#he disappeared but he also cured aids. hard to say which

[natequarter]

To commemorate an anniversary date, Sarah had yearly meetings with Harry Sullivan. By 2006, Harry had been missing in action for some time, though Sarah kept coming to the same place they used to meet. [...] In 2010, Sarah recalled that Harry had worked in developing vaccines that had saved thousands of lives.

In June 2015, though, Harry was alive and discovered a possible cure for HIV in blood taken from David Daniels.

all this for a guy who initially existed mostly to serve as a misogynistic foil to sarah

[temperancecain]

Hello, everyone!!! I wanted to share a Vampire Diaries Elejah Season Three Canon-divergence fic I've been working on for quite some time now. This is the first chapter, and if you enjoy this, there's twelve more on Fanfiction.net. I'm also going to be cross-posting onto AO3 as well. I hope you enjoy!!!

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Nothing Goes As Planned Chapter One: People Say Goodbye

She had everything planned. Every single detail figured out perfectly, an intricate web of cover stories and truths mixed in. Elena gave it a few days, long enough to make sure Katherine had been telling the truth about Klaus' blood being the cure for a werewolf bite, and then she began the process of saying goodbye to life as she knew it. While it may look easy in movies and on TV, Elena realized just how hard it was to disappear, especially if your face is not your own and you're supposed to have died in a magical ritual. Therefore, she didn't say goodbye completely.

First of all, she had to go to Bonnie, explaining what she intended to do. That went as well as one could expect. As in: not great. But they were best friends, and they'd always support each other, so Bonnie complied to Elena's wishes and cooked her up a few things so that she could stay off of Klaus' radar for as long as possible. The first was a bracelet, fashioned after Katherine's -her daylight one- so that anyone who came into contact with her would sense she was a vampire, and not human. The second was a locator spell blocker, so if a certain vampire -cough, cough, Damon- tried to find her, which he inevitably would, the only witch who could locate her would be Bonnie and there was no way she'd ever give in to Damon, no matter what stunt he pulled, she promised.

The next was a new car, happily provided by Caroline, who likely got it through compulsion-aided channels, as well as a new phone, completely untraceable.

Although she wouldn't be able to touch her inheritance until she officially turned eighteen in a few weeks, Elena luckily had enough money put by to find her travels, although she had no idea just where this crazy plan of hers might lead her. Surprisingly, in all that time, no one cottoned on to her plan who wasn't already in the know, despite how obvious it all was.

Elena was going after Stefan.

She refused to sit back and let Damon take the reins on this one, refused to watch the days go by and let this agonizing worry eat away at her. If she was going to find him, she'd have to do it herself, Klaus and his threats be damned. Stefan would do the same for her, if their roles were reversed. She knew he would; she knew it in her heart, her bones. Elena had lost too many people to let the love of her life go, too.

The time drew nearer to the date she'd picked out, June 2nd. Elena began getting extra gas and spare tires so she wouldn't have to worry about stopping when she got on the road. Shifting her wardrobe into duffel bags, taking only the barest of essentials, which unfortunately didn't include her beloved journal, but she planned to get a notebook on the road, something she could use to help her map out her thoughts as well as serve as a place to record her progress with finding Stefan. She'd already gleaned as much as she could from Damon, having found his little research project fairly easily. It seemed the elder Salvatore hadn't learned from his whole 'Moonstone in the soap dish' debacle when it came to hiding places. His closet? Seriously? Then again, it's not a place Elena would exactly be familiar with, and she might not have peeked in there at all if Damon hadn't fallen asleep on the couch one night and she'd gone looking for a blanket to put over him, so maybe she wasn't giving him enough credit. But she'd found it nonetheless.

It had hardly been two weeks, not time at all, and yet Klaus had managed to leave a pile of bodies in his wake. Figures.

She told Jeremy and Ric the night before over dinner. Her stepfather threatened to chain her to her bed if he had to, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew he couldn't stop her, knew she was smart and kind and brave and would fight to the bitter end for those she cared about, as she had cared for him these last few weeks since Jenna died. At least she promised to call. Jeremy was tight-lipped and stoic, but while she was brushing her teeth he broke down and begged her not to go. Her heart broke in that moment, all over again. She hated to leave him, she hated it, but none of this would have happened if not for her. Klaus wouldn't have happened if not for her, and she knew if she didn't do something to try and assuage this guilt in her chest she'd go mad, and this was the only way how.

"Would you do it for me, Jer?" Elena had asked him, toothpaste still clinging to her cheeks like tears, tears she refused to let fall, lest they crumble her resolve. "Would you do it for Bonnie, if she'd been the one Klaus took?"

"Of course I would. You don't even have to ask that."

"Exactly. It's time I call the shots when it comes to my life. Starting with this."

She tried explaining it all to Matt, but he'd been reluctant to be clued in on her plans, trying to stay out of the supernatural as much as possible. It stung, considering how close they'd been all their lives, but she respected his decision nonetheless.

Saying goodbye to Damon was harder than she thought it'd be. These past few weeks, they had grown closer, their pain over Stefan uniting them like never before. For the first time, his walls were down around her, and Elena mourned the fact that they would go right back up, and grow, once he realized she'd gone.

They had decided to watch a movie, a romance of all things. She sat beside him on the couch, her legs touching his, laughing at the ridiculousness that was eighties fashion.

"I don't think it's that bad," Damon remarked, gesturing to Adam Sandler's pale blue suit as he crooned into the microphone. "I saw worse in my day."

"I bet you loved the eighties," Elena smiled, grabbing some popcorn from the bowl. In truth, her stomach was knotted so tightly that the thought of eating was immensely off-putting, but she had to act normal, like nothing was wrong. It seemed she was always acting.

Damon shook his head. "Nah. The eighties was more Stefan's style. I'm sure he was the first person in line at the cinema to watch The Breakfast Club, the dork."

"Hey, I take offense to that! Breakfast is a classic, and therefore beyond reproach."

Using his vamp speed, he snatched the popcorn away from her, pelting her with stray kernels as he yelled, "So not! I won't stop until you admit it!"

"Well, then, I guess you're gonna run out of popcorn."

Fifteen minutes -and a carpet littered with sugar- later, the two were back on the couch, dusting off their clothes.

Damon broke the silence unexpectedly. "Thank you," he murmured, taking her hand in his.

Elena paused. "For what?" she asked breathlessly.

"For always being able to make me laugh. For not letting me spiral these last few weeks. I don't think I could have done it without. Heck, I know I couldn't. You really are something, you know that?"

God, why did he have to make this so God damn hard?! Why couldn't he have stayed all villain-y and snarky? Why did he have to have such a great heart under all that leather and piercing blue eyes? And why had it taken Stefan leaving to realize what a great friend he was?

Why did her life have to be so hard?

She squeezed back and murmured, equally soft, "I think you're really something too, just so you know. Don't ever forget that."

Those were the words she left him with, the words that swirled in her mind, stuck on repeat, as she placed her bags in her new car, gave Jeremy, Ric, Bonnie and Caroline, Tyler -who wouldn't stop shooting looks at the blonde all night, the blonde who had supposedly started spilling all of Elena's secrets to- and Matt one last hug before she shut the door of her childhood home, the click of the lock seeming to reverberate through her bones, pound in her heart, and within a blink shed started the car and was pulling out of the driveway, making her way into the darkness of the night without looking back.

Yes, she'd had everything figured out, every detail under control. But this was the life of Elena Gilbert, supernatural doppelgänger and magnet of all things magic, so of course nothing was going to go as she'd planned. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't a bad thing.

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Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you decide to read the rest.

Temperance Cain.

[valhallanrose]

The Red Plague

The art above was created by Nix Hydra, and can be found in the Minor Arcana Art Book (or where I got it - off the fandom wiki page, because who’s going to stop me)

Much of Zelda’s story in the non-apprentice timeline delves into the plague before, during, and in the aftermath of Vesuvia, and I wanted to compile my lore and headcanons for it in one place before I delve into her story fully. I will incorporate as much canon as possible, but given that that isn’t a large amount of info, a lot of this is based off research and personal worldbuilding. 

CWs for discussions of disease, death, body horror, I guess spoilers but I’m surprised if it is for anyone considering how the info is everywhere in game in all routes. This is also, again, personal headcanon and I don’t expect it to fall in line with everyone’s thoughts on the plague.

The Timeline

I’m going to go with a comprehensive timeline first, and this part is all based on canon information. I’ll try and provide as many sources as I can as well, but some of this is pulled from multiple books and I might forget exactly where something came from. 

As we learn in the Lucio tale, Dawn of the Grub, Lucio strikes up a deal with the wyrm of pestilence (Vlastomil) - his parents’ hearts in exchange for a disease that will allow Lucio to kill them both. The Lucio brought the disease back to the tribe, which weakened his father enough for Lucio to kill him. His mother Morga, however, fights off the disease, referring to it as a ‘summer cold’, and Lucio flees the tribe and joins a traveling mercenary band which allows the plague to spread. 

I don’t have a particular reason why Morga would have survived the plague. Her sprites in the game never show any sign of the plague that are generally acknowledged - no red sclera, no veins, no signs of weakness, so on and so forth. The best theory I can posit is that Morga either genuinely had a summer cold, or that the plague only took hold in Lutz rather than them both. Either way, unsatisfying, but we’re going to call Morga the exception and not the rule. 

Because Lucio did not fulfill his end of the bargain with Vlastomil, the plague continued to spread, following Lucio as he traveled the continent. This is also the point where the beetles appear - more on them later. 

The implication in the game is that the disease reached other countries and areas, but the next canon mention of the Red Plague’s spread occurs in Portia’s route, book X - Wheel of Fortune. A map is discussed where dates, places, and sightings of the plague are noted by Julian in his study of the plague - the Painted Fields, Blue Mountain Ridge, and Annyala Gate are all names that arise. 

Nasmira recognizes the name of Annyala Gate and points out that Nazali was at that battle, in which a band of mercenaries was sighted - and their leader needed an arm amputated, which is confirmed to be Lucio. Nadia states that Lucio came to Vesuvia not long after that battle, and the next time the Plague was seen was in Vesuvia. 

It is never seen again outside Vesuvia, and this brings us to the three years before the game, where Lucio’s ‘death’ heralds the end of the plague, and it is never seen actively again in the Arcana world. 

The headcanons I have are to help establish a solid timeline. Dawn of the Grub tells us the deal is made on Lucio’s 18th birthday, and I personally believe that Lucio’s death occurred on his 40th birthday, giving us about 22 years of time for us to work with for the spread of the plague. 

Some more headcanons mixed with canon:

Lucio is newly titled Count in the tale Travel at Night. Based on personal age headcanons, this tale probably occurs at minimum 17 to 18 years pre-canon, putting Asra at (at most) 10/11, Muriel at 14/15, and Lucio at a startling 22/23. It could occur later, as art style can influence perspective on age, but Muriel and Asra really don’t feel like they could be much older than that. 

During his mercenary days (sometime between the ages of 18 and 22/23) Lucio was contracted by the former Count of Vesuvia, Count Spada. This battle occurs at Annyala, mentioned above, and is the battle where Lucio 

At a certain point, Lucio was contracted by the Count of Vesuvia at the time, Count Spada, for a battle where he "made a name for himself." Story implications indicate that this was the battle during which he lost his left arm. It was amputated by Julian to prevent his death from blood loss. After he won the battle for Count Spada, he became friends with the Count and privy to secrets about Vesuvia and the Palace. Spada would eventually name Lucio his heir, and upon his death, Lucio earned rulership of Vesuvia. 

The plague eventually appears and ravages Vesuvia’s population

Plague patients are sent to the Lazaret away from the city and cremated, then scattered on the beach. 

Lucio contracts the plague and defies the average lifespan of those who contracted it by lasting a few months rather than 3-10 days.

Lucio dies on his birthday, not of the plague but as a result of the ritual he was attempting to gain a new body.

I tried to map most of that out here, and wow, what a sad little diagram. Nix Hydra, y’all are cowards for not going hard on this. I, however, am not, and I am about to go more apeshit than I already have. 

The Spread

Cracking my knuckles on the history degree, baby, I’m borrowing some real life inspiration from across multiple time periods to tie all this together. 

I personally think the whole “Oh, the plague arrives wherever Lucio goes and disappears when he leaves��� thing is a copout, and we’re drop kicking that out a window. 

I do believe, as canon states, that the plague follows Lucio. It spreads obviously to regions he visits, but I don’t think it just disappears when he leaves. I really, really want to believe someone would have been smart enough to see the connection if the plague suddenly appeared and was later yoinked out of existence as soon as Lucio left town every single time it cropped up somewhere way sooner than it was noticed in canon. 

I don’t think the plague was as isolated as the game implies, and when it was in Vesuvia, it was probably also elsewhere. The epicenter was Lucio, of course, so Vesuvia faced the worst of it, but I think there would have been pockets with much smaller numbers in other parts of the world. 

Earlier I mentioned a few locations cited in Portia’s route as to where the plague had been before Vesuvia - the Painted Fields, Blue Mountain Ridge, and Annyala Gate. I think once these areas were hit with the plague, it would have continued to spread even after Lucio left. Across multiple routes, it’s made clear that the only ‘cure’ to the plague is Lucio’s death, which is why Julian had intended to kill Lucio after making his deal with the Hanged Man. The lack of Lucio’s presence would have kept the plague from continuing to escalate, but in these regions, it probably would have spread when the region’s people attempted to relocate, or ceased when the population died out. 

Annyala Gate, or the Great Gate, is a location I can dive a little deeper into. It’s the last location the plague was sighted before Vesuvia, and because it ties into my OC Zelda’s storyline, I have many a thought. 

Lucio is in Annyala sometime between year 1 and year 4/5, though I believe it’s on the later end of that spectrum, so let’s say year 4 to clearly predate his title as heir to Vesuvia. For reference, here is a map of the Great Gate as provided by the art book: 

Jeebus. Terrible photo quality. Ah, well, on we go. 

The Great Gate is situated between the Sea of Persephia (left) and the Salty Sea (right), and as the map currently stands, is the only point on land that gives access to the southern part of the world map. In this area in particular, I feel like a number of factors would have kept the plague alive long after Lucio left. 

Narrowest point on the world map for transport of goods between ports and seas, which would be a more efficient route than traveling around the continent to reach the same point

As previously stated, this is the only known access point to the south, and travelers heading through this area could possibly be carriers of the plague or catch the plague from the area 

The only way for the plague to stop would be with the death of Lucio, so once it was inflicted upon this area, it continued to spread and infect the population in adjoining areas 

The game repeatedly has emphasized the proximity of the Red Beetles (known harbingers of the plague) to water, such as the Nopali village in Asra’s route and the red stains attributed to them in Julian’s route, and we receive further confirmation in Portia’s route that the water supplies are contaminated during the period of the disease

Fun bit of trivia from Nadia’s route - in the Strength book, Nadia mentions that she remembers the beetles, and that once they had been used as part of a pigment used to dye fabric crimson, which was all the rage in Vesuvia. Should this trend have continued, people wearing fabrics dyed with this beetle pigment most likely would become infected, and thus, the cycle continued. 

I will also point out here that pigments have been used in makeup across history, and I’m sure applying some beetle-laden makeup would have really fucked some people up. Eyeshadows, blushes, lipsticks...contact with any of these areas, particularly the eyes and mouth, indicate a possibility of infection. 

This does, however, leave a fifteen year (ish) period where the plague would have been active in this region until Lucio’s death. Historically, diseases can last such broad swathes of time. For the sake of displaying precedent, I will point out some examples here:

The Black Death, lasting 1346-1353

The third cholera pandemic, lasting 1846-1860

The third plague pandemic, a major bubonic plague like the Black Death, lasting 1855-1960

The HIV/AIDS pandemic, which has been ongoing since 1981 in the US

However, some of the most devastating plagues have lasted only a few years, which I will touch on later when I discuss Vesuvia’s case of the plague. All of the diseases listed above are additionally categorized with death tolls over a million people.

(On a side note, if you would like to contribute to programs searching for a cure for HIV/AIDS, I will suggest donating to organizations like amfAR, the Black AIDS Institute, or the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation, all of which are linked accordingly and deserve your support if you are capable of making a  contribution)

Remaining question: if the last place the plague was seen was in Annyala, more than fifteen years before it was seen in Vesuvia, what the fuck happened during that time beforehand?

Vesuvia - Before the Plague

Here’s the thing. The timeline given by the devs is a fucking mess. So, what I’m going to propose here is almost entirely theory, and I ask that you keep that in mind. 

Lucio ascends to the title of Count by the time he’s about 22 or 23. Spada dies, presumably, and there’s no noticeable mention of his death via plague or the establishment of the court. 

For some fascinating lore on how the government in Vesuvia works, I’m going to point you to this post by @sunrisenfool​, who has one of the biggest brains and is gracious enough to allow me to reference their work a little for this one. 

I don’t think the court as we know it existed when Lucio became Count. I agree with sunrisenfool here that Valdemar has been the Palace’s cockroach for a while - which was actually also confirmed in the Star book of Portia’s route, in which we see Count Prospero (founder of Vesuvia) summon Valdemar and ask for their aid in creating a city that will never die. The remaining courtiers would be gradually established as time continued on, all demons who struck bargains with the Devil in one form or another placed into positions of power alongside Lucio. We also cannot forget Valerius, who made his own deal with the Devil, and played his own role in this scenario.

We know that Lucio was also a pawn, later on, in the Devil’s agenda to bridge the gap between the main world and the Arcane realms. The ritual discussed in Portia’s Star book is described as a vessel to do just that - 

“...every 777 years, the physical and magical world will collide...the laws of magic will no longer be immutable, and the world will bend to our will...So long as the Countship and canals remain whole, so shall the power to reshape the world. You need only await the conjunction. Perform the ritual and lead the city to glory heretofore unknown. I, Count Prospero, first of my line, declare the founding of Vesuvia. The city eternal. My legacy.” - Count Prospero

It’s confirmed after this scene that the ritual, using the canals as a conduit, opened a ‘door’ so to speak to the Arcane realms. It’s also said there is a three year window to perform this ritual, and that at the time of game canon, we are at the end of that three year window. 

So. Borderline conspiracy time. 

Circling back to the lovely sunrisenfool’s work, I’m going to pull a particular excerpt here:

...the Consul of Vesuvia is the second most important/powerful political figure in Vesuvia, directly after the Count/ess. Aside of the political and civic duties I have already explained, the Consul acts as a “protector” of Vesuvia, albeit not in a paternalistic politically-conservative way (which is how paternalistic policies would be understood in our world). Instead, the Consul is meant to rule the City if the Count is absent or incapacitated, therefore being the subsidiary depositary of the secret of the foundation of Vesuvia, and the importance of it’s Canals.

Lucio makes it pretty clear he doesn’t know much of anything about the ritual during Portia’s Star book, but he was told about it by Spada before his death as it was a secret kept close to the court. That gave him something of leverage, even if he wasn’t aware of it, 

My thought as to why the plague did not spread in Vesuvia sooner is that Lucio had knowledge of this ritual, however minimal, and the Devil needed him alive to eventually use the ritual for himself. So, as Vlastomil (the wyrm of pestilence who granted this curse) was established in Vesuvia as Praetor, the plague was kept at bay for the time being while the city came under the full control of the Devil’s demons. 

I cannot imagine the only person who knows about the ritual is the Count, because that feels like a woefully flawed plan, so I do believe the Consul would have also been privy to such a secret in case the Count was in a position they could not share it due to absence or incapacitation. Basically, a rehash of sunrisenfool’s point, but I digress. 

As the window drew nearer for the completion of the ritual and it became clearer that Lucio knew next to nothing about the ritual and how it worked, the Devil decided to take a different approach. The plague was unleashed once again by Vlastomil, with the goal that Lucio become infected and eventually die, and that Valerius take over the Countship. Lucio no longer was useful to the Devil, and should he be removed from power, someone like Valerius - who knew the purpose of the ritual, who was under the Devil’s bargain by this point - would be an ideal candidate to finish the task at hand. Leverage, it works wonders. 

I don’t think the ritual performed to gain a new body could have been mere chance. I think Lucio knew more than he let on about the canals and the magic in Vesuvia from Spada. Yes, I know the first three were written before Portia, but come on, the timing is insane. He’s no magician, and performing something that complex and magically charged right at the beginning of the three year window when the ritual is supposed to be performed feels far from coincidental. Fight me. 

But, on to what happens in Vesuvia once the plague is free to spread again.

Vesuvia - During the Plague

The first sighting of the plague is in year 20, and I personally believe the plague lasted about two years or 24 months. The period is divided into three ‘waves’ - the first six months, the year leading up to Lucio’s death, and the six months following Lucio’s death. 

The First Wave

The first wave begins when the first known case of the Red Plague is confirmed, and in this period, the spread is rather slow.  

Here is the introduction of the Lazaret, which I do believe is a building that existed before the plague - this is personal thoughts, but the odds of this being the first major disease Vesuvia experienced feel pretty slim, and I do think this was a previously established quarantine that was renovated/expanded for the Red Plague outbreak. In an effort to get ahead of the disease, the space was designated a quarantine, largely staffed by volunteers when the palace seemed to not acknowledge the growing situation. It would slowly begin to increase until the plague boomed at the six month mark, heralding the beginning of the second wave. 

The Second Wave

This is the ‘bad period’ of the plague. I say that loosely, because it’s all bad, but I digress. 

I headcanon that the apprentice dies in the beginning of the second wave, when spread of the red plague rapidly begins to increase and the call goes out for researchers to search for a cure. We know how that story goes, so moving on to the details of this wave. 

There were two groups at this point in the plague - those assigned to research, working out of Valdemar’s dungeon/lab/carnival of horrors studying the plague, and those assigned to the Lazaret, caring for the sick and dying and maintaining the facility. 

I’m going to focus more on the Lazaret for this, as the research aspect is pretty well covered throughout Julian’s route and conversations with him in other routes, and this post is already getting long. 

The Lazaret was home to the dying, where they would be cared for in their final days and eventually cremated. My thought is that the remains of the patients were carefully catalogued in the beginning, returned to families willing to claim them, and those left unclaimed were scattered on the beach at the Lazaret. Later on, as more and more people died, less remains were claimed, leading to the black beaches that still mark the shores of the Lazaret in canon. Often the staff here were a mix of healers, doctors, apothecaries, anyone willing to try anything to ease the pain of such a disease. 

The staff at the Lazaret began wearing layered masks - the plague mask with its herb-stuffed beak, another facial covering beneath for an added layer of protection, and a head covering that sealed the gaps between the mask and the face. They were also required to wear gloves, tight-fitted sleeves tucked inside, and their pants tucked into their boots to reduce the risk of infection through contact. Their days would start in locker rooms on one end of the facility, removed from the patients, and suit up for the day while leaving belongings in the lockers. The end of the shift consisted of showers and disposal of garments to be sterilized, they’d return home in the clothes they came in, and by the time they returned a new uniform would be waiting for them. 

Lucio caught the plague during this period, most likely halfway through. He lasted several months, but the exact length is unknown, aside from he ‘lasted longer than most victims of the plague’ who died between 3-10 days.

I don’t think the averages are entirely accurate. There were most likely some who were asymptomatic until the plague was in very late stages, or those who presented symptoms very early on and survived for long stretches of time. All would die bearing the red sclera, veins, and other symptoms depicted above. Basically, this disease is claimed to be unpredictable, and I think that would also stretch to the duration at which each patient had it. Those who were physically frail likely would have died sooner than those who had been in oprtimal health before the plague, making the times vary rather drastically. I’d suggest perhaps a month at the longest, a few days at the shortest. 

Policy wise - during this period, the ports would have closed, and Vesuvia would have shut down. Nobody in, nobody out, not without rigorous inspection and quarantine before exiting to the city to avoid further spread. Often the only people allowed into the city were doctors from other regions affected by the plague called to help research, but during this year, I would estimate Vesuvia lost easily 30% of its population to the Red Plague. 

The Third Wave

This wave is the period that occurs after Lucio’s death at the Masquerade, three years pregame. I’ll touch a tiny bit more more on this in the next section, but this is where we see the gradual end of the spread of the plague, and the last cases shown in Vesuvia. It’s the end of the plague period, and I give this about six months for the official ‘all clear’ to have been given by those tracking case counts. 

The Lazaret is eventually decommissioned and now sits abandoned, a shadow on the horizon to remind those who survived what had been lost. The city mourned, the gates slowly opened, and gradually, we reach the point of comparative normalcy we see in the game set three years later. 

Vesuvia - The Aftermath

Lucio’s death would, ultimately, mean the end of the plague. Rather than immediately disappearing and all those suffering from it be cured, however, I would be inclined to say that the spread came to a halt. 

The last wave of the plague, in the six months after Lucio’s death, would have been a decrease in new cases until there were no new ones being reported, and the last of the patients who had been infected finally passed. 

The final duties of the doctors at the Lazaret, after all remains are cremated, would have been the incineration of all materials that could not be sterilized. Linens, spare uniforms, unclaimed personal affects, so on and so forth until the time came to return home. I do not remember the exact location, but I am fairly confident of a mention of the MC remembering barrels burning doctor’s uniforms and masks in the days after the end of the plague. It was, for a lack of better words, a purge - an attempt to erase the last physical memories of what the city had endured. 

Events like this are traumatic for all involved. They are painful wounds, and for the rate of death I imagine occurred in Vesuvia, the odds that someone lost no one are slim. There was likely a long period of mourning, and as noted in the present of the game, rarely is the plague spoken of outside of the context of the investigation in the primary routes. 

Many of those medical staff members who survived were those assigned to research at the Palace. The proximity of the staff to the ill at the Lazaret quarantine likely would have made the rate of infection far higher for the caretakers, meaning that often the staff would end up caring for colleagues in their final days. 

Even three years removed, the time of the plague is a raw wound for those in Vesuvia - but I do think the period is fascinating and I love exploring the different facets of it in my own world building. And, well, shameless self promo, but I am eager to write it myself when I get into Zelda’s backstory.

If you made it this far, thank you. Go drink some water or something, idk, wellbeing checkpoint bc what a long ass post

[hannie-dul-set]

DON’T THINK, JUST DO — na jaemin.

SUMMARY. an overthinker, a piece of advice, a sudden confession, and a subtle meltdown.

PAIRING. na jaemin x g.n. reader GENRE. high school! au, f2l, fluff, humor WARNINGS. swearing WORD COUNT. 1.6k TAGLIST. @danishmiilk​ @wownajaemin​ @leejunini​ @astroboy-lele​ @unknown5tar​ @yunoyeol​ @w0nni3wrld​ @charm-art​ @bat-shark-repellant​ @nct-writers​ @czennienet​ @neowritingsnet​ @kpopscape​

NOTE. surprise LMAO take this quick fic that i wrote in a couple of hours after a bathroom apology for being mia this past week, for not keeping my promises, and for my further disappearance within the next few days/weeks because i am, quite frankly, about to mcfreaking die <3 enjoy.

Self study period. Eight in the morning. Everything was normal— seemingly normal— save for the empty spot beside you where your deskmate should be occupying, perhaps pestering you yet again about the importance of eating breakfast if he were here, but he wasn’t. It was odd.

He’s never been late before.

Saying that makes it sound like you were closely knitted with Na Jaemin, the present absentee and your deskmate for about three years, but you couldn’t admit that you were. You couldn’t admit that you weren’t, either. Still, even if you weren’t as bro with him like his members in the school’s dance team, or as involved in his personal troubles as his childhood best friend, but at least you’ve seen the kind of lunch he brings to school every single day for three straight years. That was probably enough to form some sort of bond— though trivial, maybe even feeble, but it was enough.

That was also enough for you to develop an unsurprising crush on him. Your self-awareness was annoying enough to throw away any ounce of denial.

Which was also why you were worrying over your head when he missed the first period, even more so when he arrived like a disheveled zombie midway through the second.

“Na Jaemin,” you greeted his tardy arrival with your eyebrows creasing in worry. He greeted you with a usual good morning and his usual smile— or so he attempted to. But that smile lasted for approximately 0.813 seconds before he fell onto his seat with a contorted groan. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Did you practice too hard yesterday? Gosh, you should know better than to overdo it.”

Jaemin only whined when you reached out to pitifully caress his hair, his gaunt face and evident dark circles down buried in his arms. “I’m so tired.”

Dear lord, what happened to the model student that seemed to shine day in, day out despite his overly packed and strenuous schedule? You frowned, telling him that he should just sleep through the rest of the morning and you’d cover for him, but he rose from his slumped over position and waved you off. 

“I can manage,” he gave you a tired smile. “I already missed a lot by being late.”

“You idiot, are you trying to die?” you huffed, snapping your attention off of him in annoyance. “Wait a minute, why does he look fine? Tsk. Lee Donghyuck were you slacking off while your team members were dancing to death?”

The man in question flinched, dropping his phone with a painful noise onto the table when you turned around and smacked a notebook onto his desk.

“Oi, what the fuck? What would you know when you weren’t even there?”

“Then why do you still look fresh while poor, tired Jaemin over here is—”

“It’s not that.”

You turned back around to the worn out voice beside you.

“I just didn’t get any sleep last night.”

To your surprise, Jaemin was the one who came to Donghyuck’s aid.

Donghyuck’s glare was enough to drill two gaping holes into your skill, and you simply bowed and gave him a sheepish grin in apology before switching your attention lanes back to Jaemin. Not the most embarrassing thing you’d ever done, but shameful all the same. “Then why didn’t you say so— anyway, that’s not the point. Did you stay up playing games again? Gosh, did Lee Jeno force you to rank with him? I swear, you guys should—”

“It’s kinda nice to see you worrying about me,” he chuckled, falling back down into his desk with his arms crossed and looking up at you with an invisible, fond grin. “But it’s not that either.”

Damn your stomach for suddenly deciding to stumble over at that insignificant gesture of his. He wasn’t even doing anything, but look at you. All of a sudden, guilt decided to gnaw at your conscience because while Na Jaemin was barely holding onto his consciousness, you were busy fawning over his charms despite the fatigue. You didn’t deserve to sit next to him.

“I was thinking.”

Your thoughts froze.

“About?”

“Things.”

“Like…?”

“Whether I should do this or not, whether I should just give up or not, whether I’m actually stupid or not...” Jaemin sighed, eyes closed in contemplation, or perhaps finally in drowsiness. You hoped that he’d just give in and sleep. “...those things.”

What could he have possibly been thinking about that the poor boy couldn’t even sleep? Whatever it was— cure that entirely. This was a crime. Maybe you shouldn’t confiscate his thermos of coffee later.

“Aish,” you raked your fingers through your hair, expelling an exasperated sigh. “Na Jaemin, as a professional overthinker, let me give you some professional advice—”

He perked up, eye now a little wider and looking at you in a swirl of interest and attentiveness.

“—don’t.”

And now confusion was thrown into the mix.

“You see, it’s an endless, torturous cycle with the only endgame being regret. You believe that you’re only gonna mull it over for a mere moment, weigh your pros and cons, and come up with a decision after a few minutes of thinking—” you breathed it sharply, shaking your head in faux dismay. “—but the ‘what if’s’ come around and before you know it, it’s already five in the fucking morning and you have to go to school in a few hours looking like a contaminated corpse.”

Jaemin blinked his sunken eyes at you. He wasn’t sure what to say, but somehow your speech full of vigor, confidence, and a ridiculous form of charisma drew out all the exhaustion from his veins. He buried his face back into his arms to avoid looking at you.

“Right?”

He pressed his lips together to prevent a smile from forming too wide, but you wouldn’t be able to see, anyway. “Right, you’re right,” but maybe you could hear it in the tone of his muffled voice.

You grinned, proudly nodding to yourself at his affirmation. “Which is why, before you end up following me into this hidden circle of hell— you should just stop. Don’t think. Fuck impulse control. There’s no time to regret when you’ve already done it. It’s not easy. Absolutely not. But it’s better to just get it over with and deal with the consequences after rather than living in an endless loop. So repeat after me— don’t think.”

Slowly, Jaemin peeked out from his huddled position, sitting up straight and looking right at you.

“Don’t think.”

“Just do.”

“Just do.”

“Perfect! You got it,” you beamed. “Don’t think, just do, okay? I believe in you, Jaemin.”

The advice that was haphazardly spilling from your lips was seemingly a bit crooked in nature— arguably so— but he seemed to be genuinely considering it. Jaemin was silent for a moment, blanking out at the rows in front of the both of you before he softly spoke up, eyebrows scrunched together, his head cocking to the side.

“Should I...?”

“Yeah, definitely! You don’t have anything to lose if you do it, right?” he spared another moment of consideration, and you kept going. “...whatever it is— but that doesn’t matter, just do it. If you do, you wouldn’t lose another night of sleep because of it.”

Self study period went on as is, but luckily you two weren’t the only ones not studying. You left him alone to rest and think about it more while you scribbled down answers for an assignment that was due later— highly contradictory to your suggestion of not thinking, but all was released when you heard Jaemin drop his pen to the table, followed after by a long, deep sigh.

“Alright.”

A bright smile overtook you as you busied yourself with the assignment.

“I like you.”

That smile disappeared with a loud and violent cough.

Oh, what the fuck.

“You told me to just do it, so there, I just did it. I like you,” he yawned as he melted into his books, peering over to look at the utter shock and disbelief in your frozen expression. Jaemin had to hold back a laugh. “You don’t have to follow your own advice— take as much time as you need— but I don’t want you losing sleep over me just as I did over you.”

With that, he decided that this was the best fucking time to finally disappear into sleep. You wanted to scream— the feeling of your throat twisting over itself with the indignant desire to squeeze out something, but there was sharp heat at every breath that prevented you from doing so.

You settled for two words only.

“Holy fuck.”

“Thank you for that quick and eloquent response,” Jaemin flipped over, looking at you with tired eyes and an equally tired smile, but despite all that he was still lively. “At least it wasn’t a blatant rejection.”

You thought that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him when his bangs were messily covering his eyes, but your regret came late when you caught the subtle quirk of the corners of his lips when you looked down at him in your daze. “W—wait, who said anything about rejecting you? How dare you drop that bomb onto me when I’m unprepared? I’m never giving you advice ever again.”

Self study period over. Nine in the morning. The bell rang and before your deskmate of three years, your crush of a little less than that could slip back into the slumber that he’d missed because of you, he managed to speak in a soft voice.

“Take your time.”

© hannie-dul-set, 2021.

[princess-of-inarizaki]

Hello, Can i have a Nekoma, Seijoh and Inarizaki with a reader. She is a analysis specialist and very knowledge about herb, she know how to make medicine and help a person who get injure, disease, sickness and. She is very short (about 4'8 ;-;) and very caring, rarely smile and talk. But she will softly smile and talk to calm person down when they get hurt or panic. Her smile make their day : ❤️💞💓 She help the coach when they have a headache, backache. She literally the school doctor lmao uwu

Hello cutie !! Thank you for the request <3 this is so precious, she seems like this adorable little doctor-chan, and I'd be delighted to write a headcanon for you.

Doctor-chan manager

Characters: Nekoma team, Seijoh team, and Inarizaki team.

Warnings: none <3

Nekoma

So the team hasn't seen you around in school, because you're always in specialised classes that help advance your talents. You're also almost always in the nurses' office, tending to injured and sick patients better than the nurse does.

The students who come in trust you completely, because you have always helped them relieve their pain with your gentle touch and wide array of herbs and natural remedies.

One day, as you are silently applying a balm to the injury of a student, he softly asks if you would be the manager of the volleyball team he's part of.

“they get hurt very easily, and it happens pretty often too. In fact, I think we have two members who are still injured, but their pride just won't allow them to seek help for it.”

You study the boy, who speaks in a soft monotonous tone, with his cat-like eyes and long hair.

You're also weighing the pros and cons of joining the team. Because you're very soft spoken and quiet, rarely showing emotion,it takes longer for people to warm up to you.

But on the other hand, you just couldn't stand to see people getting hurt, especially after knowing you had the power to save them with your talents.

You quietly nod at the boy, who later introduces himself as Kozume Kenma.

He leads you to the gym, where the team was practicing, and when they see this small, adorable girl walking behind Kenma, looking so shy and cute, they just stop practicing.

“are you kenma's girlfriend?” is the phrase you hear most of, until Kuroo, the captain, calms them down.

You quietly explain that you are not kenma's girlfriend, and that you'll be their new manager.

Your eyes swept the team when it fell on Yaku. You wordlessly walked over to him, and gently pressed a small bundle of peppermint leaves to his palm.

“to aid your headaches”, you said softly.

The team was in awe. How could you have known Yaku had headaches, and more importantly, how to cure it?

Kenma smiled, proud to find a great manager for the team, as the rest of the team bowed to you, and made your acquaintance.

They recognised that you didn't like talking or showing expressions, but they were okay with that, since Kenma was the same.

Speaking of which, you get along best with Kenma, because both of you are silent characters, who enjoy the comfort in each other's silence.

But the whole team are all very gentle with you, coming to you anytime they feel discomfort, or face an injury during practice matches.

And every time, you treat them with the bag of herbs you bring with you, and your gentle touch. It soothes and calms them, to have you care for them with such gentleness and love.

Instead of calling you "manager-chan", they call you "doctor-chan", which soars your spirits, because you've always dreamt of becoming a doctor someday.

You smile, the first time Kuroo calls you that, and the team just melts on the spot.

Their adorable, small manager is smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and her cheeks rosy and red. They silently swear that they will play harder than before, and win just for her.

Just to see one of her rare smiles again.

Seijoh

It's Akira who suggests you join the team

After noticing how you excel in biology class, he generally wants to know what you want to be in the future, and you shyly say "a doctor". This causes him to realise you might be able to practice on his volleyball team first.

“we're always getting hurt, and who knows? you might be able to polish your skills faster.”

You think about it carefully before nodding, holding your bag of herbs and natural remedies closer to you.

This was the start of a new journey with new people, and even though you weren't all that good in social situations, you'd try, so that someday your dream would be realised.

When you meet the team in the gym, Oikawa's eyes light up when he sees you. “hey there little cutie. Who are you?”

You're flustered, but remain expressionless. “I'm the new manager, Oikawa-san”

Oikawa is delighted at the prospect of having such a cute manager, but his thoughts are shattered as Iwaizumi spikes a ball to the back of his head.

“don't scare her off or flirt with her, shittykawa”

The team apologize for their captain, and respectfully bow and introduce themselves. You do the same, and as you look down, your eyes rest on Oikawa's knee.

It must hurt really badly, you thought.

After practice is over, you motion for Oikawa to follow you to the bench at the back of the gym. He happily does so, teasing you in the process, only to be met with silence on your part.

After he's seated, you gently undo his knee pad to find bandages beneath it.

Oikawa goes quiet, wondering how you knew. His teasing tone from earlier is fine, replaced with an anxious expression.

You gently wipe aloe mixture on his knee, and rebandage the area, being delicate and careful.

“please take care of yourself, Oikawa-san.” is all you say to him after nodding and walking off. He is touched by your kindness, and impressed by your observance, and expertise at easing his pain.

The rest of the team also experience similar encounters, where you'd take them to the bench at the back of the gym if you ever observe them facing discomfort during practice.

The team always know that the moment they're on the bench with you tending to them, all their discomfort will be eased, and their worries will disappear.

They associate you with a sense of comfort and familiarity, and love how you always seem to know what's the right thing to do.

You have a calming affect on all the members, especially Iwaizumi and Kyotani.

The team want to express their gratitude for all you've done for them, so they search high and low for a book on herbs that you might like, and gift it to you as a thank-you gift.

They will never forget the way you smiled at them, realising it's the first time they've made you smile, and thank you wholeheartedly for being their precious manager doc.

[I don't know if it's canon that Oikawa has a knee injury, but I thought it would be fine to add it into my writing, since it fits the prompt quite well]

Inarizaki

You would be quietly researching herbs and spices in the school garden, when you come face to face with Kita Shinsuke, captain of the school's volleyball team.

He's surprised to see you there, because students aren't usually interested in plants, so he strikes up a conversation with you.

You tell him that you're a specialist at easing pains and injuries with the help of natural remedies.

Kita is extremely impressed, and invites you to be the team manager, where you might be able to further polish your skills, and you readily accept the sensible captain's invitation.

The next day, you follow Kita to the gym, where the team immediately takes a liking to you because you're so small and lovely.

Atsumu ruffles your hair immediately and introduces himself, whilst Osamu nods at you with a small smile.

Suna compliments you, telling you that you have a nice calming smell to your presence, which leads you to unveil your bag, filled with herbs.

Kita explains your talents to the rest of the team, and you do a small demonstration by applying a homemade rosemary, orange and lemon balm on the wrists of the team.

You quietly explain that it would help with their concentration, and true enough, their performance rate increases during the practice session, leaving them feeling revitalised and energised.

They think of you as the ideal manager, and are all very attentive to your needs. They don't think it's fair if it's only you looking out for them and tending to them, and therefore are always observant of you.

Atsumu once notices that the day is colder than usual and drapes his volleyball jacket on your shoulders, engulfing your small frame.

The rest of the team stop to look at you, and their hearts are so warm, they can't help it. The sight of you in their volleyball team's huge jacket is way too adorable.

You give it back to Atsumu at the end of practice, and he's delighted to find his jacket smelling like the mixture of herbs you always smelled like.

The team then start borrowing you stuff often too, because they love it when you return it to them and leave it smelling warm and comforting, exactly like you.

They also know that you don't show your expressions on your face, so it's hard to gauge how you're feeling, but after time and experience, they are able to understand your feelings better, eventhough you don't show it on your face.

You are a lifesaver in their matches, and one instance is when you were able to rid Aran of his muscle cramps, allowing him to make the winning spike.

Atsumu hoists you on his shoulders when they win, and despite all the commotion and excitement, they look up to see you smiling, your eyes shining and small laughs coming out of your mouth silently.

You couldn't help it, they were all just too precious to you.

The team almost sheds a tear after seeing you with that expression of pure joy on your face, and they ruffle your hair gently, thanking you for always being by their side and constantly being a driving force for their achievements.

Kita states that the best choice he's ever made was inviting you to become manager.

You smile softly once again, and retort back in your head that agreeing was your best decision.

Hello hello! I hope that was good. It's one of the softest manager headcanons I've written in quite a while, since I was trying a new style, and I absolutely love it :))

Taglist<3 @k-sakusa-old @osamusriceballs

[nobodyfamousposts]

Missing Interlude - Fu

Be aware that this interlude will contain medical issues and a trip to the hospital.

Wang Fu had known something was wrong.

Since revealing himself as the Guardian and starting her training in all things regarding the Miraculous, Fu and Marinette had developed something of a schedule. Initially, she would come to his shop frequently to assist him during the time he had been decrypting the Grimoire. From there, the visits had continued as he had also spent more time explaining the Miraculous, their powers, and their history. Over time, he found himself coming to rely on Marinette more. He had felt bad for it at the time as he had known it was an added burden for her, but Marinette had taken it in stride and he was proud of her.

But then the day came when she was supposed to come by again, and she never arrived. He was concerned, but at the time had simply assumed that something had come up. She was still young. She had friends. School. Her family’s bakery. Her growing commissions. Other obligations.

But then one day became two. Became three. Became a week. And he couldn’t fight the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. A feeling only proven correct when he passed by her family’s bakery and found its doors closed and the interior filled with officers instead of customers. Further investigation revealed she had gone missing, and he immediately feared...well...a number of things.

What if Hawk Moth had gotten her? What if Marinette had been kidnapped as a civilian and the earrings stolen by an unknown? What if she had been in an accident of some sort? What if...what if…?

He had been terrified. Not just that something had happened to his apprentice or that her knowledge of the Miraculous could have been discovered, though those were certainly among his concerns.

No. His true fear had been the loss of the girl he had come to care for. If things had been different between himself and Marianne, he’d...hoped that he would have one day had a granddaughter like Marinette. He trusted her more than he had thought. And perhaps cared for her more than he should have.

He was considering breaking his own code and making use of one of the other Miraculous to attempt to find her. The motives may have been selfish, but the need was great. There was no telling what could happen to Marinette or the Ladybug Miraculous the longer it took to find them.

“Ladybug! Hey! Hey, Ladybug!”

But he had never gotten the chance.

He had been confused at first. Though he was admittedly more focused on the relief he felt at the sight of her. He simply stared in wonder as he witnessed the scene between Ladybug and two of her civilian friends. Alya and Nino, he believed. The identities behind Rena Rouge and Carapace, he absently remembered. But he was still more taken with the sight of the missing girl before him.

She was there. Safe. And it was clearly the Ladybug he knew. The Miraculous took different forms for each wielder, so it couldn’t be someone else pretending to be her. And even with both the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous active and capable of creating akumas and sentimonsters in her image, Fu prided himself on being able to pick out the true Ladybug earrings.

This was Marinette. But something...something was wrong.

It was in her mannerisms. Her tone. Her stance. Similar...but still different from her normal self. He didn’t quite understand it, but there was something that bothered him about her. So against his initial desire, he refrained from approaching her. Instead, he simply watched.

He continued to keep an eye on her after that. And the more he saw, the more he grew concerned. What was she doing? Why was she transformed? Why had she not returned home? Had Hawk Moth found her? Had someone discovered her identity? Had she been compromised? And if something had happened, why had she not come to him?

But the more he saw...the more concerned he became.

She was wandering the city with no real destination or purpose. She wasn’t avoiding her bakery either, as she had passed near enough to it plenty of times, but she didn’t stop there. She...wasn’t stopping anywhere specific. If she even stopped at all.

She seemed to be searching, though for what he couldn’t say.

Wayzz couldn’t either when he tried to consult him. Much like his user, he knew something was wrong. Though on a deeper level, he sensed that there was something unusual with the current state of the Ladybug Miraculous. It wasn’t an akuma or a sentimonster as far as he could tell, but he insisted that something was different.

They agreed to keep watch. As days passed, he had caught her at points dozing in unusual places. On a roof. In a tree. Never for long. And she never returned to the same place twice. Instead, she just kept moving. To no goal. To no end.

It was...aimless.

He had dared to approach her once. He had wanted to question her. To demand answers. To find out what had happened.

What...just what was she doing?

But in that moment when they had met, it struck him. Just what had been so off about her. It was in the way she gazed down at him.

It was like she didn’t know him at all.

He had proceeded cautiously. Hinting at where she should be without questioning. Not demanding answers, but trying to get a feel for her current state.

But her responses...there was such detachment there. Like she didn’t know what he was talking about. Like the concept of a “home” or “loved ones” was foreign to her.

“Do you not have a life to return to? A family waiting for you?”

“Of course not.”

Her answer had been unsettlingly callous. But...sincere.

It wasn’t true. He knew that.

...but she believed it.

And he felt a coldness in the depth of his heart as she turned and walked away.

After that incident, he had immediately returned to his shop and consulted every means at his disposal. The Grimoire. The kwamis. His own limited knowledge from his memories at the temple.

He continued to watch over Ladybug, and have Wayzz follow her when he could not. But it was only after the fight against the return of Lady Wifi that he had been presented with a clue. And looking back over footage of the previous akuma fight before then that seemed to cement it.

This must have started during the last akuma fight. He did not know if or when Ladybug had been hit, but the timeline matched up that she hadn’t returned to being Marinette since then. He saw the images and video of the Cure taking effect, gathering around and healing everyone who had been affected.

...everyone except Ladybug herself.

The Cure would only work if Ladybug let if. But if she had directed it away from herself, the Loveliness wouldn’t heal her. And if Ladybug had been hit by the akuma, then she may not know she needed to be healed. Except…

Hadn’t the akuma’s power been to erase people?

It would explain Ladybug’s strange state. Her confusion when he attempted to prod her about returning home. Her lack of awareness and purposeless wandering around the city. As well as why her civilian self as “Marinette” wasn’t returning.

She didn’t know she could.

No. Worse. There was no “Marinette” to return to.

If it was a matter of memory erasure like the incident with Oblivio, it shouldn’t have mattered. At most, Marinette would have detransformed and then be wandering the streets with amnesia. Still terrifying, of course, as she would be vulnerable and anything could have happened to her in that state. But at least she could be found.

...but she was still Ladybug. From her presentation and response, it certainly appeared that she hadn’t stopped being Ladybug since that battle. It shouldn’t be possible. Tikki should have given up the transformation by now. The only reason the kwami wouldn’t...the only reason he could think of that she would force the transformation to remain past the time limit would be if detransforming would result in the loss of the user’s life.

From what he had seen of reports, the akuma erased people. Not just their memories, but their entire existence. But if Ladybug had gotten hit, she should have disappeared, shouldn’t she? Her ‘self’ should be gone completely.

“But Master,” Wayzz argued. “What if Tikki had sacrificed Ladybug’s ‘self’ as Marinette in order to preserve her as Ladybug to allow them to finish the battle?”

Fu’s eyes widened.

That was a possibility. It would give them the chance to defeat the akuma and set things right. If Ladybug purified the akuma and cast the Cure, it would restore her original self as Marinette as well. A major loss, certainly. But a temporary one.

...but it hadn’t accounted for the chance that Ladybug would not be healed by her own Cure. Or that she wouldn’t think she needed to be.

That was it, he realized.

Without any knowledge of her ‘self’ as Marinette, Ladybug didn’t know she was incomplete. She likely had no memory of anything from her time as Marinette due to this, which would also explain why she hadn’t tried coming to him for aid. She may not have even known she needed help, much less who to go to for it.

“Then the solution is simple.” He told his kwami. “We need to find Ladybug and inform her to cast the Cure on herself.”

Wayzz smiled brightly. “That’s brilliant, Master! Then Marinette will be returned in no time!”

It was simple.

...it should have been simple.

But as he approached Ladybug with her true name on his lips, he felt an invisible noose settle around his throat.

“Ladybug.”

She stopped and turned to him. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Given her expression, he half wondered if she was capable of it. Or any other emotion.

“Hello again, sir. Is everything all right?” She asked, giving him a cursory glance for any injury or any issue of note.

“I am fine, Miss Ladybug.” He replied. While he wanted nothing more than to just tell her the truth, her lack of recognition meant she didn’t know he was the Guardian and thus likely wouldn’t take him seriously.

He had to proceed cautiously.

“But I did wonder about yourself. These past battles have been hard, but I did notice you did not seem to use the Miraculous Cure on yourself. Are you well?”

She frowned, seeming to be confused by his statement. “It wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t injured.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It can appear that way. But some wounds are not so easily seen though they can be the most dangerous.”

“I see…” Clearly she didn’t. Her frown only deepened. “I am fine though.”

“But you don’t know where to go. You don’t know where you should be.” He countered. “Ladybug only appears in times of need. Outside of akuma attacks or other problems, her appearance in this city is limited. But you have been quite active for a while now. What have you been doing outside of these times?”

She had looked ready to argue with him, but hesitated at his question, looking unsure. “I...sleep. I think.”

“Is there not someone else beneath the mask?” He asked. “The Miraculous are simply items. Tools for the user. Behind every Miraculous user is a human. Even Hawk Moth was someone before he became a villain.”

He stared up at her, questioningly.

“Who were you?”

She faltered. “I...wasn’t anyone before I was Ladybug.” She shook her head as if shaking off the confusion from his remarks. “Perhaps the Ladybug Miraculous works differently.”

“Then how did you know what to do when Stoneheart appeared? How do you know this city and its people? How do you have no knowledge of other instances of the Ladybug Miraculous being active before the present age?”

He just needed her to consider...to be willing to listen.

“How do you know these things?” She demanded. She grew agitated, but she was at least paying attention to his words. Now she knew that he had knowledge of things that no normal citizen should. This would make him someone of note. Someone whom she could, if not trust, then at least listen to.

It would work.

He knew it would work.

Because...

“Because I know you, Ladybug.”

He smiled warmly.

“I know you, M—”

He felt it then. What he had thought was his imagination earlier made itself known as magic tightened around his throat, cutting off his air and forcing him into a coughing fit.

“Sir?! Is something wrong?”

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

Something formed around his throat. Harder than steel and lighter than air. It couldn’t be seen, only felt. And he recognized in horror the magic that coalesced around him, cutting off his words and forbidding so much as a sound.

No.

Just one word.

Much like the kwamis, the Order of the Guardians had rules and laws that bound them. For the kwamis, it bound them to their respective Miraculous and the commands of their owners. For the Guardians, it bound them to the Miracle Box and to ensuring its safety above all. For both, it bound them to their secrets.

After all, the Order were not jailers for the kwamis and Miraculous. They were Guardians. Meant to protect the Miracle Box and the amazing beings hidden within. How could there be trust if they were not held by the same rules?

Fu himself had taken the oath when he first joined the Guardians. Regardless of his feelings at the time, he had agreed to the duty despite knowing what it would mean. At the time, he thought it meant loneliness away from his family to bear a heavy responsibility he never wanted. To give up most of his life to a cause he was drafted into. He regretted it even then.

...never did he regret taking that oath more than now.

“You—”

“Sir?”

“Y-you are—”

“Sir? Are you all right?”

He had to say it. He desperately tried to force the word out. But so much as a breath of the first syllable was caught in his throat, choking him.

For the kwamis, this ancient magic transformed words themselves from sound into a physical form. It looked humorous, certainly, but they described the process as unpleasant. Kwamis were magical creatures who were—if not used to the magic in question, at least accustomed to magic. They were capable of handling the magical backlash. Built for it, even.

Humans weren’t.

He had never attempted to reveal a Miraculous user before. In the century since the loss of the Order, he had never needed to choose other users for this to ever be an issue. Even Marianne, as much as he had loved her, had never donned one of the sacred relics. Perhaps it was part out of his lingering fear from his past mistake that led him to be the last Guardian. But perhaps in its own way, it was out of selfishness and a hope that if a time came when he would pass on Guardianship, that Marianne would be a memory that would remain.

Perhaps if he had experienced it before, he would have realized sooner what would happen here. He could have done this differently. Introduced himself immediately and presented Wayzz as proof. Then tell her she needed to cast the Cure on herself. Find a way to explain it that didn’t involve directly infringing on the oath and resulting in this circumstance.

“Sir?!”

He had acted rashly. Too rashly.

And now, it was all he could do—all he could focus on. To simply say it. Shout it. Gasp it out. Make her hear it.

Just that. One. Word.

He clutched at his throat, trying to breathe past the coalescing combination of magic and sound. He barely heard Ladybug speaking to him. So intent on fighting the magic and telling her the key.

But...he was only human.

And in the end, magic won.

He found himself kneeling on the ground, gasping for air. His vision going dark, he only made out blurred images around him. Lights. Figures. Colors. Blue and red. Black and white. Red and black.

And the red. The red was leaving.

He tried to speak. Tried to stop her. But there was too much chaos. Voices were talking to him. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. Didn’t really comprehend what they were doing. Only that they were moving him as he suddenly found himself on a flat surface and brought him into a smaller cubical area. The wide door was closed behind them as they entered. The figures continued to ask questions.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

His eyes closed.

He was such a fool.

[curls-cat]

the house creaks a lullaby

For @grimmtober day 2: haunted house. Also on AO3 and ff.net under the same name, as per usual. Not linking so people can, y’know, see it. Sabrina/Red established relationship.

When Baba Yaga leaves the chicken house to Red in her will, everyone is surprised. Surprised, first off, that the crone has disappeared (not died, Daphne assures them. Just gone off somewhere). And surprised, again, that she had a will at all, that she didn’t just take all her stuff with her. And surprised, lastly, that she’d leave the place to Red, of all people.

Even Red was surprised.

“I didn’t know you two even knew each other,” Sabrina says. She tries hard not to make it sound accusatory. Just because they’re A Thing doesn’t mean they need to tell each other everything.

“She’s been trying to help me deal with the Wolf,” Red says.

And that makes sense. It makes sense that Red wouldn’t tell Sabrina, too. They don’t talk about the Wolf a lot. Red doesn’t like it, any more than Sabrina likes talking about the way her parents lied to her for a decade. They both have people that have hurt them. They’re both learning how to live with those people. And it’s still hard, even though they’re adults now.

Sabrina doesn’t ask how that went. If Red wants her to know, she’ll tell her. If she doesn’t want her to know, Sabrina can live with the worry. What she does say is, “So are you going to move in?”

Red shrugs. “I might as well. It’s weird, now that Granny’s gone. The house doesn’t feel right.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina says. She gets it. When she comes home from college, she tries not to stay overnight. Red comes to her more often than not.

“Do you want to help me move in?” Red asks, and she sounds kind of hesitant. “I thought maybe…” She doesn’t finish the thought.

Sabrina thinks she knows where it’s going, though. They’ve been seeing each other for nearly five years, now. Red has a drawer of stuff in Sabrina’s dorm, and a toothbrush. Her hair product is in a little caddy. Sabrina’s roommate has Red’s phone number. If Red has her own place…

Well.

Sabrina and Red are, in a lot of ways, a package deal these days.

*

“I swear this place is haunted,” Sabrina says. She’s brandishing a mop like a club, having just jumped nearly a foot in the air when a bookshelf full of jars of slimy Somethings fell over.

They’ve been trying to clean out the chicken house for about a week now, and it’s as bad as Sabrina had anticipated. Baba Yaga lived in freaking filth. The bathroom is buried in so much grime Sabrina can barely see where the sink ends and the wall starts, and the food in the fridge probably predates refrigeration in general.

“I don’t think ghosts are real,” Red says, but she doesn’t sound as sure as she did a week ago.

“Oh, they definitely are,” Sabrina says. “I’ve been possessed. It sucked.”

“You’ve been what?” Red demands, whipping around to stare her girlfriend in the face. She slips and falls into the slimy things, and hisses. She’s cut herself on one of the broken jars.

Sabrina heads for the first aid kit. It’s not the first time they’ve needed it. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” she says as she rips open an alcohol swap and reaches for Red’s arm. “When we went to the city, back the first year I lived in town? When Puck needed healing.”

Red nods. “Daphne told me about it,” she says. They can talk about Puck without it being weird for either of them, now. It probably helps that he’s not around a lot.

“Well, Oberon got murdered while we were there, and we were following all these stupid leads to find out who killed him.” As Sabrina talks, she wipes off Red’s cut. She needs to use more than one. Red’s arm has some sort of green jelly on it. “One of ‘em was Scrooge, and he did some sort of spiritual conduit, and it turns out I’m sort of a natural medium or something. Ghosts can possess me easier than other people.”

“Great,” Red says, and she sounds grumpy. “One more thing to watch out for.” Red has made it her personal mission to protect Sabrina from all the things in the world that want to take advantage of her. It makes Sabrina’s heart melt every time she does it, even though she’s tried to point out that she can take care of herself. There’s only so many times you can hear ‘but you shouldn’t have to’ in response to that before it makes you want to cry, it turns out.

“I think we should be a little more concerned about you getting some weird disease from this gunk,” Sabrina says. “I’ve been possessed a grand total of once in twenty-one years. Which is probably less time than whatever this stuff is has been fermenting.”

“I’ll be fine,” Red says dismissively. She swipes up some of the gunk and gives it a sniff. “I think it’s calendula, actually.”

“What?”

“For bruising. An old cure. My mother used to use it.” Red’s voice only barely breaks on the word ‘mother.’

Sabrina squeezes Red’s forearm, a sign of solidarity. She covers the cut in gauze, then wraps it with tape a few times. “Come on,” she says at last. “Get out of this mess so I can clean it up.”

*

Cleaning out the house takes a long time. They can’t do it all themselves, either, because Sabrina can’t touch the magic items. They still sing to her, even all these years later, a dangerous call for a power she doesn’t even want, really, much as it draws her in. And Red is always afraid of what’s going to interact with the already dangerous concoction of Wolf-and-girl-and-witchcraft inside her. So anything that calls Sabrina’s name is picked up with a very long stick and thrown into a bag for Daphne to pick over. She’ll be ecstatic, when they finally hand it to her.

In the meantime, they clean, and things keep falling over. It’s kind of helpful, actually. Nothing falls over that they wanted to keep, and aside from the times they trip and fall into the mess, there are no injuries.

“I think it might be a helpful ghost,” Red says, when a pile of rotting newspapers just happens to topple out the window. She leans against her broom thoughtfully.

“Maybe it’s the house itself,” Sabrina suggests. It weirds her out, but she’s getting better about that sort of thing. Magic isn’t the problem, she keeps reminding herself. It’s people, and how they use it. Look at Red. Someone this kind can’t be wrong, just because she’s got something powerful inside her.

“Would make sense,” Red agrees. “It is alive, after all.”

They’re keeping the house in the front yard of the house that used to be Granny’s, for now. At the end of the night, they’ll walk it as close to the nearby dump as they can get it without being seen, to lug out the day’s trash.

“Whatever it is,” Sabrina says, looking around askance, “I hope it can’t actually, y’know, see us.”

“Why?” Red asks.

“Because,” Sabrina says, and she reaches out and grabs Red by the waist, reels her in. “I’d like to know I can have some time alone with you.”

“Hm,” Red says, turning a smile on Sabrina, leaning in for a kiss. “I think I’d like that.”

*

Nothing falls over, and when they emerge from the bedroom much later, both streaked with way more dust than when they started and clothes askew, the house seems no different.

“So we can get alone time,” Red says brightly, looking around . “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina agrees.

“It’s especially great,” Red says, winding her fingers through Sabrina’s, “because I was wondering if you’d like to move in with me. Once you graduate.”

Sabrina knew this was coming. The question still melts her. She looks around the living room, the room they’ve been cleaning out together. The room they picked a paint color for together, too. The room whose floors Sabrina scrubbed and whose furniture Red has discussed picking up from goodwill. A place they’re rebuilding together. It already feels like it’s not just Red’s home, it’s theirs.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning in to give Red another kiss. “Yes. I’d love to live with you.”

[mahvaladara]

For the OC questions (Sorry for being so late, been a busy.. gaming wise, weekend!) 90-100 for Mal 1-10 for Annika 20-30 for Maeve 40-50 for a teenage Syra perhaps?

[Ga]Mal[l] Sullyvan

90. What is their occupation?

Gamall is a full-time Wanderer, which is a type of Valasyr who specializes in wandering between cities, countries, planets, and even universes seeking to harness as much knowledge and power as possible. They are also often called knowledge and power devourers.

Currently, Gamall is a full-time Biologist and freelance Gardener.

91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

Depends. His family respects him dearly. From where he came he was respected out of utter fear. But those days are in the past and he is living a new life and earning respect by hard labor.

92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

Gamall once was in this position, and he had wanted back then to see his former wife Caitlyn and former son Seimei before disappearing. He went and got a few last minutes with them, but he didn't die. He wished he did. For time came to claim Caitlyn eventually, and as for Seimei, he killed the boy when he came seeking "revenge" for the death of his father.

He now has come to the conclusion that if death ever comes for him, it's not like he can prepare for it. So he lives every day as if he only had minutes to live, seeking to amass as much fulfillment as he can, rather by the form of material goods, personal knowledge, spiritual power, hedonistic pleasure, or life experiences.

93. How do they deal with stress?

Gamall is already quite the shittalker and blabbermouth, but when under stress that becomes worse. But he is paradoxal and it mostly depends on the type of stress, it can either be met with agression or silence and either of the two are always foreboding.

94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type?

Versatile personality. Gamall adapts well to the people around him, but he is not a pushover and he despises whoever tries to dominate him by force. He does enjoys playing the sub as much as the dom and though Gamall can actually be very manipulative, it is not on his interests to dominate or command others, usually his manipulation only working to make sure people don't bother him.

95. Do they have a pet?

Currently no. But they'll have a lot of chickens and a lot of cows.

Gamall used to have a horse called Eggplant, but there's a running gag that if he gets a horse it'll die, so... yea, that happened.

96. Do they have a stash of weapons?

Pffft. They don't exactly need too, they can kill you with their mind alone, but this is the type of asshole who will kill you with a duck if you tell him he can't.

97. Where do they live? Who do they live with?

The farmlands. Gamall isn't keen on big cities or places with a lot of people around because it usually means trouble and pain for him and he'd rather not.

98. How do they calm themselves down?

Depends. He has found out that addressing a fireball to whom it may concern is a great way to calm down, but he can't exactly commit capital murder everytime someone annoys him. Gardening currently has been providing him a lot of calm and quiet he needs.

99. Are they co-dependent?

No.

100. Are they a day, or night person?

Night person, it helps that he doesn't need sleep.

1. How do they present themselves to others?

Anika comes off as a smart, kind and fun girl, your level-headed rich girl who's always had everything she needed.

To her dad however, she's a rebelious teenager finally breaking free from a sheltered and controled life. She is finally learning magic rather he wants her to or not and continuing on his footsteps trying to find a way to return Apollo's heart and find a way to save Arlo.

2. Do they like animals?

Yes. Anika had a cat as a child, but due to her mother's illness she had to give away the cat. After her mother passed away, Anika and Apollo adopted a dog. Anika ended up being the one to keep the dog, since Arlo hurt their dog when they tried to take it to Apollo's home.

3. How do they dress?

Anika dresses in a very sporty rich way. She prefers wearing high end sports clothes, leggings, crop tops and track suits, anything she can move well in and exercise in. Sometimes she pairs them with fishnets and accessories that give her a more sporty witch feel.

4. How many languages do they know?

Anika speaks english and spanish.

5. How big is their family?

Currently it's just her and her father. Her mother used to be around but she was killed by an unknown dragon who her father refuses to name.

6. What is their purpose in the story?

Anika is Apollo's best friend and girlfriend, she is also a witch and a dragon hunter, who is currently aiding Apollo in finding a cure for Arlo's rot the same way her father before sought her mothers. After her mother's death, Anika decided she had a duty to Apollo to help him save her brother, as it was Anika who lured Arlo to the trap.

7. Do they know how to fight?

Anika is petite, but Anika can kick your ass. Her father taught her kickboxing.

8. What is their back story?

Anika is the only daughter of Isaiah and Melantha Lorenn, she moved with her father to Windenburg when he was offered a position as a principle at the school. She lived a pretty uneventful life despite her father's side work as a dragon hunter and spellcaster. Anika herself was a powerful spellcaster but her father kept her away from the major things he was doing. Eventually, Anika fell to a trick to capture the two child dragons, her best friend Apollo and Arlo.

9. Why is their name, their name?

I really liked the sound of Anika, and since Isaiah and Melantha also had unique names, I wanted Anika to have a name that would feel like she's a girl born into the 1%.

10. Do they have any nick names?

Ani, by Apollo, Queen B(itch) by Arlo. Princess by many of her school peers.

20. What do they look like?

See thee above.

21. What are their hobbies?

Maeve's hobbies include watching football and baseball games, writting research law papers, cooking and working out.

22. What are their ticks?

Their what?

23. Do they like children?

Maeve has five children, her eldest twins Arlo and Apollo, her middle daughter, Syracusia, and her youngest twins Talia and Dimitri.

24. How do they react to being around wild animals?

Maeve is pretty brave and adventurous but as most people she tends to avoid wild foxes and other animals.

25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work?

It would be Mal and it would be the yelling "I feel good!" prank when he was busy spraying bugs, doing the laundry or when he's vacumming.

26. Do they have any survival skills?

Yes, she can pitch a tent, filter water and cook most wilderness food. She also knows how to hunt, since her father enjoyed hunting pigeons, ducks and rabbits. She knows how to make a snare trap.

27. Are they more book smart or street smart?

50/50. She's very book smart when it comes to education and law, but has a lot of street smart when dealing with her clients, and the cases she has. She knows what the jury are more likely to simpathise with and usually builds her case defense around this.

28. How do they get out of a difficult situation?

Usually by trying to solve it. If she can't solve it, she asks for help, but she is not one to run away from a situation.

29. Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want?

Personality and smarts.

30. What music do they enjoy?

Maeve enjoys rock, old school rock and roll.

40. How do they become who they are?

Syra is the lucky three. She has a very calm and uneventfull life despite what luck befalls are siblings, and she is lucky to get two younger siblings, so she never got very cotroling parents breathing over her shoulder, so she was allowed to be herself. She has a very supporting father in Mal, who supports her every decision, and a big brother who loves her and whenever he is well, Arlo will go with her to do whatever she wants.

41. How was their childhood?

She had a happy childhood. Though they moved when she was a kid, she was young enough for it to not cause a negative impact on her growing up. At the contrary of her older siblings, Syra wasn't forced to go to a private school, and being in public school allowed her to be a regular girl without the pressure of being examplar.

42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over?

One of her friends is a mooch, who's only around her to get good grades and to steal her stuff, she doesn't know this yet.

43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

Syra adapts pretty well to her surroundings and situations. She's a versatile girl who knows she has parents and siblings who will help her if she needs.

44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar

Syra is soft spoken, quiet and calm.

45. Are they opposed to violence?

Very much. Syra grew up watching her two older brothers getting into very violent altercations, especially when Arlo was feeling well. She usually would get in the middle of the two. She now knows why they'd fight.

46. When is their birthday?

Syra was born in Autumn, I think.

47. Are they quick to judge?

Not really. Syra is very empathetic.

48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

No.

49. Do they act different around different people?

No.

50.Do they enjoy the arts?

Syra enjoys theater, film and music.

[rokutouxei]

together through the fog

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | 1770 | T

Born frailer than your average pureblood vampire, she's doomed to need fresh human blood—not just rouge—to survive. Drinking from them will cost more than just blood: and she doesn't want to make them pay that price, especially not the one she loves the most. What decisions are you free to make when you don't really have a choice—and how is Theo going to convince her that staying a little longer isn't so bad if he's with her?

chapter 1 of 3

One of the most important rules of being in the art dealership industry is to make good connections. No amount of great art at hand will amount to much if the dealer does not have the appropriate connections to get these art into the proper hands. Of course, wealthy patrons are always much appreciated, for the invasion of the new art into the eyes of the more conservative aristocracy is one way to usher in the new dawn, but there are other types of connections that have to be made—and that is, to those who are not only interested in the art, but are also willing to lend a hand in the sharing of this art to the rest of the world.

Theo has a lot of clients. In the handful of years he has spent in the industry, he has collected his fair share of interested patrons and sponsors for the artists. Favoritism is of no use in this world. But if one were to ask—it would be easy for him to say that his best, perhaps his favorite, client, was a Comtesse that lived at the outskirts of town.

Rich, born of old money, in a large mansion where she lives alone, besides perhaps her singular, nosy butler. They’ve known each other for a few years now, after having met when they were much younger, and they have become, to some degree, friendly with each other, not only with regards to his work. Make no mistake—she is not his friend for superficial reasons like appearance or wealth. It’s that she has a great eye for art—and a big heart for it as well.

“Theo! it’s been a while since you’ve come around.”

Her greeting comes instantly as the door to her study opens, Theo being ushered in by her butler, Sebastian. She’s sipping from a teacup in front of a fireplace, bundled up under blankets—even when it isn’t too cold outdoors yet.

“You know how the industry is,” he comments, as he settles on the seat across her, setting down the framed painting gently on the soft red carpet of her study. Once Theo’s own cup of coffee is poured, the butler leaves the room, the door closing with a silent click. Theo does not miss the expression on the butler’s face before he disappears. He turns back to his friend, gauging. “When I saw this piece I had an inkling that it would be to your taste.”

She chuckles, a little embarrassedly, putting down the teacup on its saucer. “Now, now. You make it seem like the kind of art I like is on the predictable side.”

“I wouldn’t say predictable, but you do have a taste.”

She nods. “Oh? I had not even noticed. Maybe you watch me a little too keenly, Theo.”

“Just for work,” he quips back with a friendly smile, as he uncovers the painting he has brought with him.

-

Theo was right—the painting is to her taste. It was a painting of a morning through the frame of a window, overlooking a snowy mountain. The gentle texture of the brushstrokes from the view outside made the snow falling seem so real, delicate and soft, and the thicker, rougher ones along the inside of the room made it feel closer, a little warmer. By a yet-unknown artist, of course, and she contemplates hanging it along the main hallway of the mansion, making sure it will catch the eye of anyone who will pass by, hoping it would spark something.

And then the dizziness returns.

There was no doubt Theo noticed her spacing out during their little conversation, but there is only so much she can do in hiding how unwell she’s been feeling. She had instantly sighed in relief when Theo was guided out of the room—as now she can clutch her head freely and whine a little in the throbbing inside of her skull.

But it’s okay. At least she has the paintings.

The one thing she can do.

It doesn’t matter if she isn’t going to last long, not anymore. But at least, if she can do something for the things she loves… maybe it will be worth it in the long run.

-

Theo has always had his wits around him, particularly in terms of being observant. While he’s not infallible, the little things generally do not escape him, and he makes sure he stows them away in the back of his head for safekeeping.

Theo was 25 when she first wrote to him about it

She wrote: How would you feel about it if I were a vampire?

This really didn’t surprise Theo as awfully as it ought to have. There was one particularly intriguing rumor that spread around town about her family. Whether or not the people knew, had a clue, or if it were just the result of their imagination, is beyond him, but there have always been rumors about her family being a family of vampires. Of course, it is easy to shrug off: the human imagination is an interesting thing, and with the rise of rational science throughout the past few centuries, vampiric lore has simply fallen out of favor. Besides, this kind of rumor is unsurprising when the area’s oldest and longest living aristocrat families live such a secretive, mysterious life outside of the rare social events they decide to engage in.

Theo had the same thought process, of course. He had written back rather amusedly, saying that even if she were a vampire, it would not change the fact that she was a good friend of his. No fang or lost blood will get in the way of my fondness towards you, he had written.

Fondness—fondness is too simple a word for what he feels towards her.

But what matters is that she had written back, in her small, delicate handwriting: Well, then it is my pleasure to tell you that I am.

That was just three years back, but it feels like a million years ago. He had not given it much thought then. He had not given it much thought as of late.

Until now.

Until today, really, sitting across her in her study watching her space out as the tiny sharp tips of fangs protruded out from where her lips can no longer hide them.

If she was not lying to him, then that’s alright.

But there was no denying that look of desperation hiding in her eyes, as she tries to focus on something else in the room other than him.

He turns before the mansion’s main door gets shut behind him, turning to the butler with seriousness in his eyes.

“Sebastian, I have a question I have to ask you.”

-

She had met Theo when he was much younger—he was 18 at the time. And she… Well, greater vampires age a little differently than humans do, but she must have looked about 16. Her parents had brought her to an exhibition that day. it was part of her training—much was needed for an eternally-living vampire to be able to fit into human society without standing out too much.

Her interest in art was another thing altogether, though.

While her parents had gone away to talk with their acquaintances and other friends in the gallery, she had decided to walk around to enjoy the paintings that were on display. She grew up surrounded in art—part of the privileges of being born into the aristocracy—and these weren’t new to her, but some of the paintings… felt different. They were painted in different ways, looked at things in different lights. They piqued her interest. She wanted to get to know them more and-

She met Theo.

Theo was one of the youngest art dealers present during the show, which had been overseen by the company he was working with. She is still not entirely sure what had drawn Theo to her at that time—perhaps it was their seeming-similarity in age—but that day, they had made good friends, talking about art and paintings and the life of an artist. She wasn’t an artist herself, but the discussions had made such an impact on her that afterwards—they had exchanged addresses, and promised to write to each other.

That now feels like a lifetime ago.

How long ago was that, even? Surely at least a decade past. Time is a fickle thing for creatures like her. A decade is no more than a human’s millisecond. In a few more centuries, she will have forgotten everything about this little life, maybe even this mansion in the outskirts of Paris. The oldest of her family have been alive longer than humans would expect.

But not her.

It seems… unnatural, but she was born sickly, frailer than your average vampire. On occasion, she catches what is perhaps the vampire equivalent of a flu—weakness, fatigue, body pains, fever, and dizziness. Of course, this is curable with a good drink of blood, as is most things for vampires like her, but there is a catch—drinking it fresh from the source is always the better option. She would need bottles and bottles of rouge to recover from one “flu”, but fresh blood—

Fresh blood is different.

Drawn straight out of the vein, still warm from flesh…

That would cure her in minutes.

Too bad she has gotten a little too fond of humans.

Ah, how can one not, when you spend most of your life watching them struggle to live when death knocks at their door so soon after their birth? Humans have a strength she cannot comprehend. One she wishes she had. So she’s sworn to never drink out of a human ever again; even if it is at the cost of her health. She can acquire all the rouge she needs to recover. She cannot replace a random human’s short meaningful life at the cost of eternity for her own convenience—and she does not have the heart to drain one into death, if to spare them from the curse of living throughout perpetuity.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, they say.

She clutches her chest as the coughs overtake her, so strongly she is thrown to her knees onto the ground. Her butler rushes to her aid, but does not make it before she collapses onto the floor with a thud.

She doesn’t want to drink from humans anymore. And especially—not from the one she loves the most. But maybe this time she doesn’t really have a choice.

[gisachi]

Please make number 22 with ShinRan, and maybe the one who interrupts them can be Sonoko/Heiji...oh! And please make it canon and not AU. Sorry if this is too much request 😁😁

Hello, thanks for sending in a number! I gotchu with your request~ Wrote this on a whim so please excuse grammatical and/or spelling errors. Hope you like this one! 💖

22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party. (1,231 words)

.

.

.

“Ow!”

“I told you, stay still!”

“I am trying!”

“Stop flinching, Jesus!”

Carefully holding his elbow in place, Ran dabs Shinichi’s freshly acquired bruise with cotton and alcohol, and the injured detective does nothing but wince in pain as if Ran’s rubbing salt on it.

“Can you at least be more gentle?!” Shinichi half shouts, and Ran rolls her eyes and huffs, working this time on the scraped skin on the side of his right hand, which has him clenching his fist tight and sinking his teeth to his lower lip.

“I am gentle, you just have poor pain tolerance.”

Shinichi sags against the couch, trying to keep a straight face while he watches Ran tender some more scratches on his right arm and lower leg. “This sucks.”

The disgruntled woman eyes him from head to toe.

“Just as I pray we won’t stumble upon some random case in our weekend trip to Osaka, we suddenly have this,” she remarks, tone stern and steely as they sit on the living room couch of the Hattori residence, the Osakan couple locked up in Heiji’s room where Kazuha tenders the hot-blooded detective’s identical bruises.

Unlike the boys, the girls are smart enough to conclude that they must not cure these two in the same space, lest they prefer graver wounds. Not from each other, but from their girlfriends restraining them with martial arts if they keep up with such incredibly childish behavior.

“At least they’re just minor injuries?”

“Which you could’ve avoided if only you and Hattori-kun acted more like your age,” she sighs as she plasters a bandaid over his bruised elbow. “Seriously, you’d be in bigger trouble if not for me and Kazuha-chan acting immediately.”

“It’s unavoidable, I swear.”

“Shinichi, you and Hattori-kun slid along the riverbank and almost fell straight into the water, you could have missed that,” the bite in the last phrase makes Shinichi cringe in shame.

“But you didn’t because you weren’t looking at where you’re walking,” Ran presses the alcohol soaked cotton a little too hard on his leg that he whines, “Because why? You’re busy fighting over who’s the better detective, minutes after the fangirls left us. Give yourselves a break, will you?”

Still wincing, Shinichi speaks behind gritted teeth, “but I can’t just let Hattori—”

Ran throws him The Glare, and he grumbles in defeat.

“Fine, I lost my cool there. Right.”

“Apologize to Hattori-kun after this, please? He’s even hosting us this trip, we should be grateful!”

“Right.”

Shinichi exhales inwardly, secretly mocking himself because he realizes where the Hattori Influence brought him. Damn, a quarter of the West Detective’s competitive spirit seems to have jumped to him. He isn't the type to really care about being the best in Japan, but curse Hattori and his contagious, feisty, over-the-top attitude. He makes a mental note to hang out with him less. That is, if he can even reject this annoying dude who also happens to be his best bud.

Ran closes the first aid kit, places it on the end table. “You’re hopeless,” with scrunched eyebrows, she pulls a cannot-be-helped smile, tracing the small abrasion on his cheek, the last one to clean, “such a hopeless, stubborn detective.”

In that moment, he deadpans to her lips, then turns away just before she catches the blush sprouting from his cheek.

“You know, there’s one way you can cure me instantly.”

“How?”

He doesn’t reply, but a few seconds in and Ran utters a silent ‘oh,’ seeming to get the hint. From the corner of his eyes, he sees her fidgeting on her seat.

Feeling the awkwardness setting in, he coughs.

“I mean, not really a cure, heh, but, you see—”

Before he can finish, she grabs his collar and plants a quick kiss over the bruise on his cheek, and he almost dies on the spot.

Ran lets go, scoots a few inches back the couch, looks at him coyly.

“There,” she says, shy but resolute, tinge of pink shading her ears and cheeks, “Feeling better?”

Shinichi flushes hard, stares at her like a lovestruck idiot.

Then, he sighs deep, sinks into the couch.

“Why do you always aim for the cheek…” he mumbles, moping like a child as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry?” Ran sidles to hear him better, blush not disappearing from her face.

“I’m saying…” he turns his head, gulps at the realization that she’s closer than when she’s tending his wounds, lashes flapping enticingly as she blinks, cherry lips pouting cutely, the v-neck of her shirt revealing a modest amount of cleavage and it’s making all the blood in his veins gush to his head.

“Damn it! What I’m saying is!” He grabs both her shoulders, and there is this ridiculous thumping noise in his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack.

It grows even louder as Ran’s wide eyes lock his indulgently, before they flutter shut, nice and slow, and Shinichi can only do so much as tighten his grip on her shoulders and inch his lips closer, and closer.

“Aim for this next time, Ran,” he sighs his last words before his lips meet, not the air, not her cheeks, but her lips.

After how many attempts. Finally!

‘Yes yes yes yes yes’, Shinichi’s brain repeats, blood boiling at a thousand Celsius as her soft, silky lips caress him, replacing the stinging pain in his sanitized injuries with butterflies and flowers creeping and growing at exponential speed in random places in his body and everything feels sooo nice. Right, he’s feeling much better now. But only for the first few seconds. Because now a particular heat radiates down to his abdomen, to his pelvis, and it grows even stronger everytime Ran makes a delighted whimper as he moves his lips and changes his angle to fit hers better, and, and... why are their bodies slowly pressing flat into the couch?

“Oi, Kudo. The ahou’s right, I might’ve gotten a little over— HAAAAAAH?!”

Ran falls to the floor with a resounding thud, Shinichi scrambles to his feet trying to shield her from Heiji’s view but there isn’t any need because Heiji already saw their secret escapade though he prays he didn’t at all.

“Th-The hell are you doing not knocking, Hattori?!” Shinichi stammers as he sits clumsily on the floor, Ran behind him, both their ears, cheeks, neck as red as fresh molten lava.

“Why should I knock in my own house, Kudo??!” Heiji shouts back, tone furious despite the evident flush of red growing from his neck up.

In the background, the whistle of wind and cooing of birds intensify.

“...”

“...”

“Listen. I-We...it was in the spur of the moment, we didn’t plan to—”

“Ya bastard, even in MY house!”

An ominous, raging black aura spawning from Heiji’s back accompanies his roar and Shinichi stops explaining, wanting to apologize and laugh and run away instead at the absurdity of it all. Too late though, because Heiji’s already trapped him with his deadly I-get-it-but-you-fucking-owe-me-again-Kudo and I’m-going-to-upstage-you-just-wait-and-see glare before he drags an oblivious Kazuha - who appears from behind the archway completely missing everything Heiji saw - on the wrist and Kazuha stumbles on her feet.

“Kaz’ha, come with me! Kudo’s challenging me again!”

“Eh?? But did ya already apolo— wait what challenge? Whaddya mean Heiji?” 

They hear Kazuha last before the door to Heiji’s room slams shut.

.

.

.

[thesoloists]

Unsweet Dreams

Summary: Bucky may be free of Hydra’s influence, but he’s not free of that of the Winter Soldier. He’s slowly coming to terms with that.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: PTSD, trauma and anxiety, brief graphic depictions of murder (assault & strangulation), chronic nightmares, fluff via post-nightmare comfort (if it’s any consolation, I tried to keep it balanced)

A/n: AHH, I’m so nervous! It’s been awhile since this corner of the interweb has seen my writing (I made a new tumblr and everything), so if whoever reads this could just, y’know, drop me an ask telling me what you think about this fic, I would really appreciate it. Also, I promise not all my fics will be this dark. I just needed the bit of catharsis at the end. :’)

Bucky used to live in constant fear. It was like a malignant tumor, slowly killing him and robbing him of the ability to live every damn day of his life.

To be in a crowd was like sticking him in a coffin full of nails. As he struggled to stay out of the swirl of hurried people, his anxiety would skyrocket to the point of short-circuiting his mental system. His whole body becomes stiff, his responses shortened and robotic, as he becomes helplessly overwhelmed by the blaring warning signs going off in his head. Until his brain, finding no other option, shut down enough to function on autopilot. Only when he was away from everyone, when his mind was sure they were a safe distance from the danger of the Winter Soldier, would he come back to himself. But, to be honest, was there ever a safe enough distance from such a mindless beast?

The idea of becoming him again was so crippling that before Shuri offered to fix him, Bucky would spend days at a time locked in his room and weeks without leaving the compound. Shuri said he would never be that man again, the crudely molded vague interpretation of one, anyway—not after whatever indescribable thing she had done to him with Wakandan technology that Bucky still finds respectfully confusing. Bucky wanted so badly to believe her, but why, even now, if she is as certain as she was then that the gangrenous part of him is gone, why does he still see him in his dreams at night? Sometimes standing before him like a ghost, void of his humanity, empty of soul, filled only with commands of murder and mission and the pain endured in every attempt to scrape away the bloodshed. 

There’s no place in Bucky’s mind he can hide where the monstrous Winter Soldier cannot find him. In pleasant dreams of sandy beaches with the smell of salt on the open air, the beast will tear open a gaping black rift right behind him, grab Bucky by the back of his collar, and drag him into the void as his screams fall on apathetic ears. Where he ends up is a place where his cries are heard by no one, Where color cannot penetrate the bitter black, and where shapes and barriers do not exist. He can run forever and never hit a wall, and all the while, the Winter Soldier will stalk toward him. Inevitable, just as Bucky is with his surrender.

Agony awaits him, but he knows it will end. It has to end. And when it does, he will wake.

Bucky has long given up trying to escape on his own. Every attempt has proved futile, and it only draws out the agony. He prefers his death to be as quick as ripping a band aid. So, he goes nowhere, just stands in the very place the Winter Soldier dropped him, and waits.

The Winter Soldier stands maybe twenty feet away. His eyes are shrouded in smears of dark black, but his eyes are a stark contrast of light blue shards of cryogenic ice.

Knowing the end will be the same as every other end before it brings Bucky no semblance of comfort. He is helpless to it. No more than a prisoner to his own imagined fate.

After a while of the Winter Soldier reducing the encounter to nothing more than a one-sided staring contest, Bucky hangs his head, shaking it at the absurdity of being made to wait. “Just get it over with,” he mutters.

The shape of the Winter Soldier flickers and disappears, manifesting with daunting intensity right in front of him. Bucky finds nothing but the hoard of his own past screams in the Soldier’s empty gaze. 

In a blink, the Winter Soldier moves. The plates on the Soldier’s metallic machine arm whir and shift as his cold metal hand latches around Bucky’s throat in an unyielding vise, squeezing tighter and tighter, killing the human, killing Bucky. 

Then it is over. In that particular dream, after Bucky dies, Bucky wakes.

Most of the time, however, it is Bucky looking through the lens of the Winter Soldier as a captive, unable to control his movements. It is Bucky’s traitorous metal arm around the throat of someone he cares about, tightening around their choked gasps and rasped pleas...

[Bucky has no desire to live out the Winter Soldier’s greatest hits on all of his friends, so he asks that the burden be left to another’s imagination. If it is any consolation, he is very sorry.]

He’s killed them all more times than he can count. Steve always knows when he’s had one of the dreams the next morning and who it was about because Bucky is incapable of looking that person in the eye. The image of his hand wrapped around their throat is still too fresh a wound in his mind. He’s nothing more than a shell on those mornings. His eyes are gaunt, his attention impossible to keep, and he’s left haunted for most if not all the remaining hours of the day. It’s an inevitability.

It wasn’t until he met you that Bucky allowed himself to believe Shuri’s words of comfort weren’t just empty words meant to reassure him. It’s taken months for him to get to this point, but you have been nothing but patient, never forcing him into anything, never questioning the slow speed at which your relationship progressed. You only take what he gives and in return give what he needs. He still has nightmares, though they occur far less often with you sleeping beside him. In fact, before tonight, Bucky hadn’t had one in months. To know what it felt like to be well-rested, he hadn’t felt that probably since he was digging his stupid five-foot-nothing best friend out of trouble. Before either had turned their gaze toward joining the war. 

When Bucky has either nightmare involving the Winter Soldier, it doesn't matter which, he always wakes up crying. Sometimes silently, sometimes with whimpers or explosive sobs—freshly rebuilt only to be destroyed by the horrors that play out in a hell of his mind’s own making. You sleep notoriously light, so it doesn’t take much for you to wake, and you never want him to apologize for it. His whimpers begin quietly, but they are enough. With the fast action of someone who has done this many times before, you move across the bed until your chest is flush with his back, throw your arm around him, and hold on tight as you whisper sweet assurances into the crook of his neck as his body is wrecked by sob after sob after sob. Grounding him in the existence of his humanity, in the reality of his life as it is now—good and warm and safe— until his tremoring body stills. It’s by no means a quick remedy, and perhaps the emotional exhaustion does most of the work, but with one final shudder, Bucky lets out a hard breath, his last few tears nothing more than wet stains on his pillow.  

In unspoken words of comfort, you press kisses along the jagged scaring where flesh meets metal, before resting the side of your face against his shoulder which is damp with cool sweat, and guide his ragged breathing to a slower, fuller calm with the warmth of your breaths on his back. 

In the now quiet dark of the bedroom, Bucky strokes the back of your hand, tracing lightly over every knuckle with his fingertips. 

With tender movement, you turn your hand beneath his to grasp his hand loosely between your fingers. Your gentle squeeze is simply to ask, Are you okay?

He squeezes twice. No.

He shifts his hand again and after a beat, makes a small request by tapping three times on the back of your head. Your voice breaks through the darkness as you whisper to him, “Who was it, my love?” 

It takes him a minute because he has to remember, and that involves reliving the memory of the dream, if only for a glimpse. But he wants to remember, if only for an attempted catharsis. 

“Steve,” he says hoarsely. Or Natasha, Sam, Tony, or someone else unfortunate enough to have been dropped into the role of victim—But it’s Steve who affects him the most, sometimes in aftershocks that last for days. 

Three taps means he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t want to speak first. Something about having to break the silence after having to relive that trauma just feels too daunting to him, especially now that he’s just been reminded of the monster hiding in his closet after months of silence gave him the false security of maybe being finally free. If anything, it was the sobering realization that he would never truly be free, but it’s an affliction of which he’s willing to find ways to cope. So far, his best success has been found in months of therapy and in the love he found with you. He doesn’t solely rely on you. That’s a burden, and he’s not about to expect you, an extraordinary ordinary human, to somehow be the cure for his chronic mental disturbance. But you bring him words of encouragement and a presence that puts him at ease, and if this is merely the baby-steps to learning to walk on his own, he’s willing to take it and continue practicing. No matter how much he falls, you have made it clear you will always be there to catch him if he needs it.

You wait until he’s ready for you to get up, spending several minutes brushing strands of damp hair away from his face and the rest of the uncounted time trailing your fingers up and down his arms and across his chest in an endlessly light, thoughtful caress. Only when he tells you it’s okay do you briefly disappear into the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove. It’s always been difficult for him to go back to sleep after a dream like this, but it’s easier after he talks through it, and it’s easier with tea.

He doesn’t find sleep again, but you fall asleep on the couch an hour before dawn and halfway through his fourth episode of M*A*S*H. Your whole body is curled in a tight ball on the other half of the couch as you hug an empty mug of tea close to your chest. He carefully removes it from your grasp one vise-like finger at a time (jeez, you have an insane grip for someone who’s asleep), vaguely feeling like he’s trying to disassemble a bomb, and sets it on the side table next to the couch . 

As the credits roll, Bucky carries you back to bed and is part way through tucking you beneath the covers, all warm and snug like a cute little sausage roll, when you begin to stir. Instantly, Bucky freezes. Then he remembers you always do this as if it’s part of some weird post-nightmare bedtime ritual and always manage to go right back to sleep. Comforted by the assurance, and also a little amused by the memories, he turns to close the blinds to block out the rays that would have cut unbearably bright lines against your face had he done nothing (and he’s never been much of a do nothing kind of guy), but when he turns back around, you’re rubbing your eyes with your fingertips—awake, it seems. (Aw, hell.) You blink blearily at him with a lopsided smile he finds adorable, a smile there just for him. 

Sometimes he forgets how lucky he is. 

When your mouth opens with an obscenely loud, drawn-out yawn, he's never loved you more.

After smacking your lips, still in the midst of a sleepy haze, you ask, “You okay?”

While you look at him, Bucky realizes you’re trying monumentally hard to keep your eyes from opening fully, narrowing them to the point that he wouldn’t even know you were still awake if you hadn’t said something. Bucky’s smile turns butter soft at that.

His heart swells. He’s just so appreciative of you. Your kindness. That you willingly sacrifice precious hours of sleep just to tend to the wounds of his own psychological warfare.

“Yeah. I’m good now,” Bucky assures you, and he means it. He lowers his hand to cradle your cheek, sweeping the pad of his thumb back and forth across the swell of your cheek beneath your eyelashes. At the caressing motion, your eyelids flutter, then fall completely closed in total surrender. He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Sweet dreams, doll.”

Your response is swallowed by the pillow as you shimmy down the bed to bury your face beneath the covers, but he’s pretty sure he heard you say something endearing.

[clairecrive]

“Clumsiness” - Alfie Solomons x reader imagine

Hello everyone! I’m sorry if I’m only posting this now but I’ve been studying all day and didn’t have the time. I’ve written this during breakfast this morning so I’m sorry if it’s not the best but I wanted to get this idea out of my head and write it. 

Warnings: mention of blood, little angst, long af (2.4k)

Don’t be shy and hit me with your thoughts, they mean the world to me!

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog​ (let me know if you wanna be added to the list)

When you married Alfie, you knew that your life was going to change for the better. He was obviously wealthy, that much you knew. He has always brought you to all the fanciest places in London. However, it was only until you moved in with him that you really understood how wealthy he was.

His house was big and full of comforts. Of course, he had a bunch of maids and men that took care of the house and the garden surrounding it.

You had had a comfortable life but your family wasn’t as wealthy as Alfie. You were used to doing all the chores both in the kitchen and around the house and in the garden. There were no maids nor gardeners, so you rose up to their duties to help your mother.

While you were immensely grateful for the life Alfie was providing for you, there were no words to thank him really, you also couldn’t describe the way you had been feeling useless since no one allowed you to move a finger.

Not to be a spoiled little girl, but spending all of your days cooped up in the house with nothing to do wasn’t pleasant. Your books and music could only entertain you so much.

You had thought about speaking about it with Alfie, maybe you could help him at the bakery or he could help you find a job. However, it was rare for you two to spend some time together, you usually saw him in the evening if you weren’t too tired. Alfie however, as thoughtful as ever, surprised you one day offering you to wander outside the house and get involved in his community. Of course, there would be something you could help with and it could be a great opportunity to meet new people.

You weren’t Jewish, Alfie knew it of course and you had always shared with him your fear of being rejected by his people because of it. So you were surprised by this proposal but the way he said it, with such conviction, suggested that maybe he had already spoken to them and suddenly you were welcomed.

You sighed, taking in the suggestion, knowing that it wasn’t going to be a piece of cake but that it was the only option you had to cure your chronic boredom.

Your intuition turned out to be right. Alfie had definitely put in a few words for you and maybe some threats too. You saw it in the way people reacted when you told them who you were. They were not exactly rude but dismissive. They didn’t want to engage with you but they did nonetheless with forced manners because of Alfie.

Being around people who didn’t want you to be with them wasn’t ideal, it actually brought you to tears frequently in the first week you started to involve in community work. You had even thought of never showing up again, settling for only donating money. But you didn’t, you kept showing up and help them as best as you could. You figured that with time they would come to accept you after all the work you did.

Besides, you knew how much this meant to Alfie. His wife being well-integrated into his community was something he cared a lot about even if he had never said it out loud. So you never said a word to him about your distress, deciding you were, in fact, going to achieve that position Alfie wanted for you. Because he had done so much for you, you could do this one little thing for your husband.

It did take a lot of time for the Jewish women to speak to you other than telling you what to do and how to do it. Knowing you were struggling to keep up with their traditions, because it was quite evident, they started to fill your heads with what to do and not to do so to be the perfect Jewish wife that Alfie deserved.

Taking due note of their pointers, you started to act on them. So one day, taking advantage of the fact that the kitchen staff were out in the market, you were determined to make the perfect challah.

In the previous days, you had sat down and observed the cook prepare it, noting every little thing they did, what they used and where they put them.

Now it was your time to shine.

You laid all the needed ingredients on the kitchen table and now you were walking around the room picking up what you saw the cook use. Looking for the last utensil you suddenly remember seeing the staff taking it from the cabin above the stove. You can’t possibly reach it even aided by a chair, given your small stature. Maybe you could climb on the furniture. Well, one way or another you had to reach the cabinet and you had to hurry too before the staff came back home and hushed you out of the kitchen.

So you got up on the chair, now that your feet were at the furniture level you stepped on it. You managed to open the cabinet but the utensil was on the upper shelf and couldn’t reach it even in this position. Just your luck.

So you get on your tiptoes, and your fingers brushed the utensil and you were able to grab it just before your foot slipped making you lose your balance. You try to grab something that could prevent you from falling but the only thing within your reach was the pans. So you did grab them but you fell either way together with the kitchen stuff you had taken down with you.

If you had to describe your fall you would be at loss for words. Other than the moment in which you understood what was going to happen you didn’t know how you reached the floor. You just felt the impact of the marble on your back and the pain in your foot before the pan you had grabbed hit you on the head knocking you out.

What a sight it was. Well, not a pleasant one for sure and a couple of the maids almost had a heart attack when they saw you lying motionless with blood around your head.

The next time you came around you were laying on a hospital bed. You never thought that a simple thing like opening your eyes could be so difficult. I must have hit my heard hard.

You have always loved the sun, its rare appearance in the London skies made it look like the most precious thing in your eyes but never you would have thought to wish for it to disappear.

When you managed to open your eyes and look around you noticed Alfie sitting on a chair beside your bed. Then the feeling of his hand holding yours registered in your mind and you tried your best to return his hold.

He had his head hung low so you figured he must have fallen asleep. Worried about the pain that he would surely have in his neck you try to wake him up by moving your fingers in his grasp, trying to get his attention.

His sleepy state didn’t register your movement and what it meant at first and he just grunted at the nuisance. You continued, stroking the back of his hand gently with your thumb until he opened his eyes to inquire about what was happening when he saw you awake.

His eyes widened in surprise and he scoffed relieved that you were indeed awake and he wasn’t dreaming.

“Hi.” you timidly start a conversation, your voice raspy for the accident. You give him the biggest smile you could muster when his big hand, capable of such rough gesture, gently stroked the side of your face.

“ ‘ello love, took yer time to come’ round eh. Always fucking sleeping yer.” Alfie tried to make you smile knowing you were in pain. A soft giggle left your mouth and you slightly turn your head to plant a kiss on the palm of his hand.

“I’m sorry if I have troubled you, my love. You don’t have to stay here, I’ll be fine.” you knew how busy he was and you didn’t want to be a burden. You were already a wife that wasn’t familiar with Jewish traditions, you didn’t want to become also a wife that prevented his husband to do his job because he had to care for you. It was your job to care for him, not the other way around.

This time he didn’t scoff in delight but rather for the absurdity of your words.

“What’s up with ya these days woman, eh? Sayin’ nonsense like that, putting yerself in danger?”

You knew that you had to explain to him what happened if he didn’t already know, but the failure sting too much and embarrassment filled every part of your body at the recollection of what happened.

“ I don’t want to talk about it, Alfie. Really, you can go back to work, I know you’re busy.” you softly say, looking out the window of your room refusing to meet his eyes. Your words had angered him, you knew it by the way his breath shortened and his hand that was previously on your face fell at his side.

“ I came home right, findin’ all the kitchen staff mumbling nonsense about you and some pan. They ushered me to my kitchen where I see my fucking wife laying in a pool of her blood, never felt such fear in my whole fucking life, and I’ve been in the bloody war mind ya, and now yer kickin’ me out?” he growled, hurt by your distant behaviour. But you could bring yourself to look at him and offer some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t the one at fault, let alone explain to him what happened and why. You kept looking out of the window, ignoring his words too ashamed of yourself.

“Have I done something? Are ya mad at me?” the hurt in his voice and the thought of him second-guessing himself was enough to push you to at least acknowledge him.

“You’re not the one at fault here Alfie.” That was all you could offer him but it wasn’t enough for him. He had just seen the surface and now wanted to know what was laying on the deep end.

“Then who is?” he asked and insisted when he was met with your silence again, “Why won’t ya talk to me y/n? Since when are we keeping things from each other? I thought this marriage was based on honesty and trust.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. He was right, honesty was of the biggest importance for both of you and there’s no one in the world you trusted more than your husband.

“This isn’t fair to you. This marriage isn’t.” The tears in your eyes threatened to roll down your face, and your voice quivered. What a pathetic sight you must have been.

“What the fuck are ya talkin about woman?” the disbelief in his voice was evident but you knew you were right.

“I’m an awful wife. Nothing more different than the perfect Jewish wife you deserve. And I tried Alfie, I tried so hard,” voice cracking you had to pause, and take a  deep breath, “but I just can’t seem to do anything without making a fool of myself. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry that I can’t take care of you in the way that I should. I’m sorry-” his ringed finger stopped you and you were grateful for the interruption, your sobs didn’t allow you to speak clearly anymore.

He tried to comfort you by holding you in a loose embrace to not hurt you and shushed you telling you to imitate his breath. Eventually, you calmed down, only crying silently now while he was taking in every word you said.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this, my love?”

“How could I ever? To admit to my loving and thoughtful husband that he’s better off without me? That he deserves better than me? I didn’t know if you were aware of my utter incompetence but I didn’t want you to. I don’t want to live a life without you even though I know your place is not with me. See? I’m fucking selfish too.” you confess exasperated with yourself but Alfie actually laughed upon hearing your last words.

“ Love, look at me, "he started and waited for you to comply,” the next time you feel like this please come to me. It would have saved you so much pain if you did because then I could have told you that what you’re saying is fucking bullshit.“ he paused to let his words sunk into you

” I would have also told you that I don’t share a single word of yours, that there’s no-one more fit than you to share my life with, no one with whom I would want to share it. You’re a little clumsy, so what? I’m a fucking beast and you never once complain about it. Everyone has flaws but yours just make me love you more. Ya heard me? I love you y/n, you’re the only one for me, hell you’re my fucking wife that has to mean for something right?“ he lightens the mood and as always succeeds in making you smile.

You truly didn’t deserve this man, but you were so god damn happy that for some unknown reason he loved you.

"A beast wouldn’t be able to say such sweet words my love, nor care for me the way you do. I just wish I could do the same for you.”

“But you do, it doesn’t have to be you cooking or cleaning the house. Your love makes my days better and pushes me to always to better. Tell me is that not enough?”

“I suppose.” you timidly admit

“It fucking is love. So now, why don’t you tell me why the hell were you climbing the furniture like a damn monkey?” he inquired what had started the conversation but you couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face. Your heart swelling with love for him you could only reach for him and pour all your love and gratitude you were feeling in a kiss.

[vraelgard]

A week has passed, with Lilliana’s fears of more frequent attacks becoming a reality. The princess herself was doing all she could, even donning a suit of armor that had not been seen since the days of Queen Blossom. She makes it no secret about what she plans to do, and citizens watch in awe as she strode, sword in hand, towards the Eastern Gate, accompanied by Lady Ebony and Count Ivory. 

"Are you sure about this? Your magic can be a little...volatile," Ebony says quietly as they reach the entrance. 

"It's what I was born to do. Let us go," Lilliana replies, and the three enter the forest that lies beyond Terra's walls.

Strangely, there are no beasts to attack them as they head to Tenebrae's temple, their travel expedited by what powers Ebony and Ivory had left. The forest of Blackgrove is painfully silent, every twig that snaps below Lilliana's heel sounding as if it's going to draw the attention of a beast to them. Upon reaching the temple, Lilliana pauses a careful distance away, eyeing the beast that remains guarding it. 

"I will make quick work of this," she promises. 

She steps forward, eliciting a growl from the monstrous creature that guards the temple as it fixes its gaze on her. Still, she does not falter, drawing her sword and pointing it at her enemy. A pause, as Lilliana readies herself, heels digging more firmly into the earth.

"Lux dea, duce me, et disperdam malum…" 

With her incantation, Lilliana bounds forward, guided by the divine light and pierces the beast. Her movement is too quick to follow, but the beast unleashes a pained howl before abandoning its post and disappearing into the darkness.

"That was amazing!" Ebony says, rushing over to Lilliana.

Lilliana, however, looks winded, and she sinks to her knees as she attempts to recover herself. 

"I didn't banish it fully...my magic is…" she lets out a noise that's half between a sigh and a groan. "The Goddess help me, my family has the worst magic in this country."

"Still, we can now check on Tenebrae, so I believe we can consider this a success," Ivory points out. He helps Lilliana back to her feet, and the three step carefully into the temple.

What greets them is a scenario Lilliana would only have dreamed of in nightmares. 

Standing in front of the altar is a stone statue of Tenebrae, his mouth open in a silent cry, his hand outstretched as if trying to get something back. But aside from the temple of the goddess, there are no statues of the sages inside. 

"Oh no," whispers Ebony.

Ivory takes a moment longer to examine the scene before turning to the others with a grim expression.

"Tenebrae...has been petrified. And the moonstone is missing."

*     *     *

Lilliana paces back and forth in front of the petrified Tenebrae. Ebony sits on the steps that lead up to the altar, chin in hands, as she watches Lilliana's movements. Ivory, in the meantime, is continuing to examine the Sage.

"It's peculiar," he says finally. "It's as if someone used a magic that's not...based in the elements. But combined it with Dark magic...turning Tenebrae's power against him."

Lilliana stops pacing, turning to face Ivory. She crosses her arms and fixes him with a glare.

"Alright, then how do we fix this? I cannot allow a permanent night to rule over Vraelgard. We need Tenebrae back," she says.

"Maybe the Ciemnica witches have a solution," Ebony suddenly pipes up. "They're like, the closest magic users to Tenebrae that would know how to deal with something like this, aside from his Mage."

"Speaking of which, where is Moonlight?" Lilliana asks. 

Ebony and Ivory exchange a look and a shrug. 

"She aided in my first attempt to fight off the beast," Ivory says to Lilliana. "Assuming she's heard that we've gained entry…"

"Let me call her," Ebony offers. She pulls out her phone, quickly selecting a contact and putting it on speaker.

After three rings, the phone picks up.

"Lady Ebony? Has something happened? Is there a new development?"

"Uh, yeah, actually," Ebony says. "We got into the temple. Tenebrae's...been petrified and...the moonstone is gone."

There's a long silence on the other end.

"You defeated the beast?" Moonlight asks, sounding surprised. 

"Not exactly, it kind of...ran away after Lilliana smacked it with one of her spells," Ebony says, and Moonlight sighs. 

"...I see. I can't help but find it peculiar that it would give up so easily." She's quiet for a moment longer as there is the faint sound of rustling paper, followed by a small "ah." "...Assuming these notes are correct, I do believe I know of a way to revive him. You will need components of darkness, and the mirror of the Ciemnica witches. I doubt it will be easy to obtain, but Princess Cica will likely hear you out. I will send you a list, and I will come to meet you at the temple."

With that, the call ends, and a couple moments later, Ebony receives a text message with the components list. She frowns at it before showing it to Lilliana and Ivory.

"Some of these are really hard to get, and I don't know how we'd manage them on our own," Ebony says. "What d'you think, Lilliana?"

Lilliana skims the list, taking note of the trickier items. It's true, they wouldn't have enough people to collect them, not with the monsters still on the loose. But…there is another solution. She looks at Ivory.

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

"Of course," he replies without a moment's hesitation.

"...Very well. I believe it is time we turn to some outside help." 

*     *     *

The foreigners of Terra will suddenly find themselves receiving a text message from Princess Lilliana. Peculiar it wouldn't come in the form of a video message, but the instructions are clear.

The Sage of Darkness, Tenebrae, is petrified, and his elemental gemstone is missing. We have reason to believe that it was stolen by someone who is behind the beast attacks and disappearances that have plagued our city as of late. As it is imperative that Tenebrae be cured and balance restored to our elements, I humbly ask for your help.

All of you will now find you have access to the forest of Blackgrove. In the forest are a demon clan, led by a demon woman named "Shi," and the Ciemnica Witch Clan ruled by Princess Cica. They can be negotiated with for their respective items. The rest come from creatures in the Blackgrove area. Please use caution when retrieving them. Once you have obtained an item, bring it to Tenebrae's temple, and give it to the Mage of Dark, Moonlight.

Thank you for your assistance,

Princess Lilliana.

*     *     *

Sitting perched on a tree branch is a young woman with bubblegum pink hair and cat ears, otherwise blending into the darkness with her black clothing. Her partner stands below her, nonchalantly lighting a cigarette before looking in the same direction as her, the shadow beneath his eye not covered by an eyepatch betraying his exhaustion. 

"Things are getting interesting, aren't they Will?" the woman asks, swinging her legs back and forth. "Do you think we'll be busy tonight?"

"Depends on how many of them die," her partner replies. "And I told you not to call me that."

The two of them stare in silence at the monster they've been watching as it roams the forest of Blackgrove. It doesn't seem to take note of the two of them, or perhaps it simply doesn't care.

"It's such a pain we have that promise to the princess," the woman says, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulder lets out a satisfying pop.

"A bit..." agrees her partner. "But for now... we'll wait to see if any of them die."

And so they watch. And they wait.

What's happening?

Surprise! This is not fun; why did I say surprise. Tenebrae has been petrified, and the moonstone is missing! The only cure to bring Tenebrae back and end the eternal night is to gather the elemental components for a panacea. And that's where you come in! Lilliana needs your help, so the components and a general idea of how to obtain them have been listed below! Do you want to fight for them? Sneakily grab them? Whatever works for you! 

Who is Moonlight?

Moonlight is the Mage of Darkness, the most powerful sorceress of Dark magic in particular, and has dedicated her life to serving Tenebrae! There are Mages for every element, but peculiarly no one seems to know who the Time and Space Mages are… Regardless, Moonlight will be waiting at the temple for you to bring her components!

Will we die?

Some of you may die, but that's definitely a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Even though Lilliana managed to get rid of the beast outside the temple, the attacks are no less frequent upon the city. There are also plenty of beasties roaming the Blackgrove forest, so it's best to be careful.

Can we still write Part 1 starters during Part 2?

Absolutely! Of course, if you just want to remain in the city during Part 2, not much has changed with the situation, sadly. 

Will we be allowed to explore Blackgrove further after the event?

Yes, but only if you're of Commoner rank or above! While Blackgrove is temporarily open to those of Novice rank, Travel Visas will only be given at Commoner rank after the event. And without a Travel Visa, you can't leave Terra. Sorry!

Who are the man and woman at the end of the post?

Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? Joking aside, you will learn their names, who they are, and what they do with the event conclusion. So look forward to that :)

What are the components and where do we find them?

Blood of a Blackgrove demon - easy enough, find a demon who lives in Blackgrove, and kindly ask for a bit of their blood. You can always take it by force, but they'll prooooobably get pissed at you for that. So you better be prepared to fight. How do you find the demons? Well, your best bet is to either call out that you request a meeting with one, or to try to find where they live, somewhere to the northern part of Blackgrove.

Slime of a Darkness Blob - peculiar creatures that make their home in Blackgrove are what appear to truly just be...literal blobs of darkness. While they're entirely friendly (and...harmless), they do occasionally secrete a slime used as a component in many spells and potions. They might not really understand if you ask nicely, but maybe your kind tone will get across?

Feathers of a Raven - peculiarly large ravens make their home in Blackgrove, and these are the ravens Moonlight requires feathers from. The birds themselves do not take kindly to outsiders, but they're known for leaving their feathers behind places. 

Fur of the Beast - one of the most difficult items to get, you'll need to fight a monster and survive. More than that, you'll need a patch of its fur. Of course, it's not required to kill it, but it might be easier that way. 

Mirror of the Ciemnica witches - the hardest item to get, as it has been passed down from one witch princess to the next for generations. From her grandmother to her mother, and from her mother to her, Princess Cica is unlikely to trust such a precious heirloom to just anyone. This would be best acquired if you have every other component first–and promise to give it back to her. 

NOTE: If you wish to attempt to get the mirror of the Ciemnica witches, send a message to the masterlist for further instructions on how to do so! Otherwise, this will be handled at the end of the event! 

Part 2 will run from midnight, May 16 to 11:59 p.m. May 30th!

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His Voice

Summary: All B wanted was to talk to her lover. But after the tragic way her mother had died, it felt as if misfortune would keep her thoughts inside of her forever.

Pairing: Jae Park x OC

World: Her Name (read HERE) / Spiritual Connection

Genre: angst / romance / period au

Warnings: death

A/N: If you’re anything like I was, there were a few things in Her Name that weren’t answered. Like why B couldn’t talk, why no one seemed to speak her name and what she was thinking when Jae was doing that he was! And so with a request from @noona-clock​ who also wanted to know what her character was up to, I’ve written this POV.

It’s going to make no sense if you don’t read Her Name first, which I’ve linked above.

Word count: 4708

Tragic was the only word Becky could use to explain her existence.

From the moment she was born to the day she died, she had been followed around by misfortune. It was unfair, and she had cried that towards the Gods for most of her life. Yet she had equally been aware of how foolish it was to expect anything good to happen in her life when she knew her fate was to lose all those who meant the most to her.

She had been far too greedy and thus suffered the consequence.

As a young child, Becky had lived carefree, her spirit as loud as her voice was. Her name would fall from the lips of every resident in the village daily, and most often from her mother.

“Becky!”

“Yes mama?”

“Come inside before you catch a chill!” the woman called from the front door and the young child looked at the small hut she had been playing in among the trees and then back at her mother. The woman smiled and so she began to move, rushing into her arms quickly. “Why, your skin is like ice!”

“I’ll warm up faster if your arms remain like this,” she replied and her mother chuckled, rubbing her hands gently over her child. Becky grinned up at her. “You have the magic touch!”

“I’m your mother; it would be a crime if I did not have some special ability to protect you.”

And protect her, she had.

The fire had taken hold of everything in its path, flames licking up the walls of the building as if it were made of mere parchment. Becky wrestled in the grip of those holding her back, screaming out for her mother to return after she had been pushed out of the house to safety. Her world was engulfed by the flames, her screams heard by no one to save the woman she cared for the most.

Instead, the words of others burdened her further in the wake of her mother’s death.

“The fire? It was started because of my daughter here. She got sick and Mary was trying to keep her warm. I told her the upstairs fireplace wasn’t safe but Becky was frozen, what could she do? She barely managed to save her before the fire took over.”

Her father’s admission to those asking questions burdened his daughter with the weight of her mother’s demise. It was because of her, because she had gone out into the cold one too many times that she had gotten sick and needed the extra heating.

Becky’s illness only deepened, leaving her father stricken with the loss of his wife and now her ailing health. And yet, there was no magic touch that could cure this, no comforting words to be breathed into her hair as she wrestled with her fever. It was a long twenty days stuck in bed, walking the fine line between death and living. She longed to see her mother, uncaring of the life around her. There was no desire to play, to sing, to even talk. What words could she express to her father? Her apologetic heart was too heavy for the words to even fall from her lips. The guilt consumed her, detaching her from all that surrounded her. The faces of the townspeople, their eyes filling with sadness, with pity. There goes the girl who now had no mother.

The mother she had insisted warm her up when she couldn’t remove the shiver from her body.

For some reason, the Gods would not accept Becky’s departure from this world. As her health returned and she grew stronger by the day, Becky came to realise this was her punishment. She would remain bound to this hellish existence for the crimes she had committed.

No one told her it wasn’t her fault. No one comforted her with the knowledge that it was an accident. Whilst it was a tragedy for the people of the village, to Becky it became a stain on her skin, something she couldn’t remove no matter how often she scrubbed at herself.

And because no one talked to her about it, she didn’t reach out either. What value did her words hold now? If she went out into the streets and cried, would someone come to her aide? Would they listen to her concerns? Her father barely spoke to her now, instead turned to the comfort of ale. He would drink until the innkeeper carried him upstairs to the room they shared, shaking his head with a sigh at the state of them both.

The widowed drunk and the murderer.

A change in scenery had her father hopeful their lives would improve. And although she was miserable, Becky yearned for the same kind of future. Two years had passed by and she felt enclosed in her hometown. Moving on meant she could break free from the shackles, from the status she felt pressed into there.

Still, it came with its own set of problems.

If the last village she lived in was far too quiet towards her, this one was far too loud.

“Hello!” a child greeted as she sat on the step of her new home, her father taking over the local tavern. Looking up at the boy, she politely smiled. “Do you want to come and play? What’s your name? I’m Wonpil!”

Becky blinked, her mouth opening just a little, a huff of air leaving her. It had been so long since anyone has asked her something and now she had been asked two questions within a minute. It put her in a bind, especially since she couldn’t seem to answer either of his questions.

Wonpil frowned, looking over at his friends by the tree for assistance. Two more joined him and Becky pressed her back into her front door.

“Do you not want to play?” one of them asked and the other looked at her feet where she had been drawing with a stick.

He smiled. “B? My name starts with a B too. I’m Brian and this is Sungjin. Say, if you don’t want to share your full name with us, I’m going to call you B!”

“B, do you want to play?” Wonpil asked with renewed interest and she nodded feebly, following the boys out into the field where she ran around until the sun went down.

As the years went by, B was all she went by. The lively Becky she knew of had long disappeared, and she had grown accustomed to being B. The girl who didn’t speak, who lived with a book firmly in front of her face and with a small network of young men who protected her from having to try and be anything else. Brian, Wonpil and Sungjin had gone into the workforce now, labouring the lands of the estate that ran this village. There wasn’t time left to play as they once did, instead it was common they would come to the tavern she now worked in to check on her and drink down an ale after a hard day’s work. Dowoon had soon joined them and his inquisitive nature over why she didn’t speak soon settled.

In fact, the whole town never questioned it these days. There had been some talk when she and her father first moved in, though with a brief explanation that she had lost her ability to talk in an accident, no one seemed to press the matter further.

She was able to exist, slip by under the radar and hear all too much when those around her didn’t add her into conversations. Sometimes Becky wanted to scream or tell them of her thoughts. When Clyde started cheating on his wife with the daughter of the local physician, she had wanted to alert someone about it. Murray would often sit and wonder where all his money was going and she knew that it was his son who was taking it from under his nose. It was a little frustrating to know all these things and yet she was someone no one expected to hear from so what good would it do?

Despite not being able to talk, she had a lot to say still. She would write down everything, her journal her only solace. It was the only thing that saw her true thoughts and held all her conversations.

Until she met the newcomer.

When her friends entered the bar, Becky had rushed towards the counter, smiling brightly as Brian greeted her. She went from one face to the next, taking in the little changes that being out in the sun all day was doing to them. And then she stopped short, blinking slowly at the man who trailed in behind them. His eyes took their time to soak her in, a small yet warm smile crossing his lips.

“Ma’am.”

She didn’t know what to do. With his one word, Becky felt her heart begin to thud in her chest. Turning away rapidly, she started preparing drinks for the workers. Just who was this tall fellow with her friends? Glancing over at their table now and then, she found him staring at her, his gaze curious. She knew it wouldn’t take long, the men he sat with would tell him what he needed to know.

She didn’t talk, so just leave her be.

For some peculiar reason, Becky yearned to have a voice now. Eighteen years had passed without using it and it felt like an impossible feat to even work her lips in a way to speak a single word. And yet, every time the handsome man walked into the tavern, the same longing would overwhelm her, especially when he started sitting up on the stools before the counter.

Becky had learned his name was Jae and he had travelled from the city to the countryside from overhearing a conversation about him. She wished to know more. Why did he leave the city and come here? What was the city like? Did he like being so close to the sea? And most importantly, why was his voice like honey, soothing to listen to at any time?

“Hello, B, how are you?” Jae greeted as he held his hand up with a wave, his smile knocking some of the air out of her lungs. She smiled, turning to make him a drink before placing it down on the top of the counter.

Jae was unlike most men who worked around here. They would turn up for their lager and down it almost immediately in some game of masculinity. It was expected to drink a lot whilst in this establishment, as a way to release the tension of the working day. More often than not, Jae would barely even touch his drink, instead resting his elbows on the countertop and lazily holding his head in his hands.

And he would watch her.

It didn’t feel invasive, although the attention was more than she was used to. Normally she was only good for handing out drinks and becoming part of the bar like some fixture until a new round was needed.

No one paid much attention to her since she didn’t offer them a reason to.

Yet Jae was adamant to talk to her.

“Today the flowers began to bloom in the gardens at the estate. They looked lovely against the house, though I’m not fond of the bees that come with them. The other day, Dowoon got stung by one of them. It sure was a bit of a panic until he stopped his screaming.”

Becky spent the following morning staring into the mirror before her and trying to will her mouth to speak. She had wanted to ask what kind of flowers were growing there and if Dowoon was okay.

This kind of feeling continued every time she met with Jae. He would ask her silly little questions that he knew she couldn’t just answer with a shake or nod of her head, or tell her something that happened, and she would practise until her throat hurt and tears would fall the following day, wishing there was a way she could talk again.

It was a mixed feeling of happiness and dread whenever she saw Jae step inside and walk her way because of how different he was from everyone else.

And once again, he had been asking her one too many questions in a row before he stopped to smile, humming softly. “Are your eyes brown or hazel?”

Enough was enough. She groaned which surprised not only Jae but herself, his laughter soon tumbling out. The joyous sound made her knees weak and she turned away from him, gripping onto the counter in hopes it would keep her steady. And once she recovered, she faced Jae again, smiling forcibly.

“You know, I’m just going to keep annoying you right?”

If only he knew it was only annoying because she couldn’t respond back.

Jae came up with a solution to that. After a night in the bar with pen and paper, Becky had found there to be an easier way for the pair to converse. And since it had been almost two decades since she had a proper conversation with anyone, writing letters back and forth with Jae excited her to no end. No longer did her journal house her unspoken words, instead, she wrote them to Jae. Perhaps, she shared too much. He would always joke about how many extra pages she had him read each time, but she knew Jae enjoyed them all.

The only thing she didn’t share with him was her name. He, much like the rest of this township knew her as B and Becky was a person only she knew well. It felt wrong to let her out after all these years, even if she wanted to hear the way he said her name in person. Jae could say anything to her and Becky would listen avidly, his voice now addictive as much as his thoughts were.

So it surprised her to find him on her doorstep mid-morning, talking with her father and asking to take her out. She could see the picnic basket in his hand and she gasped, unsure what to do in that moment. Darting outside before her father could say anything, Becky stood before Jae entirely flustered. His smile only increased that feeling and she let out a whine before racing back inside to change. She couldn’t believe he was here and wanting to spend time with her.

When his hand swung near hers on the way to the lakeside to have their picnic, Becky tried not to grab it for her own. She knew she was infatuated by the man and she had a suspicion he felt similar. It wasn’t until he took her hand and threaded his fingers with hers that she realised that there was more to them than fascination. For her, she couldn’t imagine going long without seeing him now.

And as he read to her after eating together, she wanted nothing more than the love story he spoke of to become theirs, nestling into his side and dreaming of a world where she could tell him she loved him ardently, just as the protagonist of the novel had.

After their first picnic, Jae took Becky out with him whenever he could. And each time she would find herself staring at him, hoping he could see with her eyes just how much she adored him. She wanted nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops, to tell him all the ways she loved him.

But she couldn’t bring herself to write it down in ink.

So when he kissed her after playing in the lake together and uttered he loved her, well, Becky felt too many emotions to comprehend. Of course, she was relieved to hear the words from his mouth, knowing she had sent them over and over with her heart to him. But she was disappointed that she couldn’t say it back. That her lips wouldn’t utter three magical words. With all her endless mirror practice, her muscles had developed and she was making noises she hadn’t in some time. Becky was still a long way from being able to tell him of her feelings that way. And she was ashamed, wondering if their whole lives together would pass by with her pleading for words to fall from her mouth.

Jae didn’t care that she didn’t talk though. He never held it against her, often telling her he felt full whenever he was with her. Slowly, he began to break down that stigma as their relationship developed, expressing that her ways of communicating were his favourite. He empowered her and comforted those nerves whenever they arose again.

And he knew she loved him entirely, just as much as he told her every time they met.

With the budding romance now in full bloom, Becky didn’t know how much longer she would take being separated from him. Sending him away every night after their time together made her ache more. She wanted more than they had, greedy for a life she had dreamed of for so long now. One where she could call him hers and fall asleep at his side every night. She was reluctant to let him out of her sight now that he was the most important person in her world.

Knowing she wasn’t there with him at any given moment made her uneasy.

And just as he had last time, Jae dropped her off at her front door with a parting kiss, his lips lingering longer than needed. Her hands held him more tightly, hoping he wouldn’t step back, that there could be a way where he could come inside with her. Although it was unfathomable, especially before marriage, she didn’t want to think of him sleeping elsewhere.

Still, he moved back and her heart cried again. His name repeated in her head with each step he took away from her, and with her desperation, she finally found a way to speak it. Running to him, she clung to her lover, saying his name over and over.

It was the turning point they both needed.

“Beatrice,” Jae suggested and Becky shook her head, cleaning the mugs as she watched him cross the name off. He said three more until the next name rolled off his tongue, piercing her mind and imprinting immediately. “Becky.”

She smiled, trying to keep it together at his name suggestion. Technically, it was all she had gone by. Although her name was Rebecca in full, she couldn’t remember anyone ever calling her that. And so, she shook her head since he was still playing the guessing game over her name for as long as he had known her. She couldn’t help but inwardly giggle, knowing the man would never guess her name if he kept looking at B names.

“Becky. It’s Becky, isn’t it?!” Jae exclaimed, leaning forward towards her. Then he laughed as she shook her head and looked away. “B is for Becky. Now here I thought I would feel more than this after figuring out your name.”

No, it’s not, she answered after whipping around and scrawling down a reply with his pen.

“You can’t say that’s not your name, you responded to it. Becky suits you! You’re my Becky.”

Her heart swooned despite her avoidance of the situation. She tried to tune out Dowoon’s teasing that started when he approached the pair at the bar as she worked on settling her emotions, though when she heard the word wedding, she began to blush profusely.

“Why would you go and say that, look how uneasy you have made her! And what do you think I’m working towards? I need to know her name before I ask her to be my bride.”

Her ears began to ring as she let go of the mug she had been working on, staring down at the broken pieces before her. Jae appeared in her blurred vision then and before she could think too much about it, Becky ran off, shutting the front door before Jae could reach her.

And then she began to panic.

If she had told him her name sooner, would they already be man and wife by now? Why had she felt the strong urge to keep it from him? There was no need to lie, and she never had, but omitting the facts of her earlier life had made her feel guilty. Here she had the most amazing man standing before her and she was scared that he wouldn’t want to be with her after he knew everything.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I didn’t mean to frighten you like that with my intentions. Won’t you just come out?!” Jae yelled as he banged on the door.

If Jae wanted to marry her, then she would need to tell him everything. Starting with her name. And after scribbling it down on a piece of paper, she thrust it out the door, watching his reaction through the window beside it.

“Why can’t you just come out and let me talk?” he breathed in frustration, unfolding the paper hastily, stopping when he saw what was on the page. Jae then spoke her name into existence. “Rebecca.”

It was a small step forward. Much like her ability to breathe out his name, hearing him call her by Becky took some getting used to. She had so much more to tell him, and yet he was talking more than usual.

“Won’t you just marry me right now?” he whined for the umpteenth time and Becky bit her lip, shooting him a reproachful stare. Jae chuckled. “I don’t want to wait two more months. You’re my bride to be, let’s just get hitched tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Jae,” Sungjin chuckled as he looked between the couple. “We have work tomorrow.”

“And with Christmas right around the bend, that work will see no end to it,” Brian added on with a sigh. He then smiled at Becky. “Though, I do say, you will be the sweetest Christmas bride, Becky.”

She glowed, nodding lightly and burying into Jae’s arm. He chuckled. “It doesn’t matter what day it is, of course my love will be the most beautiful bride to exist.”

“Yeah-yeah, we get it,” Wonpil said with a sigh and Dowoon grinned. “Rub it in our faces, true love exists.”

“And it’s never separated,” Sungjin mused. “I’m glad you have each other.”

“Me too,” Jae commented on Becky’s behalf, nuzzling her nose affectionately. It wasn’t often that Jae showed his love for her in front of his friends, but lately he was increasingly clingy.

Becky didn’t mind it one bit, soaking in every sweet gesture as she counted down the days until she spoke the two words she had been practising endlessly. I do.

Though fate would have it, she would never get to say them.

“Wake up! The estate is on fire!” someone shrilled outside in the street and she sat up with a start, her heart hammering in her chest as she threw clothing on.

She could see the haze of the fire up ahead, the large estate engulfed in flames. Becky tried to rush, though her legs felt like lead, her memories as a child flooding her senses. She saw both worlds through eyes of terror, her steps sluggish as the screams began to erupt in her chest.

She needed to get to Jae, to see him and touch him. To know he was alright and safe. She needed to breathe but her lungs were too heavy, the smoke too thick around her.

“JAE!” she screamed as loudly as she could before her mind blanked out, collapsing to the ground.

When Becky came to, she was in her bed. Thrashing away from the blankets, she sat up with a start, her chest too heavy to comprehend anything. Where was Jae and why was he not here for her?

“My dear, you need to rest. Please,” begged the kind old lady from next door. Becky scanned her expression, noting the downcast expression. She had seen that look before, many years ago as a child. Choking back a sob, she tried to speak.

“J-Jae?”

Lifting a handkerchief to her weathered face, the woman tried to stem her tears. “We need to focus on getting better first.”

“Jae!” Becky repeated with more force, the tears rolling into the grooves on the woman’s face. “Jae!”

“I’m afraid he has perished with the fire. All the gardening men did.”

It was like déjà vu. The agony of loss crippled her and Becky succumbed to a terrible illness. She wished to leave this earth, to follow Jae and her friends into the afterlife. There was nothing left for her now.

Against her own will, Becky began to recover. Her health mocked her, punishing her to another season of misfortune. She was numb to the world, staring out at the lake often enough that when she entered it, her father was there to save her before her last breath.

And he promptly sent her to live with a relative in the city.

Aunt Maggie had lost her husband five years previous and had lived a miserable, lonely existence since. She didn’t ask much of Becky outside of cleaning and cooking and never sought out her company. Still, Maggie was a comfort in this harsh world whilst Becky lived out ten more years before passing peacefully in her sleep.

It wasn’t as simple as she had thought death to be. There were rules that kept her bound to her home in the city. There was no ability to find the man she loved, no matter how often she tried. Though there was one thing that returned to her and it made her laugh bitterly to have it back. She could talk with complete ease now and no one was there to hear her.

Apart from the young daughter of the household, many years onward. Rose leaned forward, abandoning the dollhouse before her. “What is your name?”

Frowning, the ghost shook her head. “Well, I don’t quite remember. I feel it starts with a B though.”

“I shall refer to you as B then!”

It felt fitting and she would often find herself writing a J next to the B whenever she held a pen. She hadn’t forgotten his face, no matter how many years had travelled between them. But she had very little to go on, mere fragments of her past appearing in dreams. Kisses against a tree or holding his hand and swinging it as she laughed; they were few and far between. Those thoughts kept her on edge even when Rose stopped playing with her, a need to find him, to search for the man who held her heart. She could describe him right down to the shade of his dusky rose lips, and yet no full name matched him.

He was simply J and she was B.

“Where are you heading Rose?” B asked of the now middle-aged woman she had been assigned to, watching as the woman packed a suitcase with enough supplies for a weekend away. Curious, and quite frankly relieved to leave the confines of her home in the city, B travelled as Rose’s companion. They arrived within two hours to their destination, an old manor standing proudly before them. B looked towards the view of the sea below and sighed, it felt so familiar to her.

Following Rose up into the bed and breakfast, she marvelled at the history of this place. It had clearly seen a lot of hard and prosperous moments in its time and as she walked with Rose into the main living room, B stopped in her tracks as she listened to two men talking together that no one seemed to pay any attention to.

B knew that voice anywhere, and a flood of memories resurfaced, rooting her to the spot she stood upon. And when one of the men turned to her, the other pointing out that she was dead like they were, she smiled softly.

She remembered his name now.

Jae.

_________________

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[freddiesaysalright]

Beautiful Mess Part 9

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @mrs-jack-murphy​, @not-john-watsons-blog​, @simmisblog​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @thosequeenboys​, @lv7867​, @maymacca​, @rethought​, @brianslittlepet​, @jinxy93​, @stephydearestxo​, @mrcleanisthicc​, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls​, @readinghorn​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @reedusteinrambles​, @borhapqueen92​, @1204-moonchild​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: I’m so sorry this update took so long! Things have been crazy between dance, my niece being born, my grandmother getting surgery, and then I got sick! I hope you all enjoy this next part :)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  

Part 9 here we go!!!

AIDS.

Your head spun with how hard that hit you. You didn’t know much about it, only that it was essentially a death sentence. There was treatment, but no cure. How? How had this happened to Richard?

Several emotions went through you. Shock at the news that Richard was gay. Hurt that he had this diagnosis. Anger that he was cursed with this. Devastation because you were going to lose him. Sooner or later, he would succumb to it. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, at a complete loss for words. What could you say? 

“I’m so sorry,” Brian said.

That didn’t feel like enough.

“Thank you,” Richard replied. “Y/N, I...I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry. I’m still going to take care of you.”

You found your voice at last.

“Jesus Christ, Rich,” you said, barely audible. “You come in here, tell me you’re dying, and you’re worried about what’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, there’s no use worrying about myself,” he said. “I know what’s going to happen to me.”

You heard bitterness and anger in his voice as he said it, though it bubbled just below the surface. Richard was not an emotional person, so even if he wanted to scream and cry about this, he never would.

“What do you mean you’re going to take care of her?” Brian wondered.

You were hit with a wave of gratitude for him. He was moving the conversation where it needed to go instead of lingering on this terrible news. His lack of emotional attachment meant he could be logical and get the information. You, meanwhile, were still frozen with shock.

“I’m leaving everything to her,” Richard explained. “My entire share of my inheritance will go to Y/N upon my...departure.”

This snatched you out of your daze of grief.

“What?”

Richard looked at you. 

“You have been the one person who really cared about me, Y/N,” he said gently. “You saw me as a person, even more than my mother and father, who looked at us as pawns. Means to an end. Everything I have would have been yours anyway.”

You blinked back fresh tears.

“Hold on,” you said. “You’re talking like you’re going to die tomorrow. There’s treatment and -”

“I’ve turned down treatment,” he said.

Your hand snapped to Brian’s. You needed something to hold onto or the continuous blows from Richard were going to knock you on your back.

“W-why?” you breathed.

“I don’t want to prolong anything,” he began. “I don’t want to drag out my life when there’s no point. I’m going to meet my fate head on and with dignity.”

You weren’t quite sure what to make of that. Did he think that was some sort of bravery? You felt like he was being selfish. But it also felt like it was selfish of you want to keep him here when he could be at peace. What was the right way to feel right now? Too much was happening all at once.

“That’s not all,” he said.

“Don’t tell me anymore,” you winced, and you felt Brian squeeze your hand. “I’m about to fall apart as it is.”

“This isn’t too terrible,” he said and a small smile flashed briefly across his face. “I’m going to the estate in Switzerland to live out the rest of...well, the months I’ve got left.”

“Months?” you questioned.

He nodded. “I want to have some peace and quiet and...solitude. I’ll get word to you when I think it’s close, and I hope you’ll be there with me when…”

The thought of it made your heart feel like it was being clawed to bits.

“I’ll be there for you, Richard,” you promised.

It was the last thing you wanted. But you felt you owed him that much. He cleared his throat and got to his feet.

“I’m sorry to have utterly ruined your morning,” he said. “Especially after the recent events. I’ll let you take all this in.”

“When do you leave for Switzerland?” you asked quickly.

“In a month,” he answered. “That gives me enough time to get my affairs completely in order.”

“Alright…” you trailed off.

A surge of emotion was brimming up inside you.

“I’ll see you, Y/N,” he said, getting to his feet and striding over to you. He leaned over and kissed your forehead. “Please don’t be sad for me.”

You could only nod. You could hardly even look at him. You heard the door close, and he was gone. Part of you wanted to call him back. You needed every moment with him you could get because soon enough he wouldn’t be here.

Brian’s voice pulled you back.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You shook your head as your lower lip began to tremble. Then, you completely broke down. You fell into Brian, who just gathered you up in his arms and whispered comforting words to you while you sobbed. He held you tight, stroking your hair, and showing you the utmost love and support. All you could do was wail and soak his shirt with your tears.

It was several minutes before your breathing evened out enough where you could talk. Even then, it took you a while before you could get any words out. 

“I’m sorry, Brian,” you whimpered. “I’m such a mess...everything is such a mess.” 

“Dove,” he began, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “You’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”

You half smiled at that.

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

He leaned forward and kissed your lips sweetly.

“You’re not a mess,” he said simply. “You’re human. A lot has happened to you lately. You’re allowed to cry and be upset. This is a lot to take in.”

You tried to smile, but it faltered. Then you let yourself rest in his embrace. You remained on the couch for hours, holding tightly to Brian because he felt like the only solid ground left. Everything else was crumbling beneath you.

The next day, Brian returned to the studio. You went with him, not wanting to be alone. Cat came along too, which delighted Freddie when you all arrived. They were also thrilled to see Brian, and embraced him warmly. Freddie and John greeted you, but Roger still seemed to be holding a grudge. You understood it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Roger was one of Brian’s best friends, and you wanted him to like you.

“Welcome back, mate,” Roger said warmly to Brian.

“Thanks,” Brian returned, same as he had with John and Freddie. “Have I missed much?”

“You’re going to love what we’ve done with Roger’s song, darling,” Freddie began, and he led Brian away, leaving you alone with John and Roger.

“How are you, Y/N?” John asked politely. 

“Alright,” you replied.

You were still reeling from everything Richard had told you.

“Look, I wanted to apologize to you both,” you said, deciding to just rip the metaphorical band aid off. “I know I’ve put Brian through a lot, even physically - he could have died that night - and it’s hurt you guys as well. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” John said. “But to be clear, Brian May will die when I’ve killed him out of petty malice and not a moment sooner.”

You both chuckled.

“Thanks, John,” you said, and he nodded. You looked at Roger.

“I…” he began. “You hurt him really badly, Y/N. I’ve never seen Brian this...I dunno, this affected by someone.”

You looked down. If only Roger knew how deeply you felt his words. You still had some of that guilt placed on yourself.

“I understand,” you said. “I know I acted selfishly. But please believe me when I say I will do everything in my power to keep Brian from getting hurt again. I love him so much. Honestly, Roger, I’ve never been this affected by someone. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Brian and I plan on spending the rest of my life showing him that.”

Roger heaved a sigh as he looked at you. He ran a hand through his blonde locks and bit his lip.

“Just...take care of him, okay?” he said. “He’s the most absentminded fucker in the world, and he needs someone to look out for him.”

“I’ll guard him with my life,” you promised, a smile slowly forming across your lips.

Roger stuck out his hand, and you shook it. He was hesitant, but willing to accept you for Brian’s sake. That was the best you could hope for right now.

The band got to work, and you watched them. For a moment, you were transported to a place where you had no worries. No Richard, no store, nothing. It was just music. Before meeting Brian, you had never had an appreciation for rock music. But he showed you now and during the show you attended that it could help anyone escape for a time. Seeing them all work together and create such a sound was a pretty incredible thing to watch.

As the hours passed, you became more restless. The urge to occupy your mind with your own work was overwhelming, but you had not seen the shop in days. When the band took a break for lunch, you told Brian you were going for a walk.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he wondered.

For the first time in days, you wanted to be alone.

“I’m alright,” you said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you but he didn’t argue. You slipped your coat on and disappeared down the hall before popping out the door. The frigid air felt refreshing on your face. It was crisp and sharp. You walked down the street and saw the shop before you normally would have. There was still police tape around the window and glass littered the sidewalk. The window was covered by a large piece of wood. It looked like it was shut down permanently.

Your heart broke at the sight. It looked so...sad. Standing alone, dark, and empty. All those books with no eyes on their pages. You took your keys from your pocket, unlocked the door, and went inside. 

This sight was even worse. Glass was still all over the floor. The spot where Brian lay was still stained dark from where he bled. There was also spatter from the confrontation by the counter. And drops leading from where Brian was laying to the front door, showing the path he’d stumbled when the intruder let him go.

You also noticed that the place was still decorated for Christmas. The holiday had passed nearly a week ago, when you and Brian were still hiding away from the world. You hadn’t even realized. You normally loved Christmas, and spent it with Kimballs, caroling and opening presents. Would you ever find that kind of joy again? You hoped so.

Without really thinking about it, you began to take the Christmas decorations down. Although, you found yourself avoiding the back of the shop. As painful as it was to look at the ruined front, a fear of another ambush plagued you and it was as if an invisible wall confined you to the front half.

You packed all the Christmas decorations into a box. Then you retrieved cleaning supplies from the bathroom and started to wipe away the stains. The police had given you the go-ahead for this, since they had already collected the evidence they needed. You started over  by the counter, wiping up the intruder’s blood first since it was easier. You tossed the rags in the bin. You took a brush over to the place where Brian lay.

As you knelt down, you tried not to picture the way he looked that night. How the color slowly drained from his face and each time he winced with pain. You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head, forcing the image away. You began to scrub. Back and forth and back and forth. The suds turned red, and yet there was still more stain.

You dunked the brush back in the soap bucket and started again. The brush swished over the wood, soaking it with warm soapy water. Still the stain remained. No matter how hard your pushed or how many times you scrubbed that spot, it would not come out.

Tears of frustration stung your eyes. Just when you were ready to start screaming, the bell on the door tinkled. You sucked in a terrified breath and whipped around to see who it was.

“Sorry,” said Brian. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You…” you trailed off. “You didn’t. I just...how did you know I was here?”

“Well, you were taking so long, I figured there was nowhere else you could be,” he said. “I just...knew you wanted to be at the shop.”

You sniffled.

“I can’t get this stupid spot up,” you confessed.

You dropped the brush and it clattered loudly to the floor.

“Well, it’s had some time to soak in there, hasn’t it?” he replied.

A beat of silence passed between you.

“What’s the usual turnaround rate between everything falling apart and when you need to start picking up the pieces?” you wondered. 

“I think that depends on the person,” he answered.

He sat beside you on the floor.

“I wish I wasn’t so…I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know what I am right now. I feel sort of numb.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “You’ve lost a lot. And you’re going to lose another big thing, you just don’t know when.”

“I can’t even clean up my shop,” you said. 

“You don’t have to right now,” he told you.

“I want to,” you insisted. “I want to start feeling normal again.”

“You mean you want everything to go back to the way it was,” he said.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It won’t ever be that way again, dove.”

You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder. 

“I know,” you said quietly. 

He kissed the top of you head.

“I love you very much, Y/N,” he said.

“I love you too, Brian,” you returned.

You looked up at him and he kissed you properly.

“Come on,” he said when you broke apart. “Come back to the studio. Cat misses you.”

You smiled. “Well, I can’t very well leave him alone, can I?”

Brian helped you to your feet and you left the shop, locking the door behind you. 

Over the next few days, you returned to the shop for short periods of time, getting it back together in small doses. That way, you didn’t get overwhelmed again. You arranged to have it open again after New Year’s, when the new window would be installed.

Brian helped in any way he could, but you insisted he prioritize the band. He had surely missed a lot, and you didn’t want his work to suffer for your sake. Besides, now you had your whole lives to be together. Two days before New Year’s Eve, you had just put the final touches on the shop, when someone walked in. You turned, expecting it to be Brian, but your great surprise, Charlie stood in the door.

“P-papa!” you gasped. “I...It’s good to see you.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so absent, Y/N,” he said. “But as you know, Susan and I have had quite a shock from what Richard told us.”

You looked at the floor.

“I know,” you said. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t -”

“I’m not here for an explanation,” he said. “What’s happened has happened and we cannot undo it. Even more important, Richard cannot change who he is.”

You waited for him to go on.

“I…” he took a deep, shaky breath. “I know that my son is going to die and I know the reason. I also know he still plans to leave everything to you.”

You swallowed.

“Is that alright?” you wondered.

His eyes watered as he gazed at you. “Oh, my darling girl. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You both stepped forward and embraced. Relief washed over you. So, you had not lost as much as you thought. Charlie forgave you. You still had your family.

“You really forgive me, Papa?” you asked.

He stepped back and looked at you.

“No,” he said with a chuckle. 

You frowned, brow furrowing at him.

“Because, Y/N, there is nothing to forgive,” he explained with a soft smile. “It’s me who should be doing the apologizing.”

“What?” you wondered. “What on Earth for?”

“Because we forced you and Richard into something neither of you ever wanted,” he said. “And in doing so, doomed you to a life devoid of happiness. We were so desperate to appear like these great lords with their old money, that we forced some archaic tradition onto our own children. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Oh, Papa,” you sighed, hugging him again. “There is nothing to forgive.”

You held each other for a long moment. A lot of unsaid things went into this embrace. With his arms, he showed you that his love for you was unconditional. You did not have to marry Richard to be Charlie’s daughter. You already were. You had been for years.

At that moment, the bell chimed again. This time it was Brian.

“Y/N, I couldn’t find the -” he stopped dead when he saw Charlie. “Oh. Hello.”

Charlie smiled. “Hello, Brian. I’m glad you’re here.”

Brian looked confused. “Are you?”

“I am,” Charlie assured him. “I wanted to invite both of you to me and Susan’s New Year’s party. If you’re sticking around, Brian, we’d like to get to know you better.”

Brian’s precious smile claimed his lips.

“Well, I plan on being around for Y/N forever,” he said. “So, I’m pleased to hear it.”

They shook hands and started talking. You watched, feeling steady on your feet at last. It wasn’t just you and Brian on a little piece of land by yourselves. There was a way forward. A clear path that was forming in front of you. Now, you were stepping into your future together. Despite all the terrible things you’d experienced and heard the last few weeks, you had that to look forward to.

[lifeofclonewars]

Dives, Hecko, and Vex

Read it on AO3 Here

I already posted the link to this and decided, hey, why not post the whole thing on here as well? Enjoy! 

Summary: "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

To his right, his ARC troopers walked, where he could keep an eye on them. Not that he didn’t trust Fives and Echo. It was just— Well, to put it simply, they were bored, and when the duo got bored they tended to do...interesting things to cure it.

So far, the two had twirled every time they saw one of the native avian species, attempted to parkour their way over sections of the underbrush, attempted to find a certain amount of whatever they picked to spell out their own and other members of Torrent Company’s CT numbers, attempted to make up songs about anything and everything, and probably a few other things Rex hadn’t caught. 

Currently, they had taken to playing catch with a giant stick Fives had come across on their last break.At least they hadn’t resorted to stepping in each puddle they came across. Yet.

-

In which Fives goes for a dive, Echo joins the "HECK" squad, and Rex is vexed by Torrent Company.

-----

The air was hot and humid, even through helmet filtering. Everywhere was green and brown, from the mud and bushes afoot to the animals in the trees above. The 501st was easily picked out from their surroundings, the blue and white of their armor showing what the leaf coverage could not.  Sunshine filtered through the abundant trees, somehow adding to the heat even through layers of leaves and branches. Looking up, the clouds weren’t visible due to said layers, but surely they were there. It had rained the night before, ending just as they started marching again and, if the smell of ozone said anything, they would be expecting more rain sooner rather than later. 

The 501st was on yet another campaign, marching their way through an endless forest, trying to cut off another faction of droids. Five days ago had been the first battle, two days ago a second. They still had yet to encounter Grievous but, with their luck, they’d run into him at this next one. Either way, it was due to happen.

Mixed in with the underbrush and mud was a collection of groundwater. Spread across the landscape at odd intervals, lakes, ponds, and brooks glistened in the sunlight. Some appeared rather large, though whether that was from rain overflow or not was unclear. In addition to these, puddles were strewed across the path, making for even more mud and unclean boots.

Already, the legion had marched klicks on klicks, minimal stops for rest being taken. They’d started at the break of dawn and, while the sun wasn’t visible, it surely had to be high in the sky by then. 

Rex walked along with Torrent Company, leading the way and following the path the scouts had taken. Chatter among the troopers ebbed and flowed amongst the clusters. While they had started out marching in lines, the further they got, the more relaxed the lines became. The droids were approximately a full day out, so he allowed it for the boost of morale it brought.

“Where’s the General, again?” someone behind him asked.

Rex sighed. “He and the Commander are further back in the troops to check supplies among other things, just like the first few times it was mentioned.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”  

To his right, his ARC troopers walked, where he could keep an eye on them. Not that he didn’t trust Fives and Echo. It was just— Well, to put it simply, they were bored, and when the duo got bored they tended to do...interesting things to cure it.

So far, the two had twirled every time they saw one of the native avian species, attempted to parkour their way over sections of the underbrush, attempted to find a certain amount of whatever they picked to spell out their own and other members of Torrent Company’s CT numbers, attempted to make up songs about anything and everything, and probably a few other things Rex hadn’t caught. Currently, they had taken to playing catch with a giant stick Fives had come across on their last break.

At least they hadn’t resorted to stepping in each puddle they came across. Yet.

Rex took a deep breath, hoping Kix was close enough if their shenanigans nosedived, literally or figuratively.  Force knew it was bound to happen soon.

Almost as if on cue, the stick broke. “Aw, man,” came two disappointed grumbles.

“Wait.” Leave it to Fives to figure something else out. “No, this is still good. We can work on our reflexes better since there’s two of them to catch and throw now.”

“Ah, yes,” Echo agreed. “This is a great way to train and make sure we’re still qualified to be ARC Troopers.”

Rex decided to continue to ignore them as best he could. If he didn’t see it, he didn’t have to deal with it. Even if he was their ori’vod and CO. He’d only get involved when Kix needed to as well.

The further they walked, the more ways Echo and Fives came up to toss the sticks. Both at once. Each tossing one at the same time. Front to back, back to front. In the middle of their twirls. Great. Now they were mixing in all the previous things they’d done with the two sticks. Try as he might, they were hard to ignore.

Rex’s comm beeped. Preparing for whatever news the scouts brought, he paused, then answered.  “This is Captain Rex.”

“Captain, this is Zeck. You’ve got incoming. We’re not entirely sure what it is, just that it’s expected to land about where you will be when it does land in about 10 minutes.”

Rex’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is it from the Seppies?”

“We can’t tell, sir,” Zeck replied. 

“And why is that?” A pain behind his temple made itself present; Rex needed a nap. Or some caf. Maybe a stim. The stim was more accessible with all the walking they were doing. 

Zeck hesitated, a squawk of something from his comm filtering through. Rex couldn’t tell if it came from a vod or not. “It’s moving too fast for us to be able to tell, sir. We were barely able to calculate it’s landing zone, and, given how far behind us the legion is and how fast you are moving, it should land near you. Sorry, sir.” 

Another deep breath. “Alright, I’ll make sure we keep an eye open. I’m guessing you guys are far enough out now to start to look for a resting spot for the night.”

“Yes, sir.” The comm turned off after the affirmation. 

Sure enough, 8 minutes later, a soft whirring slowly faded in, scarcely heard over the footsteps and rustling. Within a minute, it was loud enough to cut off some conversations and draw attention.

Soon enough, it broke the treeline. The opening made from it brought more sunlight through, brightening a section of the forest floor more. With the aid of his rangefinder, the captain was able to finally identify the object.

It was a kriffing lightsaber. More accurately, Skywalker’s kriffing lightsaber.

Zeck had been right; the lightsaber plunged into a lake just to the right of where the troops began to pass. 

“I got it!” 

In an instant, Fives was gone, a splash of water the only mark of where he’d disappeared. Rex stopped walking, offhandedly noticing some of the men around him also halting. Fives could swim, so, as long as he popped up soon, nobody would need to follow him. While they waited, a gentle breeze floated through, rustling the leaves ever so slightly.

Another splash and Fives surfaced. “See? I got it!” he exclaimed, waving his hand, now occupied by the saber. 

Fives pulled himself out of the water, armor now dripping. He was lucky he himself wouldn’t get wet but slippery armor was not ideal, battlefield or not. 

“What the heck, Fives!” Echo exclaimed, grabbing his fellow ARC by the shoulders. A flash of Cody saying the same thing back to him on Rishi crossed Rex’s mind. A sigh escaped him before he could stop it.

Fives glanced behind Echo and Rex could feel the smirk through their buckets. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m fine. Plus, I was able to grab the General’s saber.

Rex just shook his head. “Jus’ keep walking and don’t slip.”

“Mmh, but this is Fives, sir,” Echo stated, giving Fives a nudge so they could continue to walk together. “I’m not sure if he’s ever been capable of that.”

Fives snorted. “Excuse you, I’m very capable of not slippi—” Down he went, wet shoe having connected with some mud. “I stand corrected.”

Echo put his hands on his hips, standing over the other ARC. “Hurry up and stand up, that’d be great, thanks.” 

Fives pulled himself up, seeing as Echo’s hands stayed resolutely on his hips and not offered to him. “Great, now I have mud all over my armor,” he complained, unsuccessfully trying to wipe mud clumps off his chest plate. All it did was transfer the clumps to his glove and smear what didn’t transfer across his chest.

“That’s what you get for jumping into a lake,” Rex remarked. 

“I’m gonna have to clean it off. Ewwww.” Fives’ face wasn’t visible but Rex could tell his nose was likely scrunched up, brushing off his comment.

It was times like these that Rex questioned why he decided to train ARC Troopers. Granted, tomorrow Echo and Fives were probably going to pull off something to remind him. But at the moment— 

His comm beeped; it was one of the scouts, but noticeably not Zeck this time. He flicked it on.

“Captain, we found a good place to stop for the night.”

“And?” he prompted, feeling there had to be something else.

“Uh, sir, well... How do I put this? Zeck got stuck in a tree, Focus is stuck waist-deep in some mud, and also, I think there are some angry locals on the horizon.”

The first half of this campaign had felt long. If today proved anything, it was that the second half was going to be just as long, if not longer. Rex couldn’t wait to get back on the Resolute and just take a nap. But first, he needed to deal with his scouts, get the laser sword back from Fives and to Skywalker, and make sure he didn’t jump into any more lakes. Unfortunately, the former two were far easier than the latter.

Yeah, he needed a nap.

-

Thank you for reading!