lay beside the wooden box. "One more for the collection."

He folded the paper with careful precision and opened the box. As he placed the letter inside, something in his expression shifted, grew serious.

"You know it’s not gonna be easy, right? Being married to... all this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing not just himself but everything his name entailed.

"I didn't sign up for easy." She propped herself up on one elbow. "I signed up for you.”

"There will be lies in the papers. Rumors. People who want pieces of me that I can only give to you."

"I know."

"Tours, movies, time apart."

"I know that too."

"So why'd you say yes?" His voice held genuine curiosity. "You could've had a normal life with a normal guy. White picket fence, Sunday dinners, no flashbulbs in your face."

Lizzie considered this. "Remember that song you did? 'Just Because'?"

"Sure."

"That's why." She settled back against the pillows. "Just because."

Elvis whistled, a sound that conveyed both surprise and pleasure. "I've heard a lot of answers to that question in interviews. That might be my favorite."

"Good." She yawned. "Now go back to sleep. We've got brunch with the guys at eleven, and you're impossible when you're tired."

"Yes, ma'am." He settled beside her, his arm finding its place around her waist again.

Just before sleep reclaimed him, he murmured, "Lizzie?"

"Hmm?"

"I just remembered. You've got another letter to write."

"What's that?"

"Thank you note to Ed Sullivan. For getting us together."

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #fluffy fanfic

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blackcrystalbride · 5 months ago

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The Black Crystal Bride [66-67]

Gramorr invites you to a Canterlot Wedding!

First

Read The Black Crystal Bride on ComicFury! Also available on Webtoons!

#lolirock #gramorr #black crystal bride #lolirock bcb #mormorr #morgaine lolirock #fancomic #lolirock morgaine #gramorr lolirock #lolirock gramorr #lolirock queen

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eu-nicola · 5 months ago

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the family [part 1]

sinopsis: In Italy 1850 Lucien a former priest gets involved in a game of seduction with his girlfriend's younger sister; what begins as flirting becomes a destructive obsession

warnings: love triangle, forbidden relationship, tension

word counter: 3720

author's note: english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct

It was a summer afternoon in Italy, in 1825. The sun was sliding lazily over the green hills and terracotta roofs, illuminating the elegant palazzo that stood on the outskirts of Florence, home of the Ricci family. Lucien arrived accompanied by a black carriage and a pair of suitcases that seemed to contain everything he owned. With the past still fresh in his mind, he got out of the carriage with a calmness that did not reflect the tumult inside him. He had left the life of a priest a couple of years ago, seeking redemption and new experiences. But in Giuliana, his fiancée, Lucien had found something unexpected: a discreet love that seemed to offer him a second chance at peace.

Giuliana greeted him with a radiant smile at the foot of the entrance stairs. Dressed in a soft sky blue that highlighted her eyes, she radiated elegance and simplicity.

—Lucien, my love! “I am so glad you have arrived,” she said, extending a gloved hand and looking at him with the reserved affection of a bride.

“You don’t know how much I have been waiting for this moment,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her fingers softly.

Giuliana smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly, but her gaze soon turned to the door.

“I want to introduce you to my family. They are very excited to meet you.”

Lucien followed Giuliana into the palazzo, as they walked through a hall filled with ancient frescoes and the scent of freshly polished wax and fresh flowers. Upon reaching the large room, his gaze fell on every detail: the portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls, the chandeliers filled with crystals, the mahogany furniture, all witnesses to the wealth and prestige of the Ricci family.

Around a tea table sat Giuliana's parents and her younger sister, Isabella. Seeing Lucien, the father stood up and greeted him with a firm nod, while Giuliana's mother gave him a polite smile.

"Lucien, dear, allow me to introduce you to my parents," Giuliana said with a smile, feeling proud to have him at her side.

"It's an honor to finally meet you," Lucien said, bowing respectfully to them.

After the formal greetings, Lucien turned his attention to the young woman sitting next to Giuliana. Unlike her sister, who possessed the serenity of a well-bred woman, Isabella exuded an almost wild vitality, even if she tried to hide it under the manners that the situation demanded. Her hair fell in dark waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—a shade between amber and honey—watched him with curiosity and a slight smile that she tried to hide. Isabella looked to be about nineteen, and there was something in her bearing that reminded her of a wild animal, trapped in a fine suit and impeccable hairdo.

“Isabella, my younger sister,” Giuliana announced. “Isabella, this is Lucien.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucien,” Isabella said, her voice soft but with a hint of irony, a spark that immediately caught Lucien’s attention.

Lucien noticed how Isabella examined him closely. Unlike the others, her eyes did not reflect the courtesy that good manners required; there was an intensity in them that she did not bother to hide, as if she wanted to see him as he was, without filters or appearances.

“The pleasure is mine, Isabella,” he replied, bowing slightly and keeping his gaze fixed on her for a few seconds longer than necessary.

As the minutes ticked by and tea was served, Lucien tried to concentrate on the conversations about family business and the upcoming festivities Giuliana had planned in honor of his arrival. But something inside him kept him from paying full attention; whenever he could, his gaze returned to Isabella, who seemed to have no intention of hiding the effect she had on him.

During tea, Isabella made some irreverent comments that provoked awkward laughter at the table. His mother gave him a disapproving look, but Lucien couldn't help but find a freshness in those comments that surprised him. Giuliana, always calm, tried to divert attention to more appropriate topics, but Isabella seemed to enjoy her reactions, as if she found pleasure in testing the limits of everyone's patience.

As the afternoon drew to a close, as the Ricci family showed Lucien around the gardens and showed him the orchard they maintained at the back of the palazzo, he lingered beside Isabella. Isabella had been quiet during the walk, observing the flowers and fountains with a thoughtful expression, until she noticed Lucien's gaze following her.

"Are you surprised to find me silent?" she asked, shooting him a glance.

"Perhaps a little," Lucien replied, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to be too obvious, but he couldn't deny that curiosity consumed him.

"You shouldn't let my words fool you," she replied, locking eyes with him. "Maybe I'm just a mirage in a garden."

Lucien smiled. There was something about Isabella that was magnetic to him, something he'd never felt with Giuliana, though he tried hard to remind himself that he was there as her fiancé. Isabella, however, had a way of looking at him that made him feel naked, as if she saw beyond his facade of a reformed gentleman.

“A mirage that, however, seems very real at the moment,” he said, unable to resist returning her gaze.

Isabella lowered her gaze, but a lopsided smile appeared on her lips. The tension between them was palpable, as if the air between them had become thick and charged with unspoken promises. For Lucien, this was something new, a spark of life and risk that drew him irremediably.

Isabella had always been a vivid contrast to her sister Giuliana, like shadow and light, or fire and water. While Giuliana was calm and serene, dedicated to pleasing her parents and honoring her family, Isabella was a burning flame, always ready to be fanned by any small breath of adventure. Although they shared the same education in the arts, language, and sciences proper to young ladies of her status, Isabella had grown up with a restlessness that her parents never managed to appease, as if something inside her always yearned for more.

Since she was little, she had stood out for her inclination towards daring ideas, and although she knew how to present herself as a perfect lady in front of everyone, those who knew her well knew that she was unpredictable, capable of disappearing without warning and getting lost in the nearby forest or in the streets of the town. Isabella did not obey rules in the same way that Giuliana did; she knew the rules, yes, but she preferred to break them rather than follow them.

As a child, she had been found more than once hiding in the stables, trying to ride the horses on her own without the help of a groom. Unlike Giuliana, who would never have questioned her mother's instructions on what was appropriate for a lady, Isabella had always been direct and shameless, defying every expectation. Even now, as a woman, she had not lost her tendency to behave in a brazen manner, always on the edge of what was allowed.

During family dinners, Isabella would often provoke her parents, sometimes with little jokes, other times with questions that she knew would make her mother uncomfortable. Although Giuliana would often try to intervene with a disapproving look, Isabella would always return an amused smile, as if the conflict was just a game she had invented to entertain herself.

The next day, Lucien watched her again as they ate breakfast together. Isabella had arrived a little late, apologizing with a smile that didn't seem apologetic at all. Her parents didn't say anything, though her mother gave her a disapproving look. Lucien noticed that Isabella seemed to enjoy every chance she got to make her parents uncomfortable. She took a seat next to Giuliana and gave Lucien a fleeting glance before focusing her attention on her tea. However, when she thought no one was looking at her, he noticed how her expression changed, becoming more open, less restrained.

"Did you have a good rest, Lucien?" Isabella asked in a casual tone, but with a hint of irony that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"That's right, thank you," he replied, smiling slightly. "The house is really cozy."

"And even more so if you have the freedom to explore its corners," she added, giving him a sidelong glance. Or to disappear whenever you want.

Giuliana frowned slightly, as if she sensed the underlying tone in his words, but said nothing. Lucien, however, understood the provocation. With Isabella, it seemed that every word was double-edged, every smile. Over the next few days, Lucien watched her more closely, fascinated by that duality of hers. There was something about the way Isabella moved, how she constantly sought to escape the gaze of her parents, the expectations imposed by her surname.

One such evening, while Giuliana was helping her mother with the preparations for dinner, Lucien decided to take a walk around the palazzo. It was a beautiful evening, with the sky covered in golden and pink hues, and the wind carried with it the scent of jasmine and wet grass. He was walking aimlessly through the gardens, admiring the fountains and classical statues, when he heard a light laugh coming from the hedges. At first, he thought it was some maid of the house; However, when he peeked out a little, he saw the figure of Isabella, who, without noticing his presence, was busy picking small wild flowers that had sprouted between the stones of a path.

Lucien watched her in silence, captivated by her naturalness, by the way she let herself be carried away by the moment. She looked carefree and full of life, as if this garden were her own secret refuge. Lucien felt the urge to come closer, to share this moment, even if only as an invisible observer.

Isabella, however, noticed him before he could do anything.

“Oh, Lucien,” she said with a playful smile, her eyes shining at the sight of him. “Do you like spying?”

Lucien blushed slightly, although he tried to hide it.

“Not at all, but it seems that fate insists on putting you in my path,” he replied, maintaining his composure and sketching a slight smile.

“Fate?” she replied, arching an eyebrow. I'd never heard him apologize so blatantly, though I suppose there's something to be said for interrupting someone else's moment.

Isabella gave him a mocking look, but deep down Lucien felt she was testing him, as if she wanted to see how he would react. Undaunted, he moved a little closer, until only a couple of steps separated them. Isabella didn't back away; on the contrary, she looked him straight in the eye, not losing a drop of her confidence.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, adopting a softer tone. “I thought you would be inside, helping your sister.”

“Giuliana is the one with the virtue of patience,” she replied with a touch of irony. “I prefer to be here, rather than sit and listen to my mother talk about what a lady should and shouldn’t do.”

There was a brief silence, and Lucien felt the air around him grow thicker. Isabella’s proximity, her scent of wildflowers and her gaze awakened in him a longing he couldn’t deny. He knew it was inappropriate, that his role was that of a faithful and devoted fiancé, but in Isabella’s presence, all that determination felt like a thin thread about to snap.

“You don’t like that life?” he dared to ask, unable to contain his curiosity.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, as if considering whether to answer him honestly.

“Not entirely.” It’s a nice life, of course, but it’s not the one I want for myself,” he finally answered. “Giuliana can have all that; she’s perfect for that world. I…” he looked down at the flowers in his hand. “I want something different.”

“And what is it that you want?” Lucien asked, not taking his eyes off her.

Isabella looked up, and for a second, her expression was serious, without a trace of the mockery or disdain she often used. There was a deep sadness in her eyes, a kind of melancholy that Lucien had not seen in her until that moment.

“Freedom, perhaps,” she murmured. “The freedom to live without so many rules, without having to answer to anyone but myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m like one of these birds,” she added, pointing to a bird flying above them, “trapped in a golden cage.”

Lucien felt a pang in his chest as he listened to her. He had expected some light response, some witty comment, but instead Isabella had let her guard down, if only for an instant, showing him a vulnerability that touched him. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her that he understood her, that he shared that desire to escape, even if it wasn’t exactly the same.

Isabella turned to him suddenly, an intensity in her gaze that almost made him recoil.

“Tell me, Lucien,” she said in a whisper, “do you ever feel like this? Like you’re trapped in a place that’s not yours?”

The question surprised him, and although his instincts told him to keep his distance, something in her eyes pushed him to be honest.

“Yes, sometimes,” he admitted, without taking his eyes off her. “Though, unlike you, I don’t think I have anyone to blame but myself.”

Isabella watched him intently, as if she were weighing his every word, trying to decipher what he wasn't saying.

Suddenly, Isabella smiled, a smile that was a mix of complicity and defiance.

"Maybe you can escape, Lucien. Maybe there's something, someone, who can make you remember what it feels like to be free."

The implication in her words was so obvious that Lucien felt a heat rise to his face. But instead of backing away, he leaned a little closer to her, keeping his gaze fixed on Isabella's eyes. He could feel her breathing, and every fiber of his being asked him to break all the rules, to give in to that impulse that whispered to him to take her by the hand, to cross that invisible line that he himself had drawn.

"And you, Isabella?" he murmured, in a tone that sounded more intimate than he intended. "Do you think there's someone who can give you that freedom you so desire?"

Isabella looked at him intently, and for a moment, it seemed she was going to respond. But instead, she simply smiled and stepped away from him, taking a few steps back.

“Perhaps,” she said, her tone both light and deep. “But if there is someone capable of that, they will have to be very bold.”

Without saying anything else, she turned and began walking back toward the palazzo, leaving Lucien alone in the garden, lost in his thoughts and in the echo of her words. She knew there was something dangerous about that attraction, that every time they met, they came closer to a point of no return. And yet, Lucien couldn’t ignore the growing desire that drove him to want more, to find out how far he could go in this game that Isabella seemed to have started.

This little game continued on Giuliana’s birthday which was cause for celebration, the night of the ball, the palazzo was filled with light and music, with the chandeliers shining over the crowd dancing in the main hall. The guests, in their evening gowns and sparkling jewelry, moved gracefully to the tune of a delicate melody that filled the air. Lucien stood next to Giuliana, fulfilling the role of the perfect fiancé as he surveyed the guests, exchanging polite greetings and responding with a discreet smile.

Every time his gaze swept the room, his eyes unwittingly sought out Isabella.

She, on the other hand, seemed perfectly oblivious to him, laughing and chatting with a few family friends and maintaining an expression of innocent amusement. Isabella wore an emerald silk dress, which fell in delicate layers and moved with each step she took. Lucien noticed that the color highlighted her eyes and made her seem an even more ethereal figure. Despite his effort to stay focused on Giuliana, Lucien couldn't help but look towards her, trying to find some sign, some gesture that would welcome him to seek her out.

Finally, Isabella surprised him. Barely sparing him a glance, she slipped away from the crowd, leaving her companions with an improvised excuse and disappearing through one of the side doors that led to the gardens. Lucien felt his pulse quicken, and even though he knew he shouldn’t follow her, his body moved before he could stop himself. He waited a few seconds, bidding farewell to Giuliana under the excuse of needing some fresh air, and, making sure no one was watching, he headed towards the garden following Isabella’s footsteps.

He found her in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by rose bushes that filled the air with a sweet scent. She was standing under the moonlight, watching the stars as if he wasn’t there, as if his presence didn’t matter. Lucien looked at her for a moment, captivated by the image: Isabella, in her silk dress, illuminated by the silver light and the night air gently playing with her hair. Finally, he dared to approach.

“Escaping the party?” —he murmured in a low tone, trying to maintain his composure, although his words sounded more intimate than he intended.

She turned her head slowly and gave him a smile that seemed to know much more than he wanted to admit.

“Escaping is something that gives me a certain pleasure,” she replied in a carefree tone, her eyes reflecting the light of the stars. “Though, if I'm being honest, I didn't expect anyone to follow me.”

“Maybe I was looking for a moment of peace,” he replied, moving a little closer. “But seeing you here, I thought that maybe peace wasn’t what I really needed tonight.”

Isabella stared at him, and for a moment that seemed like an eternity, she said nothing. Then, she smiled mischievously and extended her hand towards him, as if she were making a tacit invitation to cross the line that they had both been skirting since they met.

“So, what do you need tonight, Lucien?” she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Lucien looked at her hand, and although he knew that accepting meant entering into a game of no return, he took her hand firmly. Feeling her skin, warm and soft, he felt an electric shock run through his body, a spark that ignited all his senses. Isabella intertwined her fingers with his, and without saying anything, she began to guide him through the garden, away from the music, the lights, and any prying eyes.

After walking a bit, they reached an even more hidden corner, near a marble fountain that stood imposingly in the middle of the garden. There, far from any interruptions, Isabella stopped and turned to look at him, her eyes shining with an intensity that seemed to challenge him.

“I suppose my sister would never understand why I prefer to be here instead of in the ballroom,” she said softly, without letting go of his hand.

“Giuliana has a very different spirit than you,” Lucien replied, with a sincerity that came out almost without thinking. “You are…” he paused, searching for the right words, although they all seemed insufficient. “different.”

Isabella smiled with a glint of mischief in her eyes, aware of the effect her words had on him.

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, leaning slightly towards him, shortening the distance between them.

Lucien noticed how his breath mixed with hers, and, without thinking, he slid his hand to her waist, pulling her gently. In any other situation, it would have been inappropriate, but in this corner, under the cover of night, there were no restrictions or formalities. Isabella did not resist; on the contrary, she moved a little closer, allowing their bodies to brush against each other, the space between them to become almost nonexistent.

“What do you think?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing hers.

Isabella kept her gaze fixed on him, her dark eyes reflecting a mix of desire and defiance.

“I think you've been playing at being someone you're not for too long,” she whispered, and, without giving him time to respond, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss, barely a touch, but intense enough for both of them to feel the heat between them.

Lucien felt every fiber of his being ignite at that kiss, and, casting aside all doubt, he pulled her to him, deepening the kiss. Isabella responded immediately, with the same restrained passion, the same silent desire they had both suppressed for so long. Their lips moved urgently, as if that kiss was a need they couldn’t ignore, as if it was the answer to a question that had been left unresolved since the first moment they met.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, and Lucien looked at her, trying to process what had just happened. He knew it was crazy, that this moment could change everything, but he couldn’t ignore the fire burning inside him, the desire Isabella had awakened in him.

Isabella smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes, as if she had gotten exactly what she wanted.

“I’m afraid if you keep crossing the line, Lucien, there will be no turning back,” she said in a soft tone, but filled with an unspoken promise.

“What if I don’t want to turn back?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Isabella looked at him for a moment, and then, instead of answering, she took his hand and brought it to her chest, right over her heart. Lucien felt her heartbeat accelerate, and in that moment, he understood that what they shared was something neither of them could ignore. Lucien knew there was no escape now.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #x reader #grotesquerie #charlie mayhew #charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n

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shiorihyugawrites · 9 days ago

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The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Fifty Four

A/N: OSTs for this chapter are “The Warriors”, “Guilty Hero”, and “The Successor”.

Flashback: Before Zeke and Aurora were pulled into the Paths…

Eren could feel the rumble of his own titan heartbeat reverberating in his ears, an echo that blended with the endless din of battle. Shiganshina was falling apart around him, brick by shattered brick, but he forced the image of crumbling walls out of his mind. Right now, only one thought mattered: getting to Zeke. He saw the moment when the Beast Titan suddenly stalled, as though jerked by an invisible string. Even from a distance, Eren glimpsed Zeke’s body seize up in confusion. Captain Levi, perched on a broken tower and mid-lunge toward the titan’s broad ankle, froze momentarily too, evidently surprised by Zeke’s abrupt pause.

Eren refused to waste the chance. With a furious roar, the Attack Titan crashed forward, lumbering past battered piles of rubble. The ground shook beneath every step, and he batted aside two pure titans that lunged for his flanks. One managed to clamp its jaws around his crystallized forearm, but he wrenched it free, obliterating the creature’s skull with a single savage blow. Blood and steam erupted in a grim spray, yet Eren hardly blinked at the gore. He kept moving, his massive form forging a path through the chaos like a battleship through stormy seas.

All around him, the fight raged on. Mikasa slashed in midair, cables whistling as she darted from rooftop to rooftop, a flicker of black hair and gleaming blades. Jean and Connie wrestled with a Marleyan gun emplacement on a collapsed watchtower, trying to overtake the crewmembers before they could pepper the remaining Jaegerists with more gunfire. Sasha was perched on a broken rampart, eyes narrowed, firing carefully aimed shots at the Allied soldiers who parachuted too close. Pieck’s Cart Titan scuttled over debris, the Jaegerists strapped to her back unleashing sporadic Inferno Blades, though her body was close to its limit from repeated transformations. Reiner’s Armored Titan sprawled on its side not far away, injuries riddling his once-impenetrable plating, while Porco’s Jaw Titan snarled in equal desperation, half its face gone yet still swinging with lethal precision.

Eren barreled through the ring of pure titans converging around the Beast Titan. Shiganshina’s streets became a graveyard of twisted steel and broken stone. The smell of gunpowder, blood, and Titan steam weighed heavily in the air. He thought of Aurora’s beautiful face for half a heartbeat, her platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, the way she had pleaded for him to survive. He clenched his crystalline fists, renewed determination boiling in his chest. If he failed now, everything—Aurora, their unborn child, Paradis itself—was doomed.

But of of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall figure in the rubble: Commander Magath, kneeling behind a partially collapsed barricade. Even from a distance, Eren recognized the specialized anti-titan cannon, a fearsome weapon known to pierce even the thickest titan armor. Magath swung the weapon, zeroing in on the Beast Titan’s nape. Eren’s heart clenched. If Magath succeeded in blowing Zeke apart, there would be no chance of contact. No contact meant no Rumbling. No Rumbling meant the Allied Forces, with their endless armies, would eventually break Shiganshina. And if they broke Shiganshina, they would inevitably sweep across the island, unstoppable.

“Damn it,” Eren snarled in his mind, though his titan mouth let out a guttural roar. He hammered aside another pure titan, grappling it by the neck and crushing its nape, then sent the twitching corpse crashing into a squad of Allied infantry. His eyes flicked back to Magath, who lined up the shot. Eren pushed forward, titan feet cracking the pavement beneath him, but he knew he might be seconds too late. Magath had a clear line of sight. Zeke, momentarily paralyzed, would be helpless.

Then everything froze. One instant, Eren was in mid-stride, hand outstretched, a fraction away from launching into a final leap toward the Beast Titan. Captain Levi, mere feet from Zeke’s ankle, had both blades raised, ready to sever the tendon. Magath’s bullet, shaped to puncture titan napes, streaked through the air on a perfect trajectory. All movement ceased, as though the world had been paused by an unseen hand…

The bullet hung just feet from Zeke’s vulnerable neck, muzzle-flash still suspended around the cannon. Even the blood droplets and bits of debris were locked in place. The entire battlefield had become a lifeless tableau.

And in that same frozen moment, Aurora and Zeke stood face-to-face within the other realm. The world of the Paths. The swirling sand glimmered with an otherworldly light that made everything feel suspended in a timeless hush. Aurora’s expression was fierce despite the exhaustion lining her features, her labour pains now irrelevant in this intangible space. Zeke’s eyes blazed with pent-up wrath and confusion. They squared off, tension heavy between them.

“What do you get out of this?” Aurora asked, voice laced with contempt as she fixed her icy gaze on him. “All this talk of euthanizing your own people—do you really think that makes you some hero or savior?” She let out a mirthless laugh, a note of bitterness echoing in the empty air. “You’re nothing more than a monster.”

Zeke’s jaw tightened. “Shut your mouth! You have no idea what you’re talking about. None of you do.” His eyes narrowed, and the raw edge of hysteria bled into his tone. “There was only one person who ever understood me, the only one who showed me what had to be done: Mr. Ksaver.”

At that name, Aurora’s features twisted in confusion. “Who is that?”

Zeke’s entire body tensed, a flicker of pain hidden behind his glasses. “He was the only one who truly saw the cruelty this world inflicted on Eldians. My father, that damned Grisha, he wanted to use me just like he used everyone else. He never cared about me. But Mr. Ksaver, he taught me how to endure, how to see the bigger picture.”

“Bigger picture,” Aurora repeated with scorn, eyes glistening with disbelief. “And that picture is… what? Killing off every adult Eldian you can, leaving only the children to be manipulated into your delusional plan? You think that’s your great cause?”

A tremor of rage fluttered across Zeke’s face. “Those children deserve a life free of this curse. Not to mention the only chance this cursed race has is if we stop reproducing. I believed it then, and I believe it now. If enough adults die, and we raise the young ones with the right understanding—”

“What, that you’re their benevolent savior?!” Aurora cut in, voice shaking with contempt. “You want to stand in front of them with open arms, promising them salvation if they just accept your twisted logic? You think they’ll all greet you with applause, hailing you as the man who killed their families in the name of peace?”

Zeke flinched at her words, but he managed to hold her gaze. “You have no idea the weight I carry. Eldians have cursed the world for two thousand years, spreading warfare and tragedy. I’m ending it. My plan will end the fear of titans for good. Mr. Ksaver explained it all to me—this current generation is too stubborn, too consumed by old grudges. But children… children can learn a better way. They don’t have the same baggage. They can be taught to understand it’s the greatest mercy: to end Eldian births so no one ever suffers again.”

Aurora let out a shaky exhale, her head spinning with the monstrous scope of his plan. “You’re insane,” she hissed. “You talk about burdens, about curses, but all I see is a man desperate for approval he never got. You’re still a child inside, Zeke, clinging to some tragic father figure, hoping you’ll be validated by impressionable kids—kids who’ll supposedly look up at you and say, ‘Thanks for slaughtering our parents, we see now you were right all along.’ You have no clue how real people think or feel. You’re just… monstrous.”

His eyes flared, and his voice rose. “And what do you know? You married Eren, who’s ready to flatten the world with the Founder’s power. That’s just a more violent version of the same end! Don’t pretend your hands are clean. He’s a monster in the making—”

“You know nothing about Eren,” Aurora snapped, stepping closer. She could feel the sand shift beneath her feet, each grain radiating intangible power. “He might do terrible things, but I know him. He’s driven by desperation to protect those he loves, not out of some twisted longing for acceptance. And yes, I know he’s dangerous, but he isn’t playing God with children’s futures. You are. You act like a little boy too afraid to confront the man who hurt him, so you become a worse tyrant than he ever was.”

Zeke’s calm veneer shattered. “Don’t talk like you know me. Don’t you dare!” he roared, hands balling into fists. “I’ve fought for this since I was a child, forced to endure Grisha’s fanaticism, forced to pretend I was something I wasn’t. Mr. Ksaver showed me a path. He gave me hope that someday I could save everyone from the cycle, that I could end the suffering. You—”

“You just want someone to say you did good,” Aurora breathed, tears trembling on her lashes as anger warred with pity. “To pat you on the head and say, ‘You’re right, Zeke, you’re so brave, you saved the world by butchering your own people and raising the children to believe in your twisted dream.’ I’m sorry, but you’ll never get that. Not from me, not from them, not from anyone.”

Zeke clenched his jaw, furious at how precisely she saw through him. “Shut up,” he repeated, though it lacked the same edge. “Shut up.”

Then a flicker at the corner of Aurora’s vision made her glance aside. Ymir, the Founder, was watching them both, eyes dull but keenly fixed on the confrontation. Aurora swallowed, remembering the child’s timeless sorrow. All of Ymir’s two thousand years of anguish poured into that stare, silently judging them. Aurora had no idea if Ymir approved or disdained them; the Founder never spoke. But Aurora sensed that each word, each admission, carved a path in Ymir’s silent domain.

Zeke let out a shaky breath, forcing his composure back. “It doesn’t matter,” he said at last, quieter now, though still brimming with tension. “The plan is in motion. Even if you disagree, even if Eren tries to flatten the planet, I’ve set events in motion. I can’t stop—”

Suddenly, the swirling sands glowed faintly. The realm of the Paths rippled like a disturbed lake. Aurora tensed, looking around in alarm. The edges of their surroundings dissolved, shifting into half-real shapes. Ymir’s expression didn’t change, but her posture shifted, as though she were waiting for something else to occur.

Zeke’s body flickered, losing solidity, and he stumbled. “What—?” he gasped, confusion etched across his face. For a heartbeat, Aurora saw the Beast Titan’s form overlapping him, the suggestion of fur and simian muscle. He flickered in and out like a distorted phantom.

Across the battlefield in the real world, time abruptly restarted. Zeke’s body jolted in the Beast Titan’s nape, returning to reality in the precise moment Magath’s bullet exploded into the back of his neck. The impact ripped through titan flesh, sending a massive spray of blood and gore. Captain Levi, who had been poised to slash the Achilles tendon, recoiled a fraction of a second from the shockwave. The Beast Titan toppled sideways, a deafening roar splitting the air. Eren, in that same suspended instant, dove forward, titan hand stretching out. He ignored the hail of bullets, the pure titan jaws snapping at his ankles, everything. He had one objective: contact.

A gut-wrenching crack thundered as the Beast Titan’s nape tore open under the bullet’s force. Zeke’s limp body tumbled free, blood trailing in an arc behind him. He felt the world spin, his consciousness flickering. He was falling, almost in slow motion. The edges of his vision dimmed. He vaguely saw Levi’s shape blurring across the ground, saw Eren’s Attack Titan lunging. Another flash of the battle: Reiner half-collapsed, Armin’s Colossal Titan forging a wall of steam. Soldiers screaming, flames from the Inferno Blades licking across the rubble. Then weightlessness. Then darkness.

Until a massive, warm grip enveloped him. Eren’s titan hand, the fingers glistening with hardened crystal tips, caught Zeke’s broken body just before it crashed to the earth. In that split second, their flesh connected: Eren’s palm on Zeke’s battered body, bare skin meeting. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then reality broke apart once more.

Their surroundings shifted back into the Paths, Aurora was still there, standing stunned, face twisted with surprise and alarm. She saw Zeke flicker back into existence, and now Eren stood among them, tall and fierce, though in this realm he appeared as his human self. No titan forms, no swirling blood. Only the echo of that contact. Ymir, still silent, lingered a short distance away, her gaze flicking among the three of them with cool impassivity.

Zeke felt as though the world had been ripped out from under his feet. One moment, he was in the midst of a hellish battle back in Shiganshina, half his body wrecked from Commander Magath’s shot, Eren’s Titan hand closing around him. The next, he found himself standing in the endless twilight of the Paths once more. The pale, drifting sand swirled around him like ghosts, a silent reminder of every life the Titans had ever touched. His vision swam, but then he realized, with mounting dread, that he was not alone.

He saw Aurora first, her platinum-blonde hair a stark contrast against the dim, starless sky. She stood just a few paces away, the faint outline of her pregnant belly visible beneath simple her flowy garment. Their gazes collided with mutual shock. Zeke couldn’t fathom why he was here again and why she was even still here. Why hadn’t she been sent out of the Paths like he had?

Aurora’s ice-blue eyes flickered with the same shock, but also relief. Eren’s plan—making contact with Zeke—had finally come to pass.

Then Eren appeared a short distance behind Aurora, as if he had materialized from the swirling sand itself. For a heartbeat, he looked disoriented, his eyes darting between Aurora and Zeke. He had known the instant he made physical contact with his half-brother, something would trigger. But seeing Aurora here sent a stab of fear through his chest. “Aurora,” he said, his voice thick with confusion. “How did you—why are you—?” He couldn’t even finish the question. He felt dread creeping up his spine. This was not just the real world. This was the realm of the Founder, a place where time and space warped according to the will of Ymir Fritz.

Aurora swallowed, fighting the urge to run to him and bury herself in his arms. She managed a shaky breath. “I… I don’t know why,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “Ymir brough me here. Maybe it’s because of the baby, or the chain of memories, or— I’m not sure. But Eren…”

She trailed off, looking at him helplessly, as though willing him to find the strength they both desperately needed.

That was when Zeke’s voice rang out, filled with raw panic. “Enough!” he barked, his tone fractured by anger and alarm. He glared at Aurora, then shifted his fiery stare to Eren. “I won’t let you do as you please, little brother. Nor will I let her sabotage everything.”

Eren’s eyes narrowed. “Zeke. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s over. I made contact with you, and I hold the Founder’s power now. So don’t even think—”

But Zeke cut him off by turning sharply toward the shadowy figure at the center of the Paths: Ymir Fritz. She was so quiet, but her mere presence commanded all of them.

Zeke seized the chance and roared, “Ymir! Carry out the euthanization plan now!” His voice cracked with desperation, the words coming out like a command he had spent his entire life preparing for. “End this endless cycle of hatred. Sterilize the Eldians! Make it so none of them can bear children ever again. Do it now!”

Aurora’s heart lurched. She knew the plan by now, but Zeke’s twisted dream threatened her baby, threatened every child who might be born in the future. She couldn’t allow it. Yet, she knew Ymir might still obey him. Royal blood was the ultimate key here. No matter how powerful Eren was with the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan, Zeke’s direct lineage with Dina Fritz gave him a voice Ymir could not ignore.

“Stop!” Aurora cried, stepping forward in a desperate move to intercept Ymir. “Please, don’t do this. You can’t condemn us all just for the sins of the past!” She felt tears well in her eyes, remembering how her mother and father had fled Marley, how Aurora herself had been born to a royal bloodline she never asked for, how her entire life had become a battleground of propaganda and fear.

Eren’s jaw tightened as he watched Aurora’s plea. He turned to Ymir, raising his voice. “Ymir, please listen—listen to Aurora if you won’t listen to me. You have the power to choose. You don’t have to follow Zeke’s orders!” He remembered Aurora telling him about her encounters with the Founder, how Ymir had shown glimmers of independence, how Ymir had once even guided Aurora to safety. He clung to that faint hope.

Zeke only bared his teeth, his face contorting in fury. “She does have to follow my orders, Eren. You don’t grasp the magnitude of the vow she’s under. It’s two thousand years of subjugation to royal blood. She has no free will. She’s a slave. MY slave!”

At Zeke’s bellowed command, Ymir began to move. It was slow, as though every step was carved from stone. Her blank eyes stared ahead, her posture stiff. Aurora, Eren, and Zeke all felt the invisible tremor in the Paths, as though it responded to the will of its silent master. The shimmering horizon rippled, suggesting Ymir was about to shape the power of the Titans according to Zeke’s euthanization plan. Sand rose in swirls at Ymir’s feet, and Aurora’s heart clenched. She could only imagine the horrors about to be unleashed: a future where no Eldian child would ever be born.

“No!” Eren shouted, lunging, but an instant later, thick, heavy chains materialized around his ankles and wrists, snapping him to the ground. A second set snaked from the sand to Aurora’s arms and legs, yanking her down with a vicious jerk. She let out a startled cry, her belly twisting in pain, and Eren’s fury redoubled. “Damn it! Let her go!”

Zeke’s lips pressed into a grim line of satisfaction. “I told you, Eren,” he said, a slight tremor betraying his fear and excitement. “ You won’t win. I am a royal blooded titan. You may hold the Founder, but I’m the one Ymir recognizes as her master.” His gaze flicked to Aurora. “I won’t let you or your pregnant wife ruin everything. I’m saving our people from an eternity of suffering, even if it means erasing our existence.”

“Erasing the existence of my child?” Aurora’s voice trembled. “Is that what you call salvation?” Anger flared in her chest, and she struggled against the chains, though each movement sent pain lancing through her abdomen. She could feel the baby shift, as though sensing her mother’s distress. “You’re a monster,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes. “My child hasn’t even taken its first breath. My child has done nothing wrong. You think you’re righteous? You’re delusional.”

Zeke scowled, his eyes narrowing on Aurora. “You know nothing,” he hissed. “I’ve suffered my entire life for being born Eldian. If the older generations had the decency to not exist, none of us would have to experience this hell. I’m giving these children a chance at peace. They’ll never know the cruelty of the Titan curse. They’ll thank me one day, just as I thanked Tom Ksaver.”

Eren strained against his chains, ignoring the searing pain in his arms where the metal bit into his flesh. The memory of Dina, Zeke’s mother, and how she had been forced to devour Eren’s own mother, Carla, flashed in his mind. It fueled his hatred for Zeke’s twisted logic. “Stop lying to yourself,” he growled, his voice raw. “You’re nothing but a coward who wants to drag everyone down with you so you can feel justified. If you truly wanted to save people, you wouldn’t be killing them. You wouldn’t be risking unborn children—my child.”

Aurora’s tears spilled over, a mixture of rage, fear, and heartbreak. “Zeke, if you go through with this, you’ll prove you’re no better than King Fritz. Forcing Ymir to obey, making her build the Titans to kill more Eldians, to prevent future life… you’re perpetuating the same cycle you claim you want to end. You’re a slave to your own hatred and pain.”

Zeke looked like he wanted to snap back, but at that moment, Ymir paused. She stood in front of the glowing tree, her head bowed. Eren, Aurora, and Zeke felt the tension coil around them like an executioner’s noose. If Ymir stepped inside that tree’s light, Zeke’s plan would become reality. Aurora’s baby, and countless unborn generations of Eldians, would be wiped from possibility.

“Move, Ymir!” Zeke shouted, his eyes wide and desperate. “Don’t listen to them! Complete the euthanization! You have to do it!”

Eren tried one last time to push himself free, hissing with frustration as the chains cut deeper. “Ymir,” he gasped, “please, you don’t have to be a slave. Neither to me, nor to Zeke, nor to King Fritz. You can choose. You can be free, the way Aurora said. You can stop listening to everyone— me included— and live for yourself.”

For a moment, Ymir’s eyes flickered with something other than emptiness. Her lips trembled, her posture drooped as though weighed by centuries of trauma. Aurora’s memory of that brief, gentle touch she’d once shared with Ymir burned in her mind. She remembered how Ymir flinched yet still lingered, as if a small part of her yearned for connection. And Aurora saw it again now: the wounded child in Ymir’s eyes, torn between submission and the faintest glimmer of rebellion.

Zeke saw it too. A cold sweat gathered on his brow. “Ymir, you have to obey me!” he insisted, his voice cracking with panic. “I have royal blood, you can’t just ignore me! I… I order you to do it now! Use your power, sterilize them all!”

The intangible air of the Paths trembled, and Ymir seemed to take a step forward, as if to comply. But then, as though pulled by an unseen force, her head turned slightly toward Aurora again. Aurora’s eyes met Ymir’s, and she exhaled a trembling breath. “Ymir,” she said softly, each word a plea. “You’ve been lonely for so long, haven’t you? You’ve lived in fear, forced to build Titans for men who never loved you. You’ve never had a choice. Let me— let us give you that choice.”

Zeke roared, “Shut up, Aurora!”

But Aurora didn’t stop. She pressed her palm over her swollen belly as she spoke, her face lined with tears. “You can live again,” she whispered. “You don’t have to spend eternity building Titans, forced by us or by him. If you help Eren stop the world from destroying us, if you help ensure our child can be born… you can be free. You can come with me… in the next life. Let me be your mother, so you can be born with a family that loves you.” Her words echoed in the silent air, as though the Paths itself was holding its breath.

Zeke hissed in disbelief, “You’re insane! She’s just a— she’s not even— That’s not how it works!”

Eren, though stunned by Aurora’s idea, recognized something in Ymir’s face. It was the first time he’d seen her show emotion, tears rolling silently down her cheeks, pale and cold in the moonlike glow of this empty dimension. He heard Aurora’s voice in his mind from their quiet moments together, the times she’d told him about how Ymir was lonely, how she might just need someone to see her as more than a tool.

Zeke struggled to hold onto his control, but the sight of Ymir trembling unnerved him deeply. “Ymir,” he tried again, his voice trembling with an emotion he refused to name. “Don’t let them fool you. They’re using you, just like King Fritz did. I’m the only one who truly wants to end the cycle of suffering for good. Are you so cruel you’d let children be born only to devour each other in this war? Ymir, think—”

But Ymir took one step away from him. She reached out with her left hand, grazing her fingertips along Aurora’s cheek, then trailing them down to Aurora’s belly. Aurora gasped softly, her eyes fluttering at the cool touch. A subtle, silent communion passed between them: the longing Ymir felt for freedom, the terrifying hope Aurora held for her unborn child. For the first time, a faint warmth pulsed in Ymir’s chest, a desire not for obedience, but for belonging.

Zeke bellowed, “Stop messing around, Ymir!” A flush of panic reddened his face. “I command you, by the power of the royal blood, to carry out the euthanization plan RIGHT NOW!”

The ground trembled. Ymir’s head jerked, as though compelled by Zeke’s order, and Eren felt the invisible chains tighten around him once again. He refused to yield. Summoning every ounce of determination, he strained, the links digging into his flesh, ripping his arms. Aurora, likewise, felt her arms being bound tighter, pain lancing across her abdomen. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“Please, Ymir,” Aurora whispered, her tears dripping onto the sand. “I can’t lose my baby. And you shouldn’t have to lose your life either. We can find a way out, together.”

Zeke, eyes wide with desperation, raised his arms again, pulling something from the swirling dust—a manifestation of his will. It resembled the chain of memories, the intangible constructs that forced Ymir to do his bidding. “Enough of this!” he hissed. “I won’t let you ruin my dream. I—”

Before he could finish, Ymir turned around fully, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her gaze flicked from Zeke to Eren, then back to Aurora. She lifted her hands and, with a barely perceptible movement, the chains on Eren and Aurora fell away. Eren collapsed forward, shock flooding his veins. Aurora’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her arms free at last. She tottered, trying to keep her balance with her enormous belly and the shock of being released.

Zeke staggered backward. “No,” he croaked, voice cracking. “You… you can’t just disobey me. I have the royal blood. You’re a slave to my will. I… I… order you to—”

But Ymir simply closed her eyes, letting tears track across her dusted skin. In that single moment, the weight of centuries bore down upon her. She remembered being hunted, devoured by duty, forced to spawn monstrous weapons for two millennia. She remembered King Fritz’s mocking face, the commands of every descendent of his blood. She remembered how Aurora had once tried to hold her hand, how Eren had recognized her suffering, how they saw her not as a mindless slave, but as an individual in need of something—love, choice, freedom. And Ymir recalled that gentle warmth, Aurora’s vow that she could live as their child in a new world if she wished it. The notion was strange, perhaps impossible, but it lit a spark inside her. A life beyond this emptiness.

Zeke roared in frustration. “No!” he snarled, sweat beading on his forehead. “Obey me, damn it, you have to obey me— you can’t just— you can’t—”

Eren and Aurora stared, transfixed, as Ymir turned from Zeke and faced them both. Eren felt unsteady, missing his thumbs, blood dripping from his mangled hands. But he summoned the strength to stand beside Aurora, letting her lean into his side. A quiet hush fell over them all, as if the Paths itself was holding its breath, waiting to see Ymir’s final decision.

Aurora’s voice wavered, “Ymir… I promise, we’ll keep our word. If you— if you help us put an end to this war, you can be born free. I’ll do everything I can to—”

Zeke tried to lunge forward, but it was too late. With a single step, Ymir closed the distance to Eren. Her small hand reached up, gently brushing against his forehead. Eren inhaled sharply, a white-hot jolt coursing through his mind. Energy crackled around them, like a silent thunderstorm. The power of the Founder rippled across the dimension, shimmering in gold and white fractals.

A sharp gasp tore from Eren’s throat as visions assailed him—memories of countless Eldians from across time, fragments of their hopes and fears. Aurora trembled, feeling the aftershocks. She couldn’t see the memories herself, but she sensed Eren’s entire body tense, and she placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Zeke stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide with something akin to horror. “No,” he breathed, voice hollow. He felt the intangible chains coil around his own limbs, pulling him to his knees. “This— this can’t be happening…” The inevitability pressed in on him: Ymir had chosen Eren. Or had she chosen Aurora’s kindness? Either way, he was losing all control.

Eren’s green eyes glowed with raw power, reminiscent of the Founding Titan’s unstoppable might. He cast a glance at Aurora, seeing the relief and determination in her ice-blue gaze. The swirling sands around them roiled as though guided by Eren’s newly accessed power. Ymir’s face was expressionless but for the tears streaming down her cheeks, a silent testament to the heartbreak she had endured and the fragile hope Aurora had offered.

Desperate, Zeke tried one last time, “Ymir, no— I beg you, don’t do this to me. We can still— we can—” But the ghostly chains tightened around him, cutting off his words. He writhed, panting in fear.

Aurora watched, heart pounding, as Eren slowly lifted a trembling hand, raw with wounds. He pressed his palm to the side of Ymir’s face, a gesture of empathy. “You’re free now,” he whispered. “I swear it. You can choose. If you want revenge, if you want to flatten the world that tortured you for two thousand years, I’ll do it. If you want something else— anything— tell me.” His gaze shifted to Aurora, remembering her words about letting Ymir make her own choice, about offering her a chance to break the cycle. “We owe you that.”

Aurora managed a shaky smile, tears glistening. She gently rested her hand atop Ymir’s. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she murmured, voice soft. “We can do this together.”

Ymir’s tear-filled eyes drifted from Eren to Aurora, then down to Aurora’s belly. For an instant, the tension in her shoulders melted into an expression that almost looked like longing, something akin to a child gazing through a window at a family gathered around a warm fire. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words emerged—just a trembling breath that carried centuries of pain. Then she gave the slightest nod, tears continuing to track down her face.

A sudden rush of brilliance swept over the Path. Threads of radiant energy coiled up from Ymir’s feet, swirling around Eren and Aurora like an incandescent storm. Zeke let out a strangled cry, feeling his control slip away entirely. The intangible forces that once obeyed him were no longer his to command. He was chained, forcibly made to witness the Founder’s decision.

In that blinding torrent of light, Eren gasped as knowledge— unfiltered, raw potential— coursed through him. He felt the Founder’s might in his veins, surging with unstoppable force. He could sense every titan sleeping in the walls of Paradis, sense the possibility of unleashing them. Yet he also felt Ymir’s sorrow, her desperate longing for a family, for acceptance that was never given to her by King Fritz. Eren felt Aurora’s presence behind him, her fear and her vow to protect the child inside her, to do what was necessary for them to have a future. All of it merged into a single, harrowing choice.

Zeke, shackled in the golden glow, let out a guttural shout, “Eren, don’t you dare—”

But his voice fell to a whisper in the roar of cosmic power. Aurora, one hand protectively over her belly, the other lightly touching Ymir’s shoulder, leaned close to Eren. She whispered, “Whatever you do… I’ll be by your side. We’ve come too far to turn back.”

Eren turned his head slightly, meeting Aurora’s gaze. He read in her expression both terror and a fierce hope, a readiness to do the unimaginable so their child would not be born into bondage. He nodded slowly, tears slipping down his own cheeks. “We do this together,” he said quietly.

Ymir closed her eyes, one last tear slipping free, as though she had given them the final piece of her soul. Her hand upon Eren’s chest pulsed with power, the swirling lights coalescing into a single beam that seemed to fuse Eren’s will with that of the Founder. They all felt an impossible resonance— the weight of two thousand years of history pivoting on a single moment. Zeke strained, fighting with every ounce of his soul to deny it, but he was helpless to watch as Eren and Aurora stood in unison with Ymir’s blessing.

Zeke was left caged, an irony that sent a wave of dread through him. He recognized that posture: the same captivity Ymir had known for centuries. Now it was his turn to watch helplessly, as Eren gripped the power he had sought. Magath’s bullet had sealed Zeke’s fate, forcing him into contact with Eren in that final instant. In the swirling maelstrom of light, he glimpsed Aurora stepping closer to Ymir again, reaching for her with trembling hands, as if to offer comfort. Ymir’s gaze flickered, uncertain, yet no longer the hollow stare of a prisoner. She leaned in, allowing Aurora’s arms to encircle her in a tender embrace.

Zeke’s breath caught at the sight. “No…” he whispered, feeling the entire point of his existence unravel. He thought of Ksaver, the day they discussed the euthanization plan as though it were absolute salvation. He remembered Dina, Grisha, all of it culminating in him believing he was chosen to end Eldia’s torment. Now, here he was, sidelined by the very force he tried to bend to his will. He couldn’t accept that Ymir had made a choice outside his commands. Yet the tears on Ymir’s cheeks told him everything: she had found something else. Something he never once offered her— a chance at life, at love, at being more than a Titan-forging slave.

Finally, Eren’s voice cut through the symphony of light and shadow, firm yet carrying a quiet empathy. “Zeke,” he said, turning to regard his brother, who knelt shackled in the dust. “I told you— your plan is worthless. Maybe I am a devil, maybe I’ll doom the rest of the world. But I won’t let you take away the future from our people, from my child. From Aurora.”

Zeke simply glared, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “You’re no savior,” he spat, choking on the bitterness in his throat. “You’re just continuing the cycle in your own way. You think you’re free? You’re just a—”

“Enough,” Aurora said sharply, surprising even herself. She was done cowering, done letting Zeke’s twisted worldview overshadow everything. She rested a protective hand over her abdomen, then gazed down at him. “You never asked the children if they wanted your so-called salvation. You never asked me if I was okay with your plan to kill my unborn baby. You didn’t ask Ymir if she truly wanted to follow you. You just assumed you knew best. Maybe you believed it, or maybe you were just repeating the only pattern you knew. But it ends now.”

Zeke thrashed in the chains, cursing. “No, you can’t— you can’t do this, Eren! If you unleash the Rumbling, you’ll kill millions, maybe billions. You’ll be no better than—”

Eren’s voice emerged, quiet but resolute. “I never said I was better than anyone. I’m doing this to protect the people I care about. If the world truly wants to exterminate us, then yes, I’ll become the devil they fear. But you gave me no other choice. Neither did the world.” He paused, casting a sideways glance at Aurora. “But that doesn’t mean I’m forcing Ymir to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Zeke let out a strained cry. He glared at Aurora with a mixture of rage and desperation. “This is your fault,” he spat, voice trembling. “If you’d never come into the picture, she would have obeyed me. You ruined everything.” A bitter laugh choked from his lips. “I hope you’re happy. You’ve doomed yourselves to the same cycle— another monstrous war. You’re no saviors.”

Aurora shook her head, sorrow welling in her eyes. “I never claimed to be a savior, Zeke,” she replied softly. “I just wanted to protect my child. I wanted Ymir to be free. If that makes me monstrous, so be it.”

Ymir turned her face upward, looking at the endless sky of the Paths. Then she reached forward, as though pulling something from the swirling sands— threads of Titan creation, but shaped by a new intention. The entire dimension thrummed with possibilities. Aurora’s breath caught, uncertain what Ymir was about to do. Eren braced himself, half-expecting the walls of Paradis to thunder to life under his command.

But the scene froze, like an image paused in time. Ymir’s decision was final: she gifted Eren the Founder’s power, by her own will, and refrained from completing Zeke’s euthanization. The rest would come down to Eren’s next words, next moves. She lingered there, gazing at Eren and Aurora, almost as if waiting for them to vanish back into reality to do what must be done. In that final moment, Aurora glimpsed the faint trace of a small smile on Ymir’s face, a ghost of an expression. A silent thank you, or perhaps a goodbye.

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tamoscringecorner · 22 days ago

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FiddleStan headcanons!! (Warning: They are so in love, and it's sickening..)

-Whenever Stan is drunk he is really needy he would call Fidds every two seconds and be like "F-Fidds..I-I MISS YOU!!! I-I HAVENT SEEN Y-YOU IN SO LONG.." while sobbing, while Fidds was right beside him… -Sometimes Fidds stays up too long on his research leading to him being sleep drunk and when Stan would try and hug him or kiss him Fidds wouldnt recognize him and be all like "Buzz off hussy! I-I have a HUSBAND!!" -Stan has a firy temper and Fidds is the only one who can calm him down -Fidds calms him down oftentimes by simply wrapping his arms around his waist and calling him "babyy.." and instantly Stan melts and forgets his surroundings -When Fidds was trying to figure out when and how to propose to him Fidds went to Ford for help, and at the same time, Stan was trying to propose also and asked Ford. -Fidd's wedding ring is in silver and Stan's is in gold -When they were planning out their wedding Fidds was the nonchalant one and Stan was stressing working night and day trying to get it to be perfect in every aspect -Stan wore his Dad's suit at the wedding and almost broke down in sobs knowing that his father would never approve of him wearing his suit to marry the love of his life, who was supposed to be in a dress..not a suit -At the alter, after they kissed Stan tried to pick up Fidds to show off but due to him taking advantage of the open bar he just ended up stumbling and falling on his ass in front of everyone -After Stan failed to pick him up and dropped both of them to the floor, Fidds being the sober one would sweep him off his feet and carry him princess/bridal style -They have the picture of Fidds grinning and carrying Stan like a bride and Stan blushing profusely hung up on their wall to this day -Sometimes when Ford is going on hikes to find certain herbs or cryptids Stan tags along and each time he comes back he always brings along a crystal or pretty flower he found and puts it on Fidds hat and gives it to him. -Stan is a massive dog person, and Fidds is a cat person -Fidds is the type of person who if he ever saw an animal as he makes noises back at it and pets it finding them delightful, is Stan saw one he would try and intimidate or make it go away, worried it would hurt Fidds if it got to close -As a joke gift Stan got Fidds a dark red dinosaur onesie because he is into paleontology but Fidds wears it unironically -Fidds loves his coffee dark but Stan secretly has a sweet tooth and drinks his coffee with enough sugar to kill a small child, however, if he's in public he fakes drinking black coffee to "look cool" -Stan has a leathermen's jacket from his high school days and still wears it sometimes thinking it makes him look cool -Despite Stan's personality he has pretty bad social cues and sometimes when he thinks he is "charming the pants off" a group of people he is in reality being laughed at behind his back. -Later on, when those people weren't looking Fidds would steal their valuables such as wallets or fancy jewelry, and spend it or give it back to Stan as a "gift" as revenge for being jerks -Stan always has his hand on Fidds's hip and Fidds always has his arm wrapped around his waist no matter where they are -Stan in his high school days learned how to play the drums as a way to take out his anger, so sometimes Fidds plays his banjo and Stan plays the drums, despite how different their instruments are they still work well together and play in perfect harmony

#gravity falls #billciphertramatizedthismanz #headcanon #fiddlestan #fiddleford x stanley #stanley x fiddleford #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #old man yaoi #grunkle stan #grunkle stunkle wins the funkle bunkle #head canons #head canon #idiots in love #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fluff

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demelzathemer · 6 months ago

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My Heart Is a Haunted House

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘗𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 + 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪, 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘛

@dbdpromptober Day 14: Sorrow (words: 1308)

(I did it!! After five days and four rewrites, we've reached Tears to Shed. Idk why the cat king chapters are hardest to write but end up being the ones I'm most proud of)

Payneland Corpse Bride AU

First Previous

𝓘𝓯 𝓘 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓪 𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓵𝓮 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓷𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷

𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪 𝓴𝓷𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓮

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭

𝓨𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵

𝓣𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵

𝓘𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭

The Cat’s whiskers quivered. The wind has changed and it brought along a taste of magic. A spell has been used.

He hopped down from his spot on top of a high wall where he’d been lounging. His senses told him that Edwin had returned.

The bell jingled when a door was opened and then slammed shut. Fast footsteps made their way in a hurry. The Cat’s ear twitched. So he’d come back alone.

He picked up his pace into a trot and followed with his tail up. The cobblestone molded itself apart and shut behind Edwin, the streets splitting into multiple ways and curling into itself. The Underworld could become what the residents wanted, and what it was doing for Edwin was melting into a maze so dense no one could find him.

The Cat reached him a minute later. The alley was a dead end, pale light from the sky cut off by a tall wall, leaving a deep shadow behind. Edwin was pacing back and forth, his hands in tight fists by his sides.

Silently the Cat jumped up to sit atop a propped up coffin and elevated himself on Edwin’s level. He swung his tail once as an acknowledgment.

“He lied to me,” Edwin huffed. “He did not go to see his parents, he just left me there and walked away and when I followed, he- he-”

Edwin tugged at his hair in frustration, his whole body sharp, taunt lines. His restless hands didn’t know how to settle and he turned around again, his steps frantic.

A clicking of claws on stone and curious croak announced that Monty had finally found them as well. He hopped closer, but had to dive out of the way of Edwin’s upset stomps.

“Who is it?” The Cat asked.

“Crystal,” Edwin’s voice was strangled.

“How surprising,” the Cat drawled, voice dripping sarcasm. “Of course, it’s that messy psychic wannabe. The living can be so near-sighted.”

“He was never going to marry me,” Edwin said, his words loud and precise. “Why would he, when he has a living girl waiting for him?”

“He’s a fool. You deserve so much better, love. Don’t waste your emotions on someone like that,” the Cat yawned, rows of sharp teeth showing. “If he can’t see how amazing you are, it’s his loss, really.”

Edwin stopped, staring hard into the distance. His brows furrowed, but the tight press of his lips eased, parting helplessly.

The Cat knew that face. It was Edwin willing himself not to cry by sheer willpower alone.

“No,” he breathed. “Charles is… so good. Dare I say, the best person I’ve ever met. And that is why…”

That’s why it hurts twice as much. The Cat sighed. He’d known Edwin long enough to finish the quiet parts for him.

“That Charlie boy was suspicious from the start. I mean, who proposes out of the blue? No one knew you were even in there,” the Cat shrugged. His sleek black tail swished a long arc from side to side.

“I cannot figure out how he did it, but the truth is that he found me. If that doesn’t mean anything, it’s the cruelest joke from the universe,” Edwin said firmly.

The Cat rolled his eyes. The self-loathing rolling off of Edwin’s tongue made his skin crawl and fur standing on end.

“Look, some things are just not meant to be,” he said harshly.

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t matter.”

He hopped down and trotted over to Edwin, headbutting his leg. “Would you like to pet me? It’s the best remedy for upset feelings.”

Edwin stood still. The Cat rubbed his warm body on his legs, purring up a storm. He noticed the first salty drop that hit the pavement. Monty dared to approach again and snapped his beak, bobbing up and down for attention.

Neither of them got it. Edwin wiped his face furiously and whirled around, walking away. He tucked himself into a low alcove on the wall, back against it and legs up.

“Why would I ever think he could love me?!”

Edwin cried out. He scowled like the tears wetting his cheeks had somehow betrayed him. He dislocated his skeleton hand from the elbow and stared at it.

“No one could love me. I’m a rotting corpse!” He hissed, hurling the arm away in disgust.

“I’m a bloody, decaying body,” Edwin repeated. His voice was full of hatred but grief was glinting in his red-rimmed eyes.

Monty flapped his wings as he skipped where Edwin’s rejected arm lay abandoned. He pinched his beak around a distal phalanx and started to slowly drag it back towards him.

“What does that matter? Living is just a temporary state,” the Cat pointed out, watching him from afar. “That boy is terribly dumb to think the girl is a better choice, when she’ll be flesh and bones as well in no time.”

“That is the point!” Edwin pierced the Cat with a furious look. “He did not choose her over me, because there was never me. I was never real to him. Whatever we did, whatever we had, he can brush it all off because it never happened.”

The way he gasped was almost a sob. He tilted his chin up, all the anger gone, leaving him raw and broken. His upturned gaze betrayed the thought that was at the back of his throat, hurting, consuming him with misery.

It was real to me.

The Cat knew. He’d seen it on Edwin’s face last night. For seventy years he’d waited and waited for that moment when Charles would find him. And then he did. And Edwin, tired and lonely and lovesick, just let it all go.

Against any better judgment, he had let himself love and believe in it.

It was written all over his face, the silent awe and fervent adoration. He’d never looked at Cat or anyone else like he looked at Charles that night. For a bright, brilliant moment right there he’d trusted, truly, deeply, even if it was foolish.

That Charles would choose him. That Charles would finally be the one who could love him.

The Cat walked over to Edwin and pushed his head under his arm, forcing himself on his lap. Edwin gave in without a fight and just let his hand rest on top of soft fur. The Cat pressed his forehead against Edwin’s rib cage, where his dead heart was enclosed, unbeating yet still able to hope, love and be broken.

“Please, won’t you just go? I want to be alone,” Edwin whispered.

“Of course, dove. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t brood all alone here, out in the cold,” the Cat said.

“I can’t feel cold,” Edwin reminded tiredly. He was staring straight ahead, eyes glossed over.

Monty hopped closer, having brought his arm back. He tilted his head, worried as well, then flapped his wings twice. Edwin didn’t look at him when he mechanically reached for his arm and slotted it back into its joint.

Monty let out a soft caw and nudged his hand once with his smooth beak.

The alcove had a small fountain mounted on the wall in the shape of a skull, water trickling out of its mouth. Above it, an oval copper mirror gave off a faint gleam. Edwin stood up and put his good hand over the cool metal.

“I’m finding the study now,” he said quietly.

The surface under his fingertips rippled like quicksilver. At the end of the road, where he was staring at, the stones in a wall arranged themselves out of the way, uncovering a dark wooden door. It was carved with intricate decorations, topped with a round brass doorknob.

“I’ll see you later,” the Cat called after Edwin and watched as he walked away, sealing himself inside his office.

#dead boy detectives #dbdpromptober2024 #day 14: sorrow #payneland #corpse bride au #cat king #the cat king #edwin payne #monty the crow

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passionateseadruid · 10 months ago

Text

Snake King’s Bride 8

Holiday havoc part 2

Notes:

Warning! This chapter has talk of sensitive topics such as very dubious consent! Read at your own risk!

You felt… numb.

Why did it have to happen this way. Here you were laying in the aftermath of last night, laying in a pool of your own tears. Claw marks littered the headboard. His scent engulfed you. And after everything he’d left you to deal with the aftermath on your own.

"What's the point of any of this? Why don't we just go down to Vegas and fucking elope? He's already ruined my life. He's taken my best friend and family away from me. And now… now he's taken the one thing I had left."

"Ma'am?" A voice came from the open door. It was Styx, they looked concerned, and very very nervous.

"Styx!" You pulled the cover up to your neck. They sighed and walked into the closet and after a few seconds they walked out with a huge robe. They gently sit next to you and pulled the robe around you. "You don't have to." You insisted.

"Please don't make this difficult ma'am."

"You really shouldn't. I'm sure Lucifer doesn't pay you nearly enough to deal with his bullshit." You smiled half joking, at least trying to make yourself feel better.

"He doesn't pay me at all." They mumbled turning towards the door, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"What?"

"It's... complicated. I can't work anywhere else. So in exchange for eternal service he gifts me the comfiest clothes and feeds me the finest foods and keeps a very expensive roof over my head." They explained.

"More like an unpayable debt over your head." You mumbled and scoffed it off.

"His highness has asked that I accompany you to the shopping center today to pick out presents for his party next week. The gift from Mr. Fizzarolli came in last night. I'm a bit confused why it was already wrapped inside but I'll not push it." Styx bowed and lead you into the closet.

"Thanks. Hey do you know who I have to get gifts for? I assume I have to get one for Charlie. Should I get one for Renesme and Nina? Do I get one for you?"

"You have one for Lucifer. You'll need one for Princess Charlie, each of the other 6 deadly sins, you'll probably want one for Mr. Fizzarolli, Miss Bee's boyfriend will not be joining us this year, and the rest of the sins do not have dates for the evening. It should just be you and Mr. Fizzarolli."

"Alright! Let's get going!" You walked out of the closet. You dressed in a black jumper and a dark gray and light gray striped shirt underneath.

Styx took your hand and they grabbed their necklace. A portal opened before you and you two stepped through and into a desolate corner of the mall.

"Wow." You smiled at them excitedly.

"Yeah um, His- his majesty gave me a magic crystal to teleport around Hell."

"Speaking of Lucifer how long have you been working for him."

"Oh goodness. Since Princess Charlie was young. I was practically the one who raised her. Lilith was to busy singing and flirting and fighting with His Highness. She'd insist that the princess shouldn't be around him because he's self destructive but she wouldn't put in the work to raise her daughter."

"So... speaking of Lilith. She is or was human right?"

"Correct."

"So Charlie is half human. Did she..."

Styx seemed to pick up on what you were trying to ask. "Princess Charlie was a menace during her adolescent years. She threw a box of feminine products at her father. Then she started going out with the son of her fathers former closest friend to spite him. She also went through the emo phase after the two of them broke up." They laughed.

You smiled at them. "It's nice to see you so emotional for once instead of so stoic."

You two walked around the mall trying to find things for your friends (and the other people you were obligated to buy gifts for). First you went to a jewelry store and bought pink and purple ‘hers and hers’ flower necklaces for Renesme and Nina. You may not know them all that well but you do know that the two of them love each other. You ended up getting some rose gold designer sunglasses for Fizz. Nina walked around getting gifts for the other sins for you. You didn't care what Styx got for the Sins. You were more focused on what to get for Pluto and Styx. You decided to play it safe and Pluto a paper $100 gift card to any store in hell. If it’s not clear you’re just giving her a 100 bucks.

"Hey Styx since we're here what would you like."

"Oh! Ma'am, you don't have to get me anything."

"Please? I really want to get you something as a way to thank you for all the nice work you do."

"Ma'am that's… really not necessary." They stared at you as you gave them the puppy dog eyes. "Fine, if you don't mind I'd really like some knitting needles and yarn. I could make you something in return." They smiled.

"Styx…" you put your hands on their shoulders. "I'm not Lucifer. This isn't a transactional thing. Do whatever you want with them but please remember that this is your gift not mine." You gently smiled and took their hand.

////////////////////////////////////////

As the party started and guests started to poor in you smoothed out your dress. It was mainly white but it cinched up in places around the skirt to show of the red petticoat underneath. The bodice was a Queen Anne neckline and there was some red accents on the sleeves.

First to show was unsurprisingly Satan as he was the closest Sin to the pride ring and to the King of Hell in general. Then surprisingly Ozzie and Fizz showed up next. After that Bee dragged Belphy through the door, her legs under Bee’s arms, kinda like sadness and Joy from Inside Out. And then Mammon showed up. And finally Levi made a grand entrance.

"Okay everyone is here, I'm going to go get some food." Before you could listen to Lucifer’s protests you had rushed to the living room where the reception was being held. As you looked through the snack bar you felt someone bump into you someone tall.

"Sorry." Your eyes went wide. There is only one person who'd apologize in hell. You turned around and say Charlie smiling at you. "Hey! I didn't see you in the Foyer. Dad said you ran off to get a snack. Merry Sinsmas." She walked away.

You weren't expecting Charlie to be at the party.

"This is bad." You froze.

"Hm? what do you mean?" Fizz asked. You could hardly understand him with the fudge he was stuffing into his mouth though.

You pulled him away from the living and into the butlers pantry. You let him go and slammed the door to get some privacy and started to rub the anxiety out of your temples.

"Woah! Hey! Look you're cute but I don't swing that way."

"Please for one second could we not joke about this. I'm less than 30 minutes away from dying at the hands of my Naughter." You whisper yelled. Moving from your temples to the crick in your neck. You could feel your pulse beating irregularly.

"What?"

"My Naughter. Because she's Not my Daughter."

"Yet." He shoved the last bit of fudge from his plate into his mouth. "While I'm in here you don't mind if I raid your guys chip stash do you?"

"Go ahead. It's his anyway. I don't care what you do with it." You leaned forward onto one of the bottom cabinets. He stretched his robotic arms up and sifted through the upper cabinets.

"They might not be yours yet but after tonight they probably will be. Tonight is the night that Charlie will finally come to see you as a new parental figure. Either that or she'll straight up kill you for disrespecting her dad." You felt your pulse pick up as sweat dripped down your neck. You wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to cry. "Mmh mmh! These are delicious! Sorry, Mammon doesn't let me snack even when I'm off his dime. Ozzie on the other hand practically mother birds food down my throat."

"Have your fill. At least one of the last things I'll see is my friend being truly happy. Doing what he wants to do."

Fizz stopped munching down the chips and looked you in the eyes. "Listen. The little princess might be upset but she's known for being the sweetest most forgiving being in Hell. I'm sure if you just explained to her that he kidnapped you-."

"And kinda forced himself on me." You admitted, cutting Fizz off.

"He did what?" His eyes were like saucers.

"Well… kinda? I mean… it's complicated. We were at a party with my family and then I got mad at him because he was traumatizing my niece and nephews and then I wanted to break off this engagement and I thought maybe I could get away while I was on earth. Then he appeared through my fireplace and was absolutely ready to murder my family so I made a deal with him that if he didn't hurt my family he could do whatever he wanted to me."x

"Firstly, that explains what Ozzie meant when he said something off handedly about you and the king getting frisky. Secondly, Red that's blackmail. There is no black and white to this situation. There is a clear and present danger in your life." He squeezed your shoulders and used his contact name for you.

"Yeah and right now it's name is Charlie Morningstar. She's going to kill me."

"Look everything’s going to be fine. I'll talk to Ozzie after the party about seeing if you can stay with us for a while. I'm here for you, everything is going to be okay." Fizz hugged you. You found yourself falling into his warm embrace, and for the first time in hell… you cried. You wrapped your arms around his skinny body so tight it felt like he was going to pop. You were safe. If only for a moment.

////////////////////////////////////////

"Froggy! Where are you?" A voice called.

"Shit!" Fizz whispered in a sacred tone. "It's Ozzie. Dry your tears and stay in here okay?" Fizz opened the door right as Asmodeus was opening it from the other side. "Hi Oz."

"I thought you already came out of the closet?" Oz teased. "Hey lil hen!" He looked over to you, and took Fizz's hand.

"That's new." You remarked and followed behind them.

"Well female ducks are called Hens." Oz smiled at you.

…

"Oo! Looks like we're just in time for the end of the presents." Oz informed you both. They must've started early because you know that you and Fizz weren't in the pantry for half an hour.

"Aw. A wreath for the hotel! How thoughtful." Charlie smiled at your gift.

"Honey come here I want to hug you once I see what you got me."

"I'm good where I am." You said with a slight tremble in your voice. Charlie frowned and Furrowed her brow.

Lucifer opened the box and his face fell when he saw what it was. "You got me a white dildo, bedazzled with the words go fuck yourself written on it." And Go Fuck Yourself is in all capital letters too.

"Yep." You felt like you were going to pass out.

"That's disgusting." Charlie glared at you.

"To be fair I was going to get him a single sock instead but I couldn’t find anywhere that sold one sock and I didn't want to throw away money and throw away a sock."

"Can you please have a little more class than that? You're going to be the queen of Hell soon."

"Oh yes because if Hell's known for anything it's there upstanding citizens."

"Those are my people!"

"No, they're not! Your people are currently being treated like chew toys for the amusement of the rich. Your people are being abused and unfairly paid, sometimes not even being paid, while you and your father are profiting from their pain. Your people are the Imps and the Hellhound, and all the other Hellborn. Why is it that everyone in this room out ranks me in terms or raw power and/or social status and yet, I'm the only one who has actually done something for the Imps. So I restate what's on this dildo here. Both of you can go FUCK yourselves! After all the pain I’ve been through for the past 4 months, I’ve had enough! Good night and I hope you have a Merry Fucking Sinsmas!"

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