#he still is sad and pitiful but he’s also a rage filled monster who was given too much power without enough guidance

[aerticent]

my love for Maven has evolved into something and no matter how hard i try i cannot put it into words and it’s driving me crazy

[giggles-and-freckles]

swoon june day 15: masquerade

He finds her quicker than he normally does at these sorts of things. It’s surprising, given the masks and elaborate apparel of all in attendance. But Anakin recognises Padmé's soft extravagance immediately, and can’t find it in himself to be discreet as he cuts across the dance floor to pull her from her conversation with other senators.

“Milady,” he says, resting a hand at the small of her back. She flinches in surprise, but turns to him and offers a strange smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, nodding to the other senators who look miffed at his intrusion. He doesn’t remotely care. “But I was hoping for a dance.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just offers her hand and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

It’s liberating, being able to be with her like this, unconcerned by the watchful eyes and judging gazes. He should be more careful, anyway–he knows he should. But it’s so rare for him to be able to have his hands on her anywhere that isn’t her apartment, so he’ll take further advantage of the convenience than he likely should.

He tries to pull her closer to him, annoyed by the inches of space she’s purposefully placed between them.

“Padmé,” he says, under his breath. “What are you doing...no one’s even watching. Just–”

She places a hand on his chest, pushing him back. Her feet don’t falter and their rhythm isn’t lost, but Anakin reels back nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” he says, trying again to pull her flush against him. She shakes her head quickly. “Padmé,” he sighs. “I’ve missed you. Please, just–”

“She wishes to see you,” she says quietly.

Anakin stumbles, but manages to catch himself and her, continuing their gait about the floor. He squints, focusing on the eyes behind the mask. “Motée?” he whispers.

A slight nod.

His eyes widen in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.” He clears his throat. “Where’s–”

“Her office.”

His face screws up in confusion. “Her office? She’s supposed to be here. How...why–” He straightens up, almost stepping on her feet. “Is she all right?”

Motée’s eyes flicker to the side of the room, where Obi-Wan sits, primly watching the room around him. His mask is in place, but his shoulders are hunched in further than they should be. He’s ignored all of Anakin’s attempts to engage him in the gala.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks in bewilderment. “What does he–”

She nods her head emphatically.

“Oh,” he sighs. “The Duchess.”

Motée’s hand squeezes his, tightly.

“I’m gonna–” His eyes shift between the door and Obi-Wan. “I’m gonna go.” He drops her hands and begins to walk, but then turns. “Will you…” He bites his lip, struggling for the words. “Can you–”

“I’m going to grab a refreshment,” Motée says. “Perhaps Master Kenobi will want one as well.”

Anakin smiles gratefully. “Thank you.” She nods and turns to walk toward the older Jedi.

Anakin makes it to the doors of the ballroom and slips through them, beginning the jog from the top of the Senatorial Complex down to the lower levels containing Padmé’s office. He’s out of breath by the time he arrives, but he steels himself and knocks anyway. The echo of his mechno-arm against the durasteel door hollows through the hall.

The door slides open.

“Padmé?” he calls immediately, his eyes searching the room. He finds her, crumpled on the floor, an elaborate dress bunched up in a pool around her. An exquisite scarlet and black mask is on the floor next to her, looking crumpled and tossed aside.

“Hey,” he says with a frown, rushing to her. He drops to the floor in front of her, careful not to step on her dress. He’s committed that crime far too many times to be so foolish now, even in the midst of her distress. “What’s going on?”

She looks up at him and the light from the window catches on the wetness of her cheeks. Without thinking, he lifts his hand to gently swipe at them. She closes her eyes and leans into his hand.

“Talk to me,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbones. WIth his other hand, he pulls off his own mask, tossing it to the side. It matches hers, he realises, and knows that wasn’t an accident. “Are you okay? Motée said…”

She cuts him off with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” she manages. “I didn’t mean to pull you from the gala. I just...I–”

“Hey, hey, shh,” he says, sliding his hand down under her chin. He pulls her gaze up. “Don’t apologise. I hate those things anyway, you know that. The only reason I go is to see you.”

She tries for a sort of snort, but it falls pathetically between them. “And Obi-Wan,” she adds.

“I mean sure,” Anakin shrugs theatrically, “he doesn’t look bad in dress robes, so I suppose that’s another reason, but–” he trails off, the joke clearly not doing anything to fill the cracks of Padmé’s countenance. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “I go for Obi-Wan, too.”

“How is he doing?” she asks.

“The same.” He drops his hand and frowns. “He won’t let me help him. I know he’s in pain, but he...he won’t let me do anything. Won’t even talk about it.”

She nods and another tear falls down her cheek. He catches it with the tip of his finger. “He cared about her deeply.”

“He loved her,” Anakin corrects fiercely, then takes a breath. “But I don’t understand why he’s so ashamed of that. Why–”

“He’s not ashamed, Ani,” Padmé says, frowning at her husband. “He’s grieving.”

“Well then he should do something about it.” He throws his hands up in frustration. Fire sparks in his fists as he thinks about the monster who did this to the Duchess, to Obi-Wan. “We know where Maul is. We should–”

“Ani.”

He falls from his precipice of rage. “What?”

“Not everyone grieves the same, my love.”

And something about the way she’s looking at him, like she’s chastising him but also pitying him–it makes him pause.

“You’re grieving, too,” he says in final understanding, guilt and shame drowning him. He’s sitting here planning revenge while his wife cries on the floor of her office, skipping the masquerade he knows she’s been looking forward to for weeks. “Padmé,” he chokes out, “I’m so sorry. She was your friend. You–”

She shakes her head again, offering a sad smile. “It’s okay,” she says. “But yes. She was.”

His hands are around her shoulders within moments, pulling her into his chest. She snakes her arms under his robes to clasp behind his back–and falls apart. Her trickle of tears become a steady stream and she heaves as she struggles to find oxygen between her broken sobs.

Anakin hates this feeling. Hates the knowledge that he can’t do anything to expunge her pain. He doesn’t want to ease it, he wants to erase it. She deserves infinite happiness and he can’t give it to her. It’s another stinging reminder of how much more he has to learn and become to be enough.

“I’m so...tired of this war,” she manages into the folds of his tunic. She’s still shaking. “I’m so tired of losing.”

swoon june 2021 prompts

[my-bated-breath]

Revenge for a Memory

An essay on Katara’s relationship with grief, resentment, and closure

_____

“So… the torturer of one’s imagination, the monstrous figure against whom one had struggled for so many years, dwindled to this pitiful wretch, whose obvious need was not for punishment, but for some kind of psychological treatment.”

- George Orwell, “Revenge is Sour”

_____

Her element answers her call - a hundred icicles hang suspended in the air, dagger-sharp and aimed to draw blood. On the other end, the man brings up his arms in a movement that’s quick yet still too slow, crossed over his head as if to protect himself. He trembles. He shakes.

His death would be so effortless. She could maneuver around his pathetic defense in half a second; she could kill him swiftly and painlessly if only she wishes it to be so. Looking upon his small and curled form, she knows he would offer little resistance. He is powerless.

Katara hesitates, something slipping inside of her, through her stance, through her fingers. Rain pours on. Ice becomes water. Yon Rha is spared.

_____

When considering Avatar: The Last Airbender in its entirety, “The Southern Raiders” stands out as one of the most mature and morally ambiguous episodes, one delving deep into Katara’s relationship with love and loss, present and past, and justice and revenge. Within it, the story does not outline any right or wrong path for Katara to choose. Rather, the most she can hope for is to choose the path of least regrets.

By the end of the episode, Katara has found closure. She returns from her confrontation with Yon Rha having let go of her resentment towards Zuko, who once represented everything she hated about the Fire Nation, and forgives him. The reason why she forgives him is clear - he has earned it by providing her with the means to find her mother’s killer. But the reason why she has found closure is less so.

_____

“This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

_____

“But I didn't forgive him. I'll never forgive him.”

_____

To forgive is to let go of resentment. And for Katara - for someone who was eight-years-old when she last saw her mother, for someone whose entire childhood was ripped away in the same second her mother’s life was ripped away from her body, for someone who was forced to mature far too quickly to fill in that hollow space left behind by a ghost - that is too much to ask for. Although violence may not have been the answer, a lack of violence does not mean a lack of anger on Katara’s part. Her trauma has wounded her too much to prevent her grief from spilling into anger, and Katara can let neither her grief nor rage go.

No, forgiveness is not the reason why Katara found closure.

That grief and that rage, however, no longer overwhelm her in the way they used to. Something gives way during that confrontation with Yon Rha, but what is it? What is the realization that frees her from her hurt, that paves the foundation for her healing?

_____

“I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you, I think I understand. There's just nothing inside you, nothing at all. You're pathetic and sad and empty.”

_____

After she spares Yon Rha, Katara tells him that he’s “nothing.” For the individual who clings onto the nebulous concepts of “meaning” and “purpose” for their entire lifespan, to be “nothing” is to be faced with eternal damnation. Someone who is “pathetic and sad and empty” is someone who lives but is not alive, running through the motions of each day mechanically and without feeling.

Perhaps the reason why Katara finds closure without forgiveness or revenge is that she chooses the ground in-between. She has found justice without needing to serve it because life, in its cruel and karmic ways, had already reduced Yon Rha to a shell of the man he once was. Had Katara been any more merciless towards Yon Rha, it would still have been merciful compared to how he suffers in his present life. Ending Yon Rha would be a waste of Katara’s efforts.

So Katara says, “I think I understand.”

And so we, the audience, think we understand too. Only then we remember what Katara had said before: 

“I always wondered what kind of person could do such a thing, but now that I see you…”

Katara is fourteen when she says “now that I see you.”

She was eight when she first saw Yon Rha.

In Katara’s flashback, the “kind of person [who] could do such a thing” is someone ominous, terrifying, and inhuman, a portrayal exemplified by the low-angle in which Yon Rha is framed in contrast to the high-angle looking down on Katara. In this shot, Yon Rha towers over Katara both in height and in authority. Thus, she has always imagined her mother’s killer to be the same way he has appeared to her when she was a helpless, vulnerable child - he appears as a militaristic man, an arrogant man, a powerful man.

The man Katara finds behind the door in the Fire Nation telecommunications tower is just that. As the captain of an elite Fire Nation scouting group, he embodies everything Katara would expect from the monster of her childhood, someone with a capacity for immense ruin and cruelty. So, lost in a memory where she is completely powerless, Katara’s grief and anger compel her to cling onto every iota of power she had gained through the years. Pushing her skills to the limits and past the limits, she inadvertently pushes herself to use the power she swore she’d never use - bloodbending.

“It's not him. He's not the man.”

Stricken, Katara walks away. Whether she is silent because of disappointment or shock is left up to interpretation, but no interpretation can deny the poisonous effects Katara’s hatred had on her. It consumed her body and mind, driving her to reach into someone’s veins and into their blood, tempting her beyond the one line she promised she’d never crossed. Stemming from hurt, grief, and rage, her loathing is intoxicating in the same way her memories of her mother’s death is so haunting. Because there was no humanity in the way Kya was killed, and so Katara dehumanizes her mother’s murderer in the same manner.

Maybe monsters deserve to die. Maybe monsters deserve to be bloodbended.

But monsters can only exist in memory.

_____

“Revenge is an act which you want to commit when you are powerless and because you are powerless: as soon as the sense of impotence is removed, the desire evaporates also.”

- George Orwell, “Revenge is Sour”

____

Before, when Katara and Zuko fly on Appa with Whaletail Island in their sights, Zuko awakes to the sight of Katara looking forward to the horizon, back straight and eyes hardened with determination. In response to his request for her to rest, she tells Zuko, “oh, don't you worry about my strength. I have plenty.”

Later, in her encounter with the captain of the Southern Raiders, her strength is affirmed by her ability to bloodbend-

-yet this is the experience that plants that first seed of doubt into her mind.

These doubts are in full bloom by the time Katara and Zuko reach the small Fire Nation village that Yon Rha, now a humble farmer, calls home. They hide in the shadows, trailing behind him as he walks back home, and then, they wait.

And then, they strike.

_____

“That was him. That was the monster.”

- Katara

_____

Katara says that Yon Rha is the monster, but their roles are now reversed - Katara is the aggressor and Yon Rha is the victim; Katara looms over Yon Rha at a low-angle while Yon Rha is looked down upon from a high-angle. Ultimately, a monster is more than their cruelty and vileness; a monster has power; a monster has control over a nightmare.

Only now it is not Yon Rha in control, but Katara.

_____

“I'm not the helpless little girl I was when they came.”

- Katara

_____

In the end, the issue had never been about Katara’s strength - instead, it was about her weakness. As a child, she was vulnerable while Yon Rha was infallible, and so the image of Yon Rha looming over her is the one that persisted for years, plaguing her even as she grew up and grew stronger. Hence, the Yon Rha Katara saw as an eight-year-old is the Yon Rha she would have no qualms about killing. 

But that Yon Rha belongs to another time. He belongs to a time in which Katara was weak and Yon Rha was strong, and that time is the past and the past is unbreachable. Thus, revenge can only exist in the ghost of a memory; revenge can only exist in fantasies.

Perhaps the childish fantasy aspect of revenge is why the platitudes “revenge is empty” and “revenge is meaningless” are thrown around so carelessly today, so much so that they no longer hold any weight. Of course, these statements are true in many ways, but they also oversimplify complex emotional responses to trauma. For Katara, revenge is empty because it is not what she needs.

Consciously or subconsciously, Katara recognizes her needs the moment when they’re met - with her suspending shards of ice in the air, all pointed towards Yon Rha. Then, fantasies and illusions shatter, falling away like ice turning back to water and splashing on the ground, unused. Katara now has power, not only through waterbending and bloodbending, but through the present over the past. Stripped of all his height and authority, the monster that was the Yon Rha of six years ago had already been killed. Now all that is left is her, standing over the humble-villager Yon Rha, over her fear and grief and rage, over the past that once haunted her. Over her memories.

_____

“I wanted to do it. I wanted to take out all my anger at him, but I couldn't. I don't know if it's because I'm too weak to do it or because I'm strong enough not to.”

- Katara

_____

By the end of her journey, the ideologies at conflict during the beginning of the episode are still at war within Katara. Katara holds power over her memories, but she is not at peace with them. Katara is able to forgive some, but she is not able to forgive all. The loss of her mother still hurts, but the loss of Katara’s innocence is replaced by the affirmation of her maturity. She has not let go of her rage, but she is no longer blinded by it.

Still, no matter how bittersweet the ending to this story is, it is also full of hope and new beginnings: The hold old memories had over Katara is broken. Six years’ worth of hurt and damage, though it cannot be smoothed over the course of a few days, can finally begin to heal. The wounds have been cleansed; the ghosts have been chased away. Now, Katara is strong where she was once weak. Now, Katara has found closure.

Now, Katara is free.

_____

Works Cited

Revenge is Sour by George Orwell

As seen by how much I quote George Orwell throughout this meta, my philosophy on the meaning of revenge draws a lot of inspiration from this essay, a piece on how a shift in dynamics in the post-World War II world can lead to the oppressed becoming the oppressors.

The Cycle of War by HelloFutureMe

My analysis on low-angle vs high-angle shots and the role-reversal of victim and aggressor comes from this video essay, a piece on how the cycle of persecution and victimization perpetuates war.

Companion Pieces (metas) by yours truly

Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

An essay on Katara’s emotions and the reciprocatory relationship between her kindness and anger

Ideals and Idealization

My interpretation of Aang and Katara’s relationship in The Southern Raiders and an extensive study on how Aang idealizes Katara

selfish

A fanfiction that takes my analysis on Katara’s grief + the concept of revenge and explores it in story form (OR: a post-TSR conversation written from Zuko’s POV; implied Zutara)

Summary: Revenge is a fantasy.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: Bumblebee (Blake x Yang)

Word Count: 1,923 Words

Summary: Discussion and go time.

Warnings: Fighting Mention, Cursing, Weapon Mention, Death Mention, Blood Mention, Amputation Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Shadows Are Made Of Light: Chapter 5

Dinner was lively to say the least. Terra and Saphron seemingly decided that eating at the table in their kitchen was their best bet while the group was discussing. Terra and Saphron had long since gone up to their bedroom to sleep.

The plans were talked through and they were about to wrap up the conversation when Mercury sighed. Now was a better time than ever for the little plans he'd overheard details from.

"I actually have something to say." Mercury didn't like all this attention once all their eyes were on him.

"What's wrong?" Jaune asked, looking over his tension-filled expression.

"There were some things Salem would relay through Cinder. There was always a plan behind the fall of Beacon. Salem's plans are to create a divide and unrest amongst the people of Remnant and gather the relics so, when the gods come back, they'll destroy Remnant, everyone on it, and she will no longer be immortal. Salem's goal is to free herself from eternity by taking everyone with her." Mercury told them.

"So she'll be looking for the Lamp." Oscar asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"For all the relics. Last I heard, Emerald told me that Ozpin had apparently hidden the Crown even better than the other three and Cinder still hadn't found it. Now that we have the Lamp, they know they need to get the others before we can so our goal is a ticking clock." Mercury took a deep breath, hoping nobody was disappointed.

"A time crunch isn't anything new. We can still do this." Ruby assured him.

"We should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be interesting." Maria laughed on her way upstairs. Mercury was going to end up asleep on the couch again because Oscar was half asleep against him again.

"I have a feeling Nora is taking pictures." Mercury told them.

"Good instincts." Nora told him, obviously taking another picture. "I've never passed up an opportunity for Cute Farm Son pictures." Nora alerted him.

"Good to know, crop me out of them." Mercury told her.

"Ehhh, I think I'll leave you in since you're looking particularly Dad-like." Mercury laughed while frowning at her.

"I hate you." Mercury smiled at her.

"Yeah, sure, Dad-cury." Nora snorted.

"Go sleep or something." He laughed, smiling as everyone filed from the room and shut the lights off. Mercury's heart stopped at the darkness. As childish as it may be, the dark was something he couldn't deal with.

"Nora?" He asked, she'd been the last one to go up the stairs due to her need for pictures of Mercury and Oscar.

"What's up Dad-cury?" Nora asked, coming downstairs and turning the lights on.

"Could you leave a light on?" Mercury asked.

"Oh yeah, sure. You scared of the dark too?" She asked.

"More of an instinct. Can't sleep with lights off. My dad told me too many stories of monsters in the dark." Mercury admitted.

"You're good, I'll leave the lamp over here on." She told him and patted the lamp before turning it on and turning the main light off. "Night, Dad-cury." She told him.

"Night, Nora." He called after her as she went upstairs. Mercury sighed at Oscar asleep on him.

"I hope you realize I'm not a pillow." He told the sleeping boy only to receive a small snore. "Fine, but it's because you're a kid and you remind me of Chrome." Mercury grumbled.

He went about pulling Oscar's excess clothing off as well as his own. They didn't need to wake up in puddles of sweat in warm, heavy clothing meant for much colder weather than this.

Then he laid down and then he smiled holding the bear from inside his jacket that he had kept, Chrome's favorite teddy bear. It was the piece of her he had left. He had kept it with him since he left his father's house. He fell asleep holding it close, Oscar deciding to cuddle up against him and he smiled. He guessed he would be a father figure to a pre-teen now too.

In the morning, the plan was running smoothly, Weiss was on the Atlesian aircraft to Atlas with Maria in her luggage as the only small person who could fit who could also fly a plane with Saphron and Adrian as her distraction to get Maria onboard. It was up to him and Blake to turn off the radar for Weiss.

Mercury was sure that three people riding on a two person motorcycle probably wasn't safe, he was aware. He was acutely aware of the conversation Blake and Terra were having about the comms equipment for the city versus the radar box.

"Are you two sure I shouldn't come with?" Yang asked as the bike stopped about a half mile from the tower.

"More intruders means we're more likely to be seen." Blake told her. "Besides, stealth isn't exactly your, um...I mean, you're great and we'll hurry back!" Blake told her.

"Go." Yang smiled at her. They went running off toward the tower together, Mercury feeling that bear close in his jacket, snuggly secured to his front so he couldn't possibly lose it.

"Heading in on foot, won't be long." Blake told the others on the comms.

"You know, you two flirting couldn't be more apparent." He told her.

"Hey!" She snapped.

"I just say what I see." He smirked.

"Sure, 'Dad-cury'." Blake teased.

"I won't deny my fatherly title. And don't make me adopt you all." He taunted back.

Their run to the tower was largely uneventful until they got to the tower itself. When they got there, there was a red-haired man he vaguely recognized as having maybe met once or possibly twice. Adam Taurus, a White Fang operative whom Emerald had informed him about two weeks ago that he'd taken reigns as the head of the organization before its eventual fall at Haven not long after.

"Blake. And you. Salem heard of your betrayal at Beacon, Mercury Black." Mercury felt a rush of both helpless and rage. This guy had the guts to practically threaten him?

"Merc, don't rush him." She warned quietly.

"Protecting your friend? Or are you travelling with an enemy, Belladonna? He could betray any of you at any moment while claiming to be a friend. He's probably not even with you to help, he's just running away like he ran away from his dear old daughter two years ago." Adam taunted.

"Don't you talk about my daughter!" Mercury snapped at him.

"Is Dad mad I brought up his abandoned baby? Mad because I'm right or because you're sad she won't have a Dad after I'm done with you?" Adam asked.

"I'm mad because some asshole is talking shit about me protecting my daughter!" Mercury shot at him with the gun-scythe, which he'd named Caduceus, Qrow got him that morning.

"Merc!" Blake snapped, pulling him away.

"Get to the radar." He whispered to her, rushing into the fight with Adam and distracted him while Blake tried to get up the relay tower. Unfortunately, that fight didn't quite favor Mercury as Adam grabbed his leg during a kick and pulled. Hard, so much Mercury went flying to the ground. The lock popped from the pin and he felt the lock break as the pin wasn't undone properly.

"Looks like Silver Black did a good job making his son easily controlled." Adam snapped. Mercury couldn't move, he knew Adam was looming over him, he knew it was so easy for him to die like this if he didn't attack but he felt a crushing weight of shock hit him that he would never see Chrome again.

She would never have a Dad, at least not one that was him. He'd never see her grow up. It made the breath catch in his lungs and tears build in his eyes. But the strike never came and, when he opened his eyes, Adam was gone, going after Blake.

He had to had to help Blake. He heard them tumbling in the trees, he shoved a twig into the the broken lock and put the pin back in. The stupid thing didn't move his stupid knee. Thankfully, he didn't need the use of it, he had a weapon still and another leg.

He could do this. He wouldn't stop fighting until he at least saw Chrome again. Blake was fighting Adam. He could hear it. he followed them to a waterfall nearby. he could tell by the sound of their swords clashing.

"You're delusional." Blake sounded shaken as he stood hidden in the forest before the opening. He saw their blades clash once more as he ran forward to save her. He wouldn't let him kill her.

Gambol Shroud was broken in half and his ears rang with Blake's scream as Mercury saw the blood on her wrist and was now getting on the ground. Her hand still on the grip of Gambol Shroud as it skittered away from her.

Adam simply shoved Mercury down and went about his bullshit speech about how she hurt him, showing off a brand on his left eye, one of the Schnee Dust Company's for their mineworkers. Blake's ears tuned back.

"I don't fucking care much for your pity me speech." Mercury spat and took him onto the ground, knocking Wilt from his hand and bringing the staff of Caduceus down on the bastard's head to try to just knock him out but he got kicked off and landed on top of Blake.

"Tell me, how does it feel to be alone?" Adam was picking up Wilt. He was holding that blade up, yelling as his intent was to bring it down but the blade didn't come a second time, Blake had taken him as she used her semblance to shadow them a few feet away.

"I'm not alone." She grit out as she held her holster for Gambol Shroud in her left hand.

"Yang." Blake grunted, holding her bleeding right wrist.

"It's okay, Blake, catch your breath for a second. Me and Merc can hold him off." Yang assured her.

"She's right, Blake. It's okay, we have unfinished business." And man if he actually needed to help her, he would have but Yang was amazing fighting him. He aided helping Blake stem the blood flow before she bled out by having grabbed her jacket, which he tied part of around her forearm and made a makeshift tourniquet.

"You'll be okay. Don't let yourself get dizzy and don't fall asleep, it might be severe blood loss." He warned her.

"His semblance is like yours! He absorbs energy through his sword, stores it up, and then sends it back when he's ready." Blake told Yang.

"He gets to dish out damage without having to feel it? That's just cheap." Yang scoffed before going after him again. Before he knew it, Blake was yelling for Yang and he was grabbing for her.

"Leave us alone. This is your last chance." Yang told Adam.

"Do you really believe that? Or are you just trying to scare me away so you won't have to die to protect her? Like your good metal buddy, Mercury over there, tried to." Adam asked.

"She's not protecting me, Adam. Neither is Mercury." He felt Blake's stump in his hand, she put it there. She was holding Yang's hand and trying to hold his in the only way she could with her right hand now gone. "And I'm not protecting them. We're protecting each other."

[goldeneyedgirl]

jalice2020 day five

JaliceWeek2020 Day 5: Angel/Demon

Afterglow

Notes: This is the third version, because I thought the others were going to be ‘too long’ and then this became a behemoth. I’ve lost all sense of whether it’s actually worth posting, but it’s 6,300+ words and a whole day of work that I refuse to waste. These prompts are going up out of order because I feel like being contrary and am totally disorganised. 

And I found the idea of ‘demon’ fascinating because what else would a vampire be but a very specific form of ‘demon’? Plus there were so many (utterly amazing) fics about demon!Alice, I decided to flip the script. 

I am also totally running with the angel thing in a much longer fic, because I had so much world building, so much more history for both Alice and Jasper, and I was sorry that I couldn’t include it. 

There were three things of which she was certain.

The first was that her name was Alice.

The second was that she was born an angel.

And three, she was getting ready to die.

—

He finds her in an alley behind a diner, slumped against the brickwork, struggling to breathe. He sees her, and for a moment he doesn’t realise what he’s seeing - why would he? Who, in living memory, has laid eyes on an angel?

But he remembers the stories, told around a Monterrey bonfire, of the markings, the aura, the divinity of those nearly mythical creatures. Creatures born of hope and love and all those things that he left behind on that last ride. The older ones always had angel stories, of their astounding beauty and immense power; of wings that stretched out eight, ten, twelve feet of pure white energy that could cut through any substance known to creation. Of miracles and healings and forgiveness that filled all the hollow spaces inside. Of blood that can only be offered willingly, or it becomes fantastically and irreversibly poisonous.

He goes to her side, his hunt forgotten. Maybe it is the stories, that childish, lingering hope at the back of his mind that there is absolution for his actions, that he has not fallen so low he cannot rise up again.

Or maybe it is seeing a creature as broken as he feels, and the twist of pity-empathy in his gut won’t let him turn away from her. She is so small, so utterly… forgotten.

She was a great beauty, he can see that underneath her suffering; her skin has a grey cast, and her lips blue, her eyes underscored with dark bruises. She’s so thin, her skin stretched tight. The celestial markings still adorn her tiny arms, from wrist to elbow, a collage of flowers and stars and maps and symbols utterly meaningless to him, but faded like an old bruise.

Something utterly precious, just thrown away.

His red eyes meet hers, and she gasps, tries to make herself smaller. Some half-forgotten lesson tells her that red-eyes, demons, are the lowest evil and she must protect herself. But with what? She has lost her wings, has lost her magic, has lost much of her memory.

She has been discarded, and is worth nothing more than a demon’s gaze, his next meal. It would be better to go quickly than to linger with this heaviness in her bones and lungs and heart and mind. Whatever divinity is left in her blood, perhaps it can gift him with something - she doesn’t even know what a demon would wish for with angel’s blood, truly. But for a quick end, she would offer it willingly.

She gasps again as he lifts her, and cradles her close, his eyes studying her carefully as he settles her in his arms, making sure he causes her no pain, even as fresh bruises bloom on her skin.

“What…?” she croaks, as he sweeps out of the alley, away from his chosen meal, from the buzzing signs of the diner, and into the night.

“Rest, little one,” is all he says, as if he has a plan. “You’re safe.”

Those half-remembered warnings feel paper thin as she is cradled like treasure against his strong body, as he moves confidently through the streets. Even through her threadbare clothing, it is the first time she has been touched since she can remember, and it is… nice. It is nice and it is easy enough to close her eyes and let whatever is to happen next come upon her.

—

His room in the boarding house is small and worn, but fine enough for him to have a minuscule wash room of his own. The angel sleeps deeply, the sleep of the gravely ill, and he tucks her into the untouched bed in the corner, whilst he ventures into the yet unvisited common kitchen to find her food.

The landlady sweeps in, a well-lived woman - who has never trusted the red-eyed man - likes him a little more as she watches him make a right mess of toast and tea, and she quickly assembles a little tray. This isn’t the kind of establishment that cares what he does in the room he pays for, and she doesn’t really consider the possibilities when he asks for an extra towel and pillow.

The angel sleeps through the night and well into the next day, and he can feel the heat coming from her skin. He dribbles cooled tea between her lips, and curses the fact he has no memory of nursing from the army, of his human life. He refuses to request more help from the landlady, and finally he gives up all pretences and manages to gather the girl up and clamber into the narrow, stained little bathtub together, filled with cold water that he hopes will curb the fever.

She dreams of fire licking her limbs and red eyes staring into her soul and her lips are so dry and everything is all jumbled up and then she is staring at the very tall red-eyed monster cradling her in a bathtub full of cold water, and patting her face with a cloth and worry on his face.

Somehow she regains control of her limbs, enough to reach one shaking hand up to his cheek - it seems impossible that the most evil of creatures could be so handsome, could go to so much trouble for her. She wishes she could ask him a million questions, but she is so very tired, and it is easier to settle back against him and sleep as her fever rages.

—

They are together a week before she is lucid enough to ask questions and offer answers, for them to even learn the other’s name.

Alice.

Major Jasper Whitlock, ma’am.

A soldier, a killer, in his human life. That makes her sad for him, that humans choose to set themselves on a path that is paved in death and misery but there is nothing that can be done about that now. And for a soldier turned vampire, with all his terrible deeds indented on every inch of his arms and neck, with luminous red eyes and a hard stare, he is not.. bad.

In fact, he shows her the first kindness she can ever remember.

He brings her food, strange choices at first, but he soon learns - angels like sweet things, fruits and honey and candy; thin soups to build her strength up, well-sugared milky tea to help her sleep. He brings her some clothing - a proper night dress, and a blue day dress that is far too long, but it covers up the bruises on her stocking-less legs. He reads to her, cheap novels that have covers depicting in young ladies and flowers and cannot be vaguely interesting to him.

She knows he slips away to hunt, to drain humans of their life, but she sees the slump in his shoulders, the tired, pained look on his face upon his return and she wonders if those paper-thin lessons were wrong. That demons do have souls, souls that are weighed with every choice, every action, of their cursed existence. After all, a vampire is just a human gone astray, really. And for all of their flaws and follies, ignorance and arrogance, humans are essentially good, kind creatures. There is a reason they are so staunchly guarded by the angels, after all.

What if Major Whitlock is only a demon because the angels failed him?

When she is well enough to stand, to limp slowly around their tiny room, he offers to take her to church, and she wants to giggle, but he looks so serious and so determined to escort her there that she agrees; churches are for humans, and so is the religion found in them. But she thinks she understands - angels and churches and religions have been so tangled up together that it is some kind of logic, to take her there. He even brings her a hat and gloves and new shoes for the excursion, letting her limping stride set the pace, letting her lean on him as her lungs struggle to keep up.

His arm is gentle yet strong around her, and she leans closer to him, breathing in a scent of pine needles and rainwater.

—

The closest church is of moderate size and limited wealth - the parishioners are hardworking people with little money - and the pastor is an elderly man who has overseen the births, marriages, and deaths of those people, all of whom he can name on sight. It is a late night, counselling a young couple, and he ambles around the church, setting it right for the next morning.

He looks up when he hears voices, and sees the silhouette in the doorway - one tall and one small. For a moment, he mistakes them for an adult and child; perhaps siblings? Strangers or newcomers, certainly. They take a place in a back pew, the taller figure helping the smaller into her seat before settling beside her. It is then he approaches, to welcome them and offer them counsel, before he realises what he is seeing.

The red eyes of the male, firmly fixed on the diminutive girl. And he wants to banish the monster, this fiend from the sanctified ground on which they stand, of which he should not be able to enter. But the flickering candles throw light onto the girl, and the sight of her is a reward paid for with decades of his faith. It is a split second, a flicker of light and shadow, and he has Seen her. The ghost of wings that fold around her in filmy light, the slight glow of her skin, the wisp of lost golden markings, such beauty his mortal eyes has never seen. She looks up at her companion with affection in her eyes, and she takes his hand, and the pastor does nothing more than nod and bless them both in passing; whatever has brought the pair into his church is beyond that of mortal comprehension.

They stay a little while before the devil helps the angel stand, and the pastor watches as the girl limps from the church, leaning heavily on her corrupted companion and says a little prayer for them, one to see them both to whatever sanctuary they might be needing. And then he extinguishes the candles.

—

Time meanders on, and Alice grows stronger. Strong enough to walk unaided, though she still takes his arm every time they leave. Strong enough to teach herself to mend their few clothes, to prepare herself food, though he finds her with candy and fruit just as often as something properly nutritious.

Seeing her cheeks round with chocolate, blushing with embarrassment at getting caught, is the first time he’s properly laughed in decades.

She looks so well now, with faint colour in her cheeks; her eyes are a blue he could get lost in, a swirling galaxy of shifting light and colour - they are most inhuman thing about her right now. Her lips have lost the blue cast, are now a rose pink that makes her look very kissable, but thoughts like that are dangerous, and feel heavy in his chest. Her markings look like some kind of bruise-coloured tattoos that are slowly darkening. He hasn’t asked about them, about the meanings behind them, but when he holds her hand, he sometimes finds himself tracing the lines of the flowers, the stars, the symbols - he thinks he has them memorised.

But eventually, it is time to move on. His body count is rising, getting closer to noticeable, and the money is running out - they only have what he takes from his victims, and it has been slim pickings for a few weeks. He hates to have to admit why they have to leave, but she doesn’t flinch, just smiles and requests a bag for her things as if fleeing a city because of too many bloody disappearances is a perfectly normal reason to leave.

So they leave Philadelphia, hand in hand, with no particular destination in mind. And for a long time, that’s how they live - boarding houses in the city, forgotten farm houses in the country, cradled by long grass in forests where the night sky peeks through. Those are the nights she lies pressed up against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, as she traces constellations with her finger as she relaxes into sleep.

Those are the nights that are imprinted on his brain forever.

—

They find themselves in the back of Vermont in the fall; it’s been a few years since they left Philadelphia, wandering around the country. She looks beautiful to him that day, with a flower crown in her hair - the flowers drooping but not yet wilted - and her very worn out pink dress that is shredded below her knees and a filthy white shawl with more holes than lace. He clasps her hand tight in his as they meander through the forest; she hums a song under her breath, one that is sweet and soothing and intoxicating and he can never remember the tune until she sings it again.

He isn’t paying attention, when they settle on a camp site and she flits off to find something edible - fruits, herbs, flowers; she is surprisingly adaptable. And for all the legends and half-truths, she has no trouble or reluctance eating animal flesh, as long as she cooks it on a fire first, though she always cries when it has to be a rabbit.

They are upon them at once, a coven of five aged vampires, suspicious and on edge as they see his eyes, his scars, his cold glare at the interruption and his own failure to sense them.

At the strange, sickly amber of their eyes.

It’s a tense conversation of his intentions, his purpose on their lands, and his honeyed words are thinly veiled threats. He is grateful that Alice’s sweet scent (roses and linens and melting snow) is easily covered by his own, an illusive little quicksilver protected by her own sacred biology. He has them almost convinced them to, in laymen’s terms, fuck right off and leave him be when Alice returns.

“Jasper?”

The older woman gasps at the sight of her and the entire family go from suspicion to anger and disgust - the shawl slung low around her elbows (covering up her markings, good girl), the girlish, tattered dress, and flowers in her hair. The apples clutched in her pale hand, one with an obvious bite mark. Her blue eyes bright and skin flushed, and decades later he will remind them how damn unobservant they are that they thought she was his victim, lured into seclusion, when two bags sit by the tree, when everything about her was uncanny and inhuman enough to tell them the still-shocking truth. It was fall in the forest, and the flowers in her hair were still fresh, for god’s sake.

But in that moment, she is the innocent, a future meal of a monster, the sacrificial lamb.

“Sweetheart, come away from him,” the woman gestures to her, but Alice is no longer smiling, and if they looked closer, they’d see the storm rising in her eyes (he loves that about her, the way the blue of her eyes darkens and churns when she’s worried or afraid, and lightens and ripples with her joy. He could watch her eyes forever.) She drops the fruit, and moves closer to him, her hands reaching for the sleeve of his coat.

The coven move too fast, and the only reason they aren’t destroyed is because he is too aware of her; she is pushed aside in their efforts to manhandle her away from him, to drag him through to their side of the river. He lets the biggest one push him to his knees, his arms tight and awkward behind his back. There is a growl is rumbling in his chest, and he can smell it - her blood. It’s an odd, distinctive smell that is enough to make him freeze. It’s not a lot, maybe a scrape, but this coven… angel blood is somehow a walking, resistible temptation. They could drain her dry (and die horribly for the effort) but she’ll still be perfectly dead and that cannot be allowed to happen. He begins to struggle, but the big one holds him firm and shit. This is bad.

“Let him up, please.”

He can only move his head enough to see her standing, a small cut on her leg that will be gone in a day or two. She looks … displeased. He’s never seen that look on her face before.

“You’ll be okay now,” the redheaded boy tells her superiorly. “You should find your way back to town.”

“Let him up,” she retorts, just as arrogantly as the boy, as imperious as a queen, and there is a stillness, an edge to everything around them - no birds or breeze; even the running of the river seems rather muted.

“We’ll deal with him,” the big one says confidently, and that is the wrong thing to say.

“Let. Him. Go.”

It happens all at once, an echoing order that is not yelled but thunders in all their ears. They yell and gasp and are tossed away like paper dolls and he finally gets a look at his girl in all her glory.

She’d told him once, off-hand, that she’d never be fully healed again. That she accepted that she was Fallen and Shunned, and what she had managed to recover, she was grateful for.

Not recovered, his ass.

She was great and terrible and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her arms thrown wide and the shawl gone, her markings glowing white, her eyes pools of white energy. And behind her, stretching four feet, easily, on either side were her long wings, crackling with pure light. Markings he hadn’t glimpsed before peeked out from the neckline of her dress, and her skin had a faint glow to it, the entire effect as if a star was entrapped inside her body.

It is his captor that bears the brunt of her wrath, gasping in pain as her gaze focuses on him, the rest of the coven disorientated as they pick themselves up.

The last of the group, the blonde woman who might have been mistaken as an angel herself, is at his side immediately, wanting to help but unsure how to as he howls at whatever Alice’s power is doing to him.

“Stop it!” the blonde vampire screams, “STOP IT.”

He manages to get back to her side, wanting to reach out and pull her to him, but he doesn’t know if he can touch her like this.

“Alice?” he says. “We’re okay.”

The energy recedes as quickly as it appeared, leaving her looking cranky but pale as she immediately tucks herself against him as the coven inspect their fallen member.

He is disorientated and startled but unharmed as he reassures the blonde woman, the rest of their gazes falling to the couple over the river. More than a girl in a pink dress and a man in an overcoat.

“I can’t read them anymore, Carlisle,” the redhead murmurs. “His is … too quiet, and hers is in a language that… I think she made up.”

Alice spits a sharp word at the boy, holding him so tight he knows she was - is - afraid.

The leader, this Carlisle, simply stares at them with an indescribable look on his face. Incredulousness and awe and confusion and amusement dance around them, and he shakes his head.

“In all my years, I have never…” he began, wiping his face with his hand, an indisputably human gesture. “I apologise, my family misunderstood.”

Alice grunts and still glares, and if Jasper knows anything, it is that she holds a fantastic grudge against that which wrongs her - the woman who called her a harlot in a town back in Minnesota; the perfectly spoilt fruit tart from a shady baker; the young man who tore her dress in Boston. If those things can keep her gaze dark and sour her mood, he doesn’t fancy being any one of these creatures.

“Carlisle?” the older woman asks curiously, and the big one is back on his feet and seems to be entirely unaffected by whatever Alice had done to him.

“What is she?” he asks with genuine curiosity, his arm around the blonde.

“I believe this young lady might be an angel.”

—

That’s how they meet the Cullens. Carlisle spends three days hovering around them with delighted, boyish excitement until Esme gently redirects his attention and energy. Esme, who is so kind to them both, even with his red eyes and scars (later, she will smile at him and tell him that she knew that no matter where he had come from, no one who treated Alice so gently could be anything other than a true gentleman). Edward is frustrated with them both, and mutters comments under his breath as Alice snipes back in a language no one else understands - which just agitates Edward more. She admits later, when they’re alone, that she hardly remembers learning the language and probably couldn’t hold a conversation in it but does in fact remember most of the good swears and insults, and he laughs loudly at the idea that angels are pure and good and selfless as she taunts the arrogant little vampire.

Rosalie hates them. Hates his red eyes and violence, hates Alice for hurting her mate. Emmett is more curious and entertained than offended, and shrugs off Rosalie’s rage - “Babe, you’d do the same to them for me.” He’s more interested to know if Alice can change the colour of her ‘lights’ at will - like a disco ball - and Alice congratulates him on asking the actual dumbest question in the history of creation and of course that means Alice and Emmett are friends now, even though he described her attack as being ‘boiled from the inside out’.

How does he feel about them? Well, they offer them a nice room with a bed for Alice and little bathroom, and Esme goes to find Alice food - Carlisle sending her with a ream of notes on angels and their preferred diet despite the girl’s insistence anything will do. They are respectful and genuine and he cannot fault their welcome into the house. There are clean clothes and books and amusements and every possible comfort except human blood.

That is a conversation he has alone with Carlisle, whilst Alice joyfully eats her way through a pile of candy roughly the same size as she is. It is a long conversation, a hard one. Of all the guilt and the pain and the regret; of every horror he has never spoken of to Alice, of every fear that lingers in his bones.

And when he finishes, he feels lighter.

Carlisle smiles benevolently, and explains the advantages of abstaining from human blood, of existing only on the blood of animals.

“It does, admittedly, take away some of our strength,” the older man warns but his mouth quirks into a smile. “Not that I think you have to worry about your safety with such a… formidable mate.”

Jasper is quick to correct him, ducking his head so that Carlisle might not see the longing in his eyes. They are not mates or lovers or sweethearts. As much as he admires her, a goddess in his eyes; as much as he restrains himself from noticing the slender curves hidden by her clothing, from letting his gaze linger too long, they are mere companions; the closest of friends but no more than that.

Carlisle chuckles outright at that. “I assume this isn’t your preference?” he says, with a grin that makes him look his age.

He scowls, refusing to take the bait.

“In all my years, I have met many people in many differing kinds of relationships,” Carlisle says, with that knowing look on his face that Jasper decides he hates. “And I can tell you without an ounce of doubt that no angel - or woman - would look at a vampire like that, would defend one so fiercely, without holding him close in her heart. I think, if you were to make a gesture, it would be warmly reciprocated.”

And for a moment, he is full of hope. Hope of a future where he could press a kiss to willing lips, could slide his hand over the curve of a waist. Could trace the markings hidden by her dress with his fingers, his mouth, learn them by heart.

But the truth is, he is a monster. The blood in his eyes, the scars on his skin, the violence in his movement… it is what he is. That he would not sully her with his touch, if she would even accept such a thing. And in truth, he could not bear to be dismissed from her side. He would walk her down the aisle to a worthy man, as long as he could remain in her orbit.

“No,” he shakes his head. "She is… and I am… it would not be fair.” She already Fell once, why drag her further down?

Carlisle studies him carefully, the regret rolling off him in waves. “If you’ll pardon me for prying, how on earth did you end up meeting Alice? I only know of one other who has met an angel; they are illusive creatures.”

Jasper looks up, a quirk of his lips at the memory. “I found her in Philadelphia. She was dying in an alley. I tried to help her.” And the story slowly comes up; the long wait for her fever to break, trying to build up her strength, their brief attendance at church that was more for him than for her; their little pilgrimage around the country. How she loves to watch the stars, to wear flowers in her hair, and sings like the angel she is. How any money they had went to food, and she found sweet irresistible - more than once she went barefoot rather than go without a slice of cake, a bag of strawberries. He ends up smiling by the end of the story, the warmth of the memories surrounding him.

Carlisle looks at him incredulously. “Jasper, you found a dying girl in Philadelphia, and you saved her life,” he says so gently. “You raised an angel from the dead out of pure selflessness and honour. And you sit here and tell me that you are deemed unworthy? I cannot believe it, myself.”

Jasper shakes his head and thinks of all that he has been told, about animal blood, and protecting human life. About all that he has seen and felt with that diminutive girl beside him.

“For her, I have to be better.”

—

They settle into the Cullen family with relative ease - Esme is a doting mother figure to Alice, whose quirks he found so charming are utterly foreign and confusing to the rest of the family. But Esme carries no frustration to find wilted flower crowns discarded through the house; to find Alice has eaten a week’s supply of food in one night; to find an ugly scorch mark on the couch when Edward provoked the girl far enough for her magic to get involved.

Carlisle is still fascinated, but is affectionate to the small girl who has so many questions about everything, everywhere. He cannot answer many of her questions about angels, but he has more than enough stories about his life to entertain her for hours.

Edward and Alice snipe at each other constantly, as she continues to conceal her thoughts, and somehow mute Jasper’s, from his probing. The thing is, they could be good friends if they wanted; he wonders if Alice still holds a grudge from his dismissal of her during that very first meeting. Emmett, however, thinks Alice is a fantastically weird addition to their family even if her powers remain unused. Her intuition is second to none, and she is strong enough to exist safely in the household, but mostly she is unremarkable. He likes ruffling her hair and asking dumb or embarrassing questions (“So when you have sex, Lite-Brite, do you go all glow-y?” he asks one day, just ambling into the room with that question on his brain, and Esme scolds him and he growls, and Alice turns faintly pink and admits she wouldn’t know. Emmett does feel bad when she reveals that, and buys her an enormous bag of fudge that means he’s automatically forgiven.)

Rosalie tolerates them - she likes how annoyed Edward gets with Alice, and that Alice is an eager student in the art of fashion and shopping, and has suitable awe for Rosalie’s beauty and attitude. But she resents Alice’s divinity, that somehow the universe judged this tiny girl to be a precious, sacred creation, and decided that Rosalie herself was worth less than humanity.

They treat him well enough - politely, respectfully, and that’s all he asks. Carlisle offers relatively good counsel on most subjects, but most specifically on hunting animals. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and he fails more than he succeeds. He sees frustration in the faces of the Cullens every time he returns with red eyes, but he never sees Alice flinch or fluster. She greets him with that same special smile every time he walks into the room, her sheer presence a balm. And that unconditional affection, that is when the shame feels heaviest on his shoulders.

So he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And it gets easier. Or rather, he gets stronger. The gaps between red eyes get longer, and his eyes lighten slowly from red to orange to amber. But the burn in his throat remains, and he struggles constantly. But he reminds himself, the prize is worth it. She is worth every second of burn, every disgusting animal, every long night resisting the urge to hunt.

She will always be worth it.

—

After Vermont, there is Minnesota, then Montana, then… well, they begin to blend together. All are within abundant hunting grounds, all in beautiful homes, all provide comfort and luxury he could never have imagined providing her. She fits it like a glove; her beautiful clothes, the abundant library, the ease of every day life - it is a palace for a princess and he is so happy that she is happy.

It is the place where Carlisle insists he go to school with the others, tempting him with the possibility of college in the future. She cannot go; they have no ways of concealing the inhumanity of her, and she struggles to contain her powers sometimes, especially when distressed. Even one sad movie an have her shining like a discount glow stick. Carlisle does much research on the subject, to try and help train her, but his research is slow and they still don’t know much. One day, she’ll join them. She’s determined, even when she scorches another dress, another chair, another wall. One day.

She pounces on him every single afternoon, demanding to know about his day, about his classes, about what high school is like. For so long it was just her, then it was them, then it was the family - the idea of classmates and friends and peers is so foreign. He dutiful fills her in, though many of the details she demands are not things he has noted. She always touches him during these conversations, hanging over his shoulder, curled in his lap, tucked at his side.

And even when Rosalie and Edward tell her to stop bothering him, forcing him to relive the tedium, he encourages it. Because as dull as school is, recounting it to her as she clings like a little possum to his back, is his very favourite part of the day.

And somehow, maybe because of that, something changes between them. Their closeness holds something new - potential, maybe. But her eyes seem to really see him when he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead; her cheeks get a little pinker when he compliments a new dress; he finds himself reaching for her less, and finding her already there more often.

They still share a room - he has no need for his own, not with the communal library on the third floor - and he tries his hardest to give her privacy. But he’s caught her changing more than once, seen a glimpse of more markings on her pale-flawless-exquisite spine. He lingers too long in that view, berating himself for his perversion, but he cannot resist. He wonders where else the tattoos lie.

Carlisle looks at him with knowing eyes, and Esme beams every time she sees, or thinks she sees, something. But no, not yet. Not until he’s worthy of every hope, can grant every single one of her wishes and whims. Not until he can court her as she deserves.

It’ll happen, he’s determined. He will make himself worthy, reforge himself in any hell that he can find, if it makes him a better man for her.

Inevitably, he slips again, and they have to move, and he is furious with himself. Every time he thinks he might see the light at the end of the tunnel, he weakens. Two steps forward and one step back.

He spends the night on the couch, watching movies without seeing them, and trying not to notice the warmth of her skin as he endlessly traces the lily-star-celestial map that are her tattoos. She falls asleep against him, a heavenly weight, and he wishes for a lot of things, but mostly for sleep.

—

There were three things of which she was certain.

The first was that her name was Alice Cullen.

The second was that she was a fallen angel, which wasn’t such a bad thing to be.

And the third was that she was completely and irreversibly in love with one Major Jasper Whitlock. And she was tired of waiting.

—

He has taken her into the forest, the spring air crisp, and the plants blooming. She skips beside him, her fingers interlaced with his, and it’s a lovely day - the canopy of the forest concealing the glitter of his skin. It’s one of those lazy, peaceful days that he lives for.

She leaves him sitting by the river, as she gathers wild flowers and leaves, settling beside him as she makes her crown - nimble fingers twisting and weaving. The white and yellow blooms match her new dress. And then she is wrapped around his back, crowning him in leaves and tiny red and white berries.

“My prince,” she whispers in his ear, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss on his cheek. And she pulls away, just enough space for him to turn his head and align their lips and he’s many things, but he’s also a man deeply, deeply in love.

Their first kiss is a slightly awkward angle, but it is… it is his absolution, his greatest hope, his most perfect joy. For her, it is finding home, the last piece of an indecipherable puzzle finding its place, it is entirely new and yet as familiar to her as her own self.

After he pulls away, she twists herself into his lap, her eyes so wide and flickering blue and white, a pink flush to her cheeks. She looks so hopeful and loving that he cannot help but steal another kiss, another jewel to hoard in his dead heart as she sighs happily against him.

But the real world is still outside their private little glade, and finally he pulls away.

“We can’t,” he croaks, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Oh Alice, I can’t.”

“Why not?” her question is so innocent, he wants to wrap her in his arms and keep her here forever, where nothing will ever sully her.

“You’re an angel, darlin’. An honest to goodness angel. You deserve so much better,” he murmurs, half against her lips. “Not me. I’m a goddamned monster.”

Alice sighs again. “Oh Jasper, I wish you could see you as I do,” she says so sweetly. “The person who lifted me out of the trash, the person who healed me, the person who cared for me and protected me and loved me without question or expectation.”

She traces his face, her soft fingers running over his nose and lips and cheeks.

“I’ve waited so long for you to be worthy to yourself,” she continues. “Because you were more than worthy enough for me.”

The next kiss is deeper, passionate and he pulls her flush against him, feeling the buttons on her dress press against his chest, probably cracking them. Another one follows, and then another, until it all blurs together, and he’s slid his hand further up her leg than is truly proper, and her hands are tangled in his hair.

Her smile is the sweetest, a little shy, as she buries her face in his neck - drawing in his scent - and he notices the faint glow around her markings, almost like her powers are blushing.

“I’ve waited for you - for this - for so long,” she whispers to him, the words almost lost in the light breeze.

And he holds her close, holds her tight. “I never meant to keep you waiting.”

She looks him in the eye, gold meeting blue, and her smile is radiant, as beautiful as every story and every myth. “Well, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And then she leans in for another kiss.

—

There were three things of which Jasper Hale was entirely certain.

One was that he was a vampire in love with an angel.

The second was that his angel loved him back, as completely as he loved her.

And the third was that they had the rest of eternity to be together, whatever the future might bring.

[papipopsicle]

DOUBLE DARE

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Harrington!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: In which Billy isn't 'King Billy fucking Hargrove' after the events at the Byers house, he's remorseful and in so much more pain than anyone ever seems to notice.

Song: Dizzy by Waterparks

Warnings: swearing, symptoms of PTSD

Words: 2.8K

feedback is always appreciated

Hawkins wasn't the kind of place a teen could take angsty strolls, look up at the sky for a while and all their life problems would be solved. Winter lasted until February, and summer started at the end of July, the months between left void of the joy of sun or snow. It was within this time that Y/N and Billy found solace in each other's chaotic existences.

They'd met a couple times before their relationship had a label, once not knowing each other, and the next, knowing too much.

The first was in the bitter winds of a November night. Y/N Harrington was forced to transfer to Hawkins High after fighting with another girl at Lakewood Academy over something nobody knew. She wasn't happy about it, after working her arse off for the last seventeen years of her life, only for the dream to be someone special and someone her parents would be proud of, to be ripped away from her.

Steve never made it any better, it was fine when he'd bring home random girls while their parents were away (which was more often than not), at least then her record player was loud enough to shut out the moans.

But Nancy had to come along and fuck everything up. Y/N was sickened at the idea of her brother dating her childhood best friend. That wasn't even the worst part though, the sick fucker had to go break his heart too.

Having Steve wallow in self pity for a few days was one thing, but hearing him cry himself to sleep days on end was entirely another.

She took her eye off the ball to make sure it was a sound that never met her ears again. And people at Lakewood began to talk, next thing she knew, Y/N was thrown out when Bethany Wyatt somehow fell unconscious and woke up with a black eye and busted lip.

Her older brother was surprisingly comforting, but the house felt all too suffocating, even without their never-to-be-seen parents around. It took six days for her to finally snap- being cooped up in the same four walls, sappy romcoms playing in the background whilst Steve tried to shrink her after getting an 'A' on his latest psychology paper.

"Leave me the fuck alone, for Christ's sake I'm not one of those kids you babysit! Go piss in Declan's cereal." Y/N roared, cartoon steam clouds escaping her ears.

She and Steve weren't close like some siblings, they didn't do hugs or say 'I love you'. They clashed and fought; the older boy thinking he's always right and that he knows everything, only setting off Y/N's explosive anger.

Steve groaned and stormed up the stairs, following his sister to her room, "His name's Dustin- fuck! You're so immature, you know that? Maybe I do need to babysit you, maybe then you'll learn to accept that you're sad about being kicked out of Lakewood, instead of biting my head off like a little bitch."

Y/N looked up at him incredulously, as if he'd just killed six puppies. She got up from her bed and stood right in front of him, pressing her index finger against his chest accusatory, "I'm not sad, dickwad, I'm furious because I defended myself against a bully and I'm the one who gets punished. It's not my fault she learnt to fight with her words and I fight with my fists. It's not my fault I'm like this, Steve!"

He stared at her for a few moments, watching his little sister's entire body move as her breathing became laboured and heavy.

She pushed past her brother and ran downstairs, "If I'm not back before you wake up, the demogorgon attacked me!"

"That's not-." Steve shouted, only to hear the front door slam shut halfway through his sentence, "funny."

It had been three months since Eleven had returned and saved Hawkins for the second time, Y/N knew they were no longer out there. She also knew it would strike a nerve in her brothers damaged soul and in that moment it was exactly what she wanted. The Harrington girl would probably regret it when she arrived back home in the early hours, knock on Steve's door and he'd tell her he was the one out of line and that it was okay. After all, he was the reason behind why she got expelled.

Y/N found herself running towards the school. In her short pleated skirt, fishnets and combat boots, the girl sprinted all the way through the woods until she found a clearing, and began walking on the side of the road. She should've been terrified to be out in the darkness all alone after the sights that had scarred her eyes, but it calmed her disturbed mind. Her problems faded to insignificance at the idea of being attacked by an inter-dimensional monster.

Her anger had dissipated after an hour or two of strolling back up and down, and she finally began to feel at ease in the cool midnight winds. That's when the sound of a turbocharged engine collapsed her serenity. She turned on her heel, letting the asphalt crunch under her foot as she squinted into the oncoming headlights.

Numbness had spread far enough over her body not to care whether the driver was Steve, a total stranger, or maybe even a creature from the upside down ready to kill her. Y/N shrugged it off and continued wandering, moving into the forest clearing so the muscle car didn't hit her if the driver wasn't paying enough attention.

Her steps became hurried as she heard the engine quieten, gaze kept forwards until the car picked up enough speed to pass her then completely stop. The air in her lungs felt trapped, feet planted to the broken up edge of the road.

"Hey!" A young yet deep male voice called, a mop of gentle dirty blonde curls appearing over the roof as the sound of the metal door opening and shutting cut away at the silence Y/N found herself stuck in. She didn't dare to move, eyes wide in a hazy mix of fear and intrigue.

He began moving around the car, closer to her frozen figure and stopping at what he deemed a safe distance. Billy looked her up and down, not in his usual 'I wanna fuck you' way towards the opposite sex; he checked over every inch of her exposed skin to make sure there were no signs of injury. When he finally met her eyes, he was stunned. They were the colour of milk chocolate edged with a deep forest-green. The two colors seemed to swirl together like moss creeping over rich soil.

Beautiful, he thought, not noticing the deep violet bags which sat beneath them. Y/N hated her eyes for them, yet they hadn't crossed his mind.

"Are you okay, Bambi?" Billy asked cautiously, taking a small step closer to her. His voice felt soft like a warm hug, yet she knew how it could easily be laced with venom. She'd seen his type before, knew how they could act so smooth then at the flick a switch be encased by rage if the word 'no' was introduced to them. She'd dated that type, been manipulated by their silver tongue and soft touch.

"I'm fine." Y/N's voice found the courage to speak, her body pushing past his and continuing its disassociated roam down the empty road ahead. She didn't feel like speaking to anyone, didn't feel like doing anything. Her mind was a wormhole of desolation and all she wanted was some peace away from home life and school life.

"If you want me to get in my car and carry on, I can. But, chances are you're feeling alone and don't-" Billy tried his best to do what he thought was right, he didn't have to stop when he saw her shivering figure at the side of the empty road. Hell, he probably shouldn't have.

"What you do doesn't really affect me, kid." Y/N snarled with no enthusiasm, her words falling hollow and getting lost in the wind.

The girl noticed he didn't speak after that, yet she hadn't heard the distinct sound of a car door opening and shutting either. She turned her head a fraction, not wanting to give him the attention he seemingly so desperately wanted from her but interested to know if she was about to get killed. Y/N rolled her eyes irritably as his taller figure appeared beside her own.

A few minutes passed as they ambled along the never ending barren road side by side without a word exchanged. Y/N felt oddly comfortable, more so than she did in that stupid private school or at home with Steve in constant seldom silence or rage filled bickering.

This silence was pleasant and held no secrets. Mostly due to the fact they were perfect strangers, no lingering expectations to be great or even good. Y/N stole another glance at him through the dark moonlight, his thick shoulder length hair appearing soft in its naturally curly state, and his flawlessly chiselled face hidden by plump cheeks and long eyelashes.

He could've committed some kind of atrocity for all she knew, but is company felt comforting and she wasn't one to judge.

"D'you just plan on following me around all night, then?" Y/N's voice sounded much more mellowed and velvety, her heartbeat no longer erratic in her ears allowing her mind some peace.

Billy sighed and rubbed a hand across his face before stuffing both into the pockets of his denim jacket to find some kind of warmth, "Haven't exactly planned that far ahead, gotta be honest with you. I don't know, I just needed to clear my head, and it seemed like you were doing the same."

"You could say that." Y/N scoffed, her numb mind somehow still managing to make her legs move forwards without stumbling. The biting cold air pricked at her paled skin, but she enjoyed the feeling. It was better than feeling nothing at all. "Fucked up shit happens a lot considering nothing happens around here."

"Did someone hurt you?" The words filled with unease tumbled from his mouth before he had the chance to catch them. Billy couldn't tell himself why he cared, why he was still walking along side this stranger in the dead of night on a Tuesday. Wednesday, now. But after the events at Mrs Byers' house, he had realised he'd become the monster he feared most- his father. If there was anything he could do to stop that, it was all he had done for the past three months.

Y/N smiled at her own stupid actions coming back to the forefront of her memories. She shook her head, still smiling, "That's too complicated to answer right now. Unfortunately, I managed to fuck things up pretty bad all on my own this time."

"I'm listening." Billy's eyes wandered across the unending tree border as he let the girl gather her thoughts and decide whether to indulge him or not.

She did.

"A couple weeks ago I overheard some skanks from my school trash talking my family; you see my brother slept with this girl named Rosie once ages ago so she put herself on a pedestal and thinks her words are gospel now. She was joking with her friends about how we're basically orphans. And then, this is the real kicker, she made up a rumour saying I'd got crabs from sleeping with the gym teacher. Which is hilarious because I'm a virgin still. So, I confronted her, she denied it, and I may or may not have blacked out and beat the living daylights out of her. Last week the dean decided to kick me out, so as of next Monday I'll be back at the shit show they call Hawkins High."

It felt easy to spill her thoughts to this oddly handsome person she'd never met before. Y/N felt like adding, 'oh and there's supernatural demons running around trying to take you to another dimension and kill you, but don't worry, our telekinetic friend saved us. Twice.' But she liked him enough in that moment not to want to scare him away.

"I would've hit her, too." Billy chuckled dryly, realising this girl was stronger than she seemed. His voice picked up after a beat of silence, "Billy, by the way."

"Y/N." She smiled her first warm, genuine smile for a rather long time, and it felt strange and satisfying all at once. Silence fell upon them once again after that, not feeling unpleasant in the slightest. They walked side by side with no destination in mind, Y/N's body bumping against his every now and again. The fist time was an accident, after that she kept on doing it to see the small smile pull at the corners of his lips from the contact.

Her combat boots halted on the torn up asphalt, kicking up small stones a few feet across the road. Without indication to her newfound friend, she switched direction and began walking back towards the other end of the endless road back towards Hawkins away from Lakewood.

"Alright then." Billy quirked an eyebrow at her odd behaviour as he followed and fell back into aimless step with her.

"Billy," she enjoyed the way his name rolled off her tongue, "could you drive me home?" She looked up at him with hope in her eyes, half feigned half real. Y/N was a shell of a person, broken and cold after what her eyes had witnessed, but she really liked the way her mind felt at ease around this boy with fluffy hair and muscular arms.

"Sure."

They made their way up to the car in silence, time running by much quicker with Y/N's spirits lifted. Billy unlocked his Camaro and the two settled into their seats, the heater almost instantly turned up to the highest setting.

"Where are you from, Billy?" Y/N couldn't help herself but ask, she had a knack for wanted to know everything and managing to know everything one way or another. She enjoyed the ever so slight accent in his voice, certainly not from these parts. His olive skin, probably once a lot more tanned and bright, gave it away too. Nobody here got enough vitamin D to look that pretty.

She told him to take the next turning, filling the space his answer was about to fall into. Y/N noticed the sounds of AC/DC playing quietly, one of her all time favourite songs. Steve would buy their albums and she'd buy Madonna when they visited the mall together, then swap when they got back to his car.

"California, my dad remarried and they both wanted a new start, so we ended up here." Billy answered calmly, voice tinged with anguish. The girl gave him another direction and told him to pull up two houses down from her own.

"If my brother saw someone giving me a lift home I think he'd murder you then me, so for everyone's safety it's best not to let him in on our little secret." Y/N grinned halfheartedly up at Billy, realising Steve wouldn't have gone to sleep yet and it was her fault. He was a real dick sometimes, but she wondered if he was the only person in the world to actually give a shit about her.

"Sounds like a real buzzkill." Billy joked with an unknown lightness to his tone, turning the ignition off and settling his gaze on her devastatingly brilliant eyes again.

Y/N nodded and leant over the centre console, wrapping her arms around Billy's much larger torso, he didn't react for a moment, not entirely sure what was happening, but he eventually returned the hug.

"Thanks for stopping earlier, tonight would've been a lot more lonely if you hadn't." Y/N unclasped her seatbelt and unlocked the door, sending the boy a truly heartfelt smile before they said goodbye to one another. He watched her walk down the road and disappear into her driveway, making sure she was safe before he left.

The Harrington girl quietly entered her house, taking off her rather muddy boots and making her way up to her brother's bedroom. She knocked quietly on his door out of politeness but didn't wait for an answer before opening it.

"Steve-" her voice was remorseful, this is how it always went.

He groaned a little from his work desk, eyes failing to stay open consistently, "I know, I'm sorry." Steve sent her a weak smile, knowing how hurt his little sister was at heart.

"Yeah," she sighed, "me too."

Y/N climbed into bed that night with the scent of Billy's strong cologne still clinging to her too, and it made her feel at ease. She slept well for the first time in a very long time, mind for once not plagued by creatures from another world.

Taglist:

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[volganic]

Eyes like yours

[AO3] || [discord] guess who didnt want to write important things like the next chapter of song? or any of my other unfinished drafts? guess who wanted to write a whole new thing based off a song by shakira? it’s me

Hyrule Castle was under siege. 

In the blink of an eye, monsters and fire laid waste to the green of the undisturbed fields that surrounded the castle. It was terrifying how quickly the pace of battle moved and washed over the Hyrulean forces, but Link moved quicker. Where the other trainees stood by in the safety of the walls of the castle, Link was out in the thick of it, fighting side by side with his more seasoned captains without a second to waste. Every second counted.

It might have been his first time taking the lives of enemies, but his actions didn’t go unnoticed as he cut his way through the waves of the grotesque monsters. The general herself, Impa, took note of how he took charge of the situation; she mentally thanked the three that there was still hope in light of these rapidly darkening times. She marched over to the rookie soldier after cutting through a duo of raid captains that dared to cross her, and planted a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no time to thank you properly, trainee,” she began as Link turned to face her, “but the princess is farther out in the field. We need to regroup. The only thing keeping us from accomplishing that is capturing one of the enemy’s vital keeps.” The Sheikah’s eyes scanned the field, drawing the Hylian’s gaze as she pointed to closed doors on the other side of the field. “There! I don’t know what is in there, but start there and I will assist you once our men have control of the field. Understand, soldier?” 

The recruit gave a stiff nod and a salute. Impa returned the gesture. “May the goddesses smile on us all.” She turned on her heel back to aid one of their knights in the distance who was beginning to become overwhelmed with another wave of enemies. Link wished he could help there, but the entire weight of the battle weighed on his shoulders with this new task he was given. He swallowed thickly; capturing this keep could easily help them win or lose this war.

Link burst through the large doors of the abandoned fort, finding it seemingly empty. Impa said it was a vital stronghold for their assailants, but there was nothing to show for it; not even a blade of grass was out of place against the pavement. The Hylian’s senses told him to stay on high alert regardless as he inched across the stone path to the other pair of locked doors. His instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong. 

He didn’t make it too far — a sound whizzed through his ears and a heavy spear collided into the ground inches away from where he planned to take his next step. He stepped back reflexively when rocks splintered in every direction, and his sight went skyward to the source. A large shadow of a man stood on the top of the stone wall of the keep. He paced along the edge like a predator, staring down at the lone soldier below — at least, Link assumed he was staring. The glare of the sun shrouded him in darkness, making it difficult to discern certain features. 

The man lurched forward to meet the ground, and Link’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. He ignored how heavy it suddenly felt in his hands as he watched the taller man move with grace to pluck his weapon out from the cracked earth. Adrenaline flooded the Hylian’s veins now that he could fully see his enemy: his built physique, macabre armor, dragon-shaped helmet, deadly weapon in hand — everything was set to strike fear into anyone lesser. He steeled his resolve and kept his sword drawn.

The red-clad knight circled the trainee soldier like a lion. He made no movement to strike. It was intimidating how slowly he stalked around him, just waiting for an opportunity to make his move, and Link knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone with an act of bravery. The man tsk’d with an amused grin on his face, watching the blade in the boy’s hand beginning to shake. 

“They dare send only one lowly soldier to take my keep?” His low, mocking tone echoed off the walls, worming into the Hylian’s mind, taunting him. “I do not know whether to be flattered that they finally threw me a bone,” he suddenly frowned, coming to a stop in his pacing, “or insulted that they sent someone not worth my time.” 

In a fit of anger, Link blindly ran forward to strike the man down. Rage cried out of his lungs and filled the silence between them, but was replaced with a cry of pain as his side was struck with a hard kick. He crumpled to the ground and watched his only means of attack be swept out of his reach. An armored boot filled his view before it moved, finding a home placed firmly on top of his sternum. The man’s growling was the only thing Link could hear besides his own strained whimpers as he scrambled underneath his boot, his breath being crushed out of him.

“Pathetic,” the knight hissed, digging his pointed heel into the thick metal mail, trying to expose the fleshier bits of his prey’s chest. Some links of the chain gave out under the rough treatment. Pained cries fell on deaf ears. “You’re nothing but a boy playing a sad excuse for a soldier.” 

Link screwed his eyes shut, trying to collect himself with the combined force of the crushing weight on his chest and with hearing his enemy’s words. It struck a chord deep in him — he was praised highly among the rest of camp for his swordsmanship, but falling so quickly in battle drowned him in shame. It was pitiful that he wished for this stranger to kill him quickly to spare him the humiliation of returning to what would be left of the castle with his tail between his legs, not only failing his general, but all of Hyrule.

Suddenly the weight was lifted off his chest, and Link’s lungs burned with the rush of air. It was all the reprieve he was given when he was forcefully pulled up by the collar of his blue and white tunic, nearly nose-to-nose with the enemy. 

“You must be new to the ways of war,” the knight crooned. “Running headstrong into the fray without so much as a helmet.” He turned the soldier’s head from side to side with his other hand, looking him over with vague interest. “Pity, you are a pretty thing. Stupid, but pretty nonetheless.” 

Link couldn’t hear the words the man muttered under his breath. He was completely entranced with the way how the pointed tips of his eye markings moved over his cheeks with each carefully selected word. It drew his attention to eyes which he couldn’t see from a distance, but with him being so close, the Hylian could see underneath the pointed snout of the dragon-shaped helmet. If he couldn’t breathe before, he certainly wasn’t breathing now.

The man’s eyes were an even deeper black than the paint that shrouded his eyes, an expanse of a void that Link felt so lost in, but he was fixated on the way his eyes seemed to pierce through his very soul, irises swirling of emerald and gold, and even a ring of fiery red along the edges. It was unlike anything Link had ever seen before: so daunting, so primal, feral, instilling fear through his veins —

— but also leaving him awestruck in its own twisted sense of beauty.

A strangled gasp managed to worm its way out of the Hylian’s throat as he was pulled off the ground again by the neck, held an arm’s length away from the enemy. He kicked furiously at the air, the toes of his boots barely scraping against the pavement, being held higher and higher up into the air. The knight laughed cruelly at his struggle.

“I’ve wasted enough time with you, boy.” The air crackled with an energy unknown to Link. An aura of red magic covered the knight’s arm holding Link hostage, striking panic through Link as the temperature rose to a dangerous degree, the clawed gauntlet threatening to burn through his tunic and mail. Another swirl of magic caused his arm to distort into something akin to a dragon’s limb — or at least, that’s what Link could only imagine it being — and gripping the Hylian’s throat even tighter. “I’ve only come to fight worthy foes!”

If the dragon squeezed any further, it would surely kill him in an instant if he didn’t suffocate first. Adrenaline surged through him to fight for his life — have to run, get away, do something! — screaming at every one of his nerves to act. His arms slipped through the spaces between the dragon’s claws, hands desperate to scratch his way out of the other’s grip, red scales flaking off with each futile swipe. Link’s racing heart and panicked breathing filled his ears, falling deaf to the man’s threats. 

A searing pain struck across his left hand even through the leather of his glove. Link wasn’t sure if the light blinding him was a signal that he was knocking on death’s door, but whatever it was, it also blinded his assailant; its rays dared to rival those from the sun. The ground rushed to meet Link’s body as he felt himself drop to the ground again, no longer being held in a crushing choke hold or close to the heat of his enemy. Through his rattled mind and the ringing in his ears, sound slowly came back into his senses, filled only with curses and snarling from the disoriented knight on the other side of the keep.

Link sat up quickly while he had the chance and scanned the pavement for his weapon. If only he had his sword…

“You—” the man growled, rubbing any streaks of light that distorted his vision, “you can’t be!”

“Soldier!”

Quick footfalls approached the two of them, and soon enough, Impa stood between them, hand steadied on the hilt of her blade and shielding the Hylian from any more torture from the red-clad knight. Her eyes stared at their enemy with a piercing gaze, daring him to make another move. 

“Volga.”

‘Volga’ scoffed in response to being called by anything other than his full title. “I am not here to entertain you, Sheikah.” His eyes fell to the boy that lay behind her. “I may have… underestimated Hyrule’s forces. But I promise you this, I will not make the same mistake again.” With a roar and another swirl of magic, a pair of leathery wings stretched outright from Volga’s back. Impa’s stance grew tense as Volga pointed his spear at them — specifically toward Link’s direction. “You haven’t beaten me yet. Next time we meet, boy, I will cut through your shields and mount your head on a pike!”

With that decree and a beat of his large wings, Volga retreated into the sky. Embers filled the space where he had once stood, leaving Impa and Link in a keep that now belonged to Hyrule’s forces. This was the turning point of this battle, but it was far from over.

“The princess still awaits us to regroup. We haven’t won yet.” Impa turned to offer her hand, which her recruit gladly accepted. He couldn’t meet her gaze as he rushed over to where his knight’s sword had lay discarded a few feet away from them, holstering his blade back in its place, half-expecting an earful of reprimands —

Impa placed a hand on his shoulder, much to his surprise. Link tilted his head to look at her in question. The general’s hand pulled his left arm away from his side to reveal the source of the burning pain from earlier, the only thing that spared him from an premature death: the glowing mark of the Triforce on the back of his glove.

“But now that we have found you, perhaps we just might win.”

Link’s fate was now set in stone. There was only one thing that thrilled and terrified him both at the same time: coming face-to-face with Volga again.

[hilllsnholland]

Karma (1) - Halloween Series

Pairing: Demon!Tom Holland x Angel!Reader

W.c: 3.8k 

Warnings: Mentions of religion, gun violence, trauma, and other dark themes! 

Summary: Y/N wants nothing more than to find out the truth about her life before she died. This includes becoming an Angel agent, curing the world of evil, and meeting The Creator and to finally get the answers she’s looking for. That’s until she meets Tom, a Demon, her supposed nemesis of all people. Yet, there’s something about him that isn’t right? He’s…good. Leaving Y/N to wonder, who she can really trust in this balancing game of Good and Evil.

A/N: Only one day late!! Haha but no seriously I really love this idea and I’m really excited for you guys to read this! It’s really different from anything I’ve ever written so don’t be so harsh? and enjoy!

In bright, yellow glowing letters a sign hung over the Embassy building. The residents looked past it, knowing the message like it was their first words.

Everything must be balanced

This was a common phrase used in the Place. It was hung up in every office, every tavern (yes there’s alcohol in the Place), and even homes. It was a reminder to ever Angel what their purpose was which was to outweigh the bad from the Demons. All Angels could live in perfect paradise in the Place as long as they lived by this message. This included basking in the heavenly glow, spending eternity with their loved ones, and be blessed by The Creator at random times in the day.

It wasn’t known to common earth-folk that this system was in place. Versions of this concept were spread out upon every culture and religion, but no one could really hit it right on the head. Especially the part about Angels and Demons. The biggest point they got wrong was that they were not what books and movies predicted them to be. They were not some holier, glowing beings, or monsters with horns and pitchforks. They were beings that the human mind could not comprehend, but they did get one thing right. Angels control all the good in the world and Demons control all the bad. It was their jobs, quite literally. To gain access to all the amenities the Place, or the Under, had to offer, you had to work or give back in some way.

Which is why Y/N, a level five Angel, was rushing through the crowd of co-workers to get to the assignment area. Y/N, a young but skillful angel, had just gotten done with another assignment. She had miraculously saved a person from a near-death car accident, bending the metal of the car so the person was unscathed Medical personnel were even amazed at the incident, as the car was completely smashed in except for the driver's seat.

It came natural to her, like she was born to do this. Y/N had even thought that maybe her life back on Earth had something to do with it. All Angels were born on Earth, and when they died the Creator granted them the ability to become an Angel. The only downside is that people don’t take their memories with them to the Place. Y/N had spent so many days, weeks, months trying to figure out what she did back on Earth. Her memory was wiped though. She could remember her family, where she grew up, and what schools she went to, but nothing else. She was a blank canvas, like the rest of the Angels.

“Y/N! Back already?”

Y/N turned to see Sloane, a friend and fellow Angel agent, standing behind her. Her shining blonde hair and innocent face made her look like a biblical Angel. She was perfect for this job, as Y/N would agree, but Y/N knew she was better.

“It was a quickie save. I need to get at least three more assignments done by the end of the quarter if I want to reach Level Six.”

“That’s insane! You only started at the Embassy two years ago and you’re already more than halfway to Level Ten.” Sloane gasped.

If Y/N reached top levels before her third year was up then she would be fastest Angel to ever do so. Reaching Level Ten was the equivalent to an earth-folk retirement. If you chose so, that is. Not many Angels get to that point, mainly because the Afterlife was so relaxed, but if you did then you had two options; one was to retire and live in the Place in peace, and two was to meet the Creator. The Creator, an unimaginable force that only a handful of people ever met. Also Y/N’s goal. The Creator had the answers that Y/N desperately wanted, and it was obvious that nothing was going to stand in her way.

“That’s the plan.” Y/N said with a confident smile.

Y/N placed her completion ticket onto the counter of the assignment outpost, still looking at Sloane. The worker rolled his eyes, knowing Y/N very well.

“You know quick doesn’t always mean afficient,” Carlos sasses.

“But it’s me so you know it’s done with perfection,” Y/N bats her eyelashes. “Just admit it, you love me. I’m your favorite Agent,”

Carlos laughs, stamping her completion paper and snapping his fingers. The paper disappeared into a puff of bright light, a perk of being a top employee at the Embassy. Carlos was a long time friend of Y/N’s, he was the first one she met when she arrived in the Place almost two and a half years ago. He was a trusted friend, advisor, and mentor. He reminded Y/N of someone, but she couldn’t figure out who.

That was the one thing about the place she didn’t like, It was blips of happiness and sadness that you couldn’t place. It was a constant state of deja vu, putting the pieces together into a puzzle that never matched. But it didn’t matter, because people were guaranteed to meet their loved ones in the Place. It was a waiting game though that Y/N had become impatient for.

“I can not confirm or deny,” Carlos winks at the two women. “What do you want next? I got a miracle recitation or…”

“Boring!”

“Wait for the ‘Or’!” Carlos points his pen at her warningly. “...OR a bank robbery with a miracle rescue,”

“Drama! Excitement! I need that assignment,” Y/N clutched her chest dramatically and held her hand out for the form.

Carlos chuckled, knowing that Y/N was one to take on the most. It was a chance for her to show off her ability, and more so to be given the praise she needs. Carlos stamps off the form and gives it to Y/N. Her eyes instantly go to the point value, 115 points if she handles this mission perfectly. Minimal death, positive outcomes, no long term effects on the rest of the world. Y/N looks to Sloane and proudly shows off her points.

“Guess who’s going to be a Level Six by the end of the day?”

_

A knife pierced through the air and hit the cork board sitting behind the young man in the chair. The man didn’t flinch, blinking his eyes slowly in boredom. He watched as another man pace around a desk, swearing and muttering about incompetence.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Kaiser screamed.

The knife lifted off the cork board and fell into Tom’s lap.

“I did the job. I don’t understand why you’re angry,” Tom said calmly.

The knife flew into Kaiser’s hand, gripping it tightly until flames engulfed the blade. Tom didn’t bat an eye. This is how Kaiser showed disappointment and Tom wasn’t going to fall for it today. Besides, the mission wasn’t a failure in Tom’s eyes.

He was sent on a mission to create a catastrophic tsunami over a small village in the East. Which he did, but there were no casualties. There was significant building damage and people were injured. No death though.

“People needed to die!” Kaiser raged.

“They will. They have poor health care so the likelihood of them dying from their injuries is quite high-”

“Not if the Angels get to them!”

There he goes again. Always about the Angels, never thinking about the Demons. Tom blinked his eyes again to try to suppress the yawn that was bubbling in his throat. He wanted this meeting over with so he can go back home. Tom half-assed his assignments to get home quicker that was all. Or at least that’s what he told Kaiser.

“You’re the worst Demon we’ve had in an eternity!” Kaiser threw himself back into the desk and held his head.

Tom watched Kaiser’s horns pierce through the stack of paperwork he had on his desk and subconsciously felt where his should be. There were two small bumps on his head where horns should be. It was hidden by curly hair but it didn’t matter anyway. Decades in the Under and he hadn’t earned them yet. Mainly due to his own doing, or lack of doing that is.

Tom remembered his first years in the Under, after the Creator placed him there as a child, and how he strived to get his horns. Years went on though, and something didn’t feel right. The destruction that fueled the Under didn’t make him happy. It filled him with dread. It angered him. Tom kept that a secret though because fallen Angels go to the Under, but fallen Demons go to the darkness.

“You need to step up Tom,” Kaiser sighed. “You’re here for eternity so you better start enjoying it,”

Kaiser’s red eyes met Tom’s, pity is all he saw. Kaiser had put so much effort into making Tom the best Demon in his division, yet it was all wasted. Guilt was not a word in the Under, but Tom felt it. He felt a lot of emotions the other Demons couldn’t.

“The Creator put you here for a reason-”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Tom finally raised his voice. “Why do they create us but choose the Angels? We’re basically their...kids right? It doesn’t make sense,”

“Don’t invoke the answers you don’t want,” Kaiser warned and lifted a book off the shelf. “Read this if you want answers,”

The Manuscript fell into Tom’s lap which a painful thud. Earth-folk have a different name for it depending on what religion belong to, but most of its the same. Tom rolled his eyes, placing the Manuscript onto the desk.

“I know what it says but-”

“No. More. Questions.” Kaiser ordered and held out his palm. “Take this,”

A piece of paper appeared in his hand in a burst of flames. Tom took it, looking over the assignment with a scowl. Kaiser really knew how to punish him alright. Tom stood up, breathing sharply as he headed for the door. Kaiser watched him, arms crossed with a devilish smile.

“Now, kill someone or don’t come back,”

Tom hated how easy those words came from Kaiser’s mouth. He forced a knowing smile, nodding his head as he gripped the handle. It was burning hot, his hands tingling from the heat. Tom pushed forward though, knowing it was one of Kaiser’s tricks to persuade him to actually do the job. Tom met Kaiser’s eyes one more time, nodding more confidently as the door swung open.

“Won’t let you down,”

_

Y/N rushed through the back alley, jumping (or more like phasing) over the trashcans and muck. Nobody said saving the world was pretty. She darted for the backdoor of the bank, holding her hand out towards the handle and twisting her hand. The door slowly opened with a quiet creak. Although nobody could see her while she was in her hidden form, she still had to be cautious that no one caught her. Her cloak looked blindingly white to her, but to the common Earth-folk, she was invisible. Another perk of being a high leveled Angel, you get amazing gear.

The bank seemed normal though as she passed through. The bankers were doing their job while the customers waited in line patiently. Y/N looked to her watch, any minute now some crazy guy would enter with a gun and she needed to be ready. The least amount of casualties the better, especially for her score.

The door chimed as a person walked in. Y/N, who was hiding around the corner, watched as the man entered in a long coat, wearing mostly black. It was time to move. Y/N darted through the main hall only to see a familiar shadow slipping through the cracks of the door. The shadow turned into a mist that formed into a real person wearing a dark cloak. A Demon of all people. The Demon shook his head, cracking his knuckles as he was ready for work.

Y/N had never seen a Demon look this young before though. Most of them were older ones from earlier dawns of time. This one though looked to be her age. His hair was soft and curly, framing his face delicately. He had a strong face, but so boyish. He looked so innocent, no horns to be seen either. He must be a young Demon then, or a newbie in the field. He was...cute though? He would’ve been a perfect Angel if he was born human.

“Everybody get down!” The man yelled as bullets went flying into the air.

Shit. Y/N was so focused on the Demon that she forgot about her own mission. The Demon seemed surprised too, springing into action to grab the robber. It was time for the negotiation. Whenever an Angel and Demon were on opposite sides of an assignment, they have to come to an agreement on how it’ll play out. How many survivors, other damages, and how likely this will affect the rest of the world.

“Hey!” Y/N yelled.

The Demon finally saw her, his curly mess of hair moving as he looked to her. Both their hands reach out and everything stops. The terrified patrons are frozen, the gunman mid trigger pull is stuck. The only people who can move are Y/N and the Demon.

“Tell me your name!” Y/N demands.

“It’s Tom,” His eyes narrow at her. “And you are?”

“Y/N. What’s your wager?”

Tom looks at her puzzled. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the eldery couple sitting on the floor in terror, the pregnant woman holding her stomach, and the bank teller who was in tears. What could he wager? This was not his life to gamble?

“I-I don’t know,” Tom admits. “Are you really an Angel?”

Y/N stares at him. He’s stiff, hand still outright to control the time lock.

“Y-yes,”

“Where are your wings-”

“None of your business,” Y/N says quickly.

Her hand is pulsing a white glow now, strong that Tom’s timelock and it’s engulfing his hand in a heavenly warmth. Not like the Unders, but it feels like a hug. It feels so soft that Tom never wants it to go away. It leaves as swiftly as it appeared as Y/N realized her anger bubbling. She had to keep her cool. She had to get this right.

“I just thought Angels had wings. That’s all,” Tom watches as his words get under Y/N’s skin.

“Listen, we could go on and on about my lack of wings, but right now we should focus on negotiating a deal. How many people will you take?”

“I don’t-”

“You can have a maximum of five,”

Losing five would only reduce her score to a 110. A still passing score that gets her so close to leveling up in the ranks.

“What? No!”

Five lives taken? It shouldn’t have shocked Tom as much but it did. An Angel willing to give up five lives was unheard of? Y/N flusters, stepping forward with her hand out.

“I’m not taking five lives. I just need one,” Tom asserts and points to the robber. “I’m hoping it’s him,”

It had to be a trick, Y/N thought. Demons were tricky, they were not to be trusted. That’s all Y/N heard at the Embassy. Both of them lock eyes on each other, hands still straight out keeping everything frozen, and for a brief second both of them felt something change. Y/N took a step closer to make sure what she saw was real. There was glow illuminating Tom and it was heavenly.

“What are you playing here?” Y/N shouts, ready to fight him.

“Nothing! I don’t want anyone to die,”

“That’s impossible…”

Tom watched as Y/N’s eyes turned dark, her hand dropping to her side. Suddenly his hand was sizzling. It was like it was on fire again. He took his hand back, clutching it to his chest and stumbling to the floor.. Everything resumed like it was before, the robber was pushing the gun into the face of the teller, demanding money. Y/N sprung into action, bolting for the gunman.

Confidence flooded through her as she bounded for the gun, her hand passed through it in an attempt to stall it from shooting anymore. Tom rolled onto his stomach, aching in pain. Everything felt hazy and he could barely get himself up. She hadn’t attacked him though. When they disconnected...it hurt?

“Give me all the money or everyone is going to die!” The robber slammed his fist onto the counter.

“It’s in the vault. You have to let me take you to the vault,” The bank teller cries.

Y/N steps back, wondering how to fix this mess. It would have been easier if that Demon just negotiated with her. Now she had to figure it out on her own while he was on the floor. The teller holds her hands up with the keys to take the robber to the vault. Everyone is watching, sweating and crying. It suddenly hits her. The button, she had to press the emergency button. It wasn’t the heroic way she was planning, but it was her best shot of getting a good score. Y/N phased through the desk, fumbling around underneath the desk until she hit the button. Now all she had to do was make sure nobody died.

“Stop!” Tom yelled out.

He finally got to his feet and was trying to run towards the robber. He’s clutching his side and phasing through the gun. He’s trying to unjam it, Y/N thought. He had an agenda just like her, but he had to be difficult. Y/N groaned, rushing over to the robber and the teller. Y/N grabbed Tom and threw him into the wall, his body burning more intensely.

“Are you crazy? Let me go!” Tom thrashes around and kicks Y/N away.

“I’m trying to save humanity here,” Y/N snaps back and jams the gun again.

The teller is placing keys through the locked door that leads to the vault. All they had to do was make it down there with no deaths and Y/N would have this job in the bag. If Tom was getting her way though then it might have to get ugly.

“It seems like you’re the bad guy here,” Tom braces himself for a fight as he side steps towards the robber.

Before Y/N can even respond there are sirens. The blue and red lights shine through the window and relief washes over the victims lying on the ground. Y/N is about to celebrate until there’s an empty trigger.

“You fucking called the cops?” The robber slams his gun onto the wall and then pressed it to the teller’s head. “You’re gonna die,” He hisses into the tellers ear.

It’s a split second but it goes so slowly. It was almost like they had time locked again, but they were not in control. Y/N grabbed the Robber while Tom slides toward the teller. Y/N knows what she has to do, jam the gun again. But...she doesn’t want to. Coldness comes over her suddenly. Her hands are bitter cold.

Thoughts of betrayal, sadness, and anger consumed her as she grabs the top of the gun. Jamming is no longer in her head. All she can think of is letting the gun shoot the teller. She snaps back, horrified by her thoughts. Her hand goes to grab the gun but it’s already gone. The bullet has already been shot, but there was no trigger. His hands did not move. Y/N freezes.

The bullet pierced through the air, the ringing blasting everyone’s ear. Tom stands up fully, his hand coming up and igniting the bullet into flames. Y/N holds back a breath, believing that he was going to murder this woman right in front of her. But it doesn’t. The bullet redirects and falls onto the ground. The woman gasps, reacting to the almost magical occurence that saved her life. Tom waves his hand again and the Robber is on the floor, convulsing.

Y/N is still frozen. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Tom, the Demon, had saved someone? Tom pushes the hair out of his eyes and stands over the body of the Robber. He places his hand on the man’s forehead and suddenly the life leaves him. Y/N can see the soul fall onto the floor and disappear. He had killed him. What she would have expected from a Demon, but she was still shocked.

“He didn’t pull the trigger,” Tom mutters as he walks towards her.

“I know-”

“You caused the trigger to go off. I watched you. You tried to kill that woman.”

Y/N met his eyes. They were not black nor red like the others. They were wa arm brown. His face was so soft, even the blankness in his stare was electrifying. It felt familiar again. Just like the feeling with Carlos.

“What kind of Angel are you?” Tom places his hand on her back, feeling the notches where her wings hid.

Y/N steps away, slapping his hand away. It hurt though, like he was freezing her to death.

“The kind of Angel who won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” She warns and points to the woman. “I’m sure your people won’t like it if they found out you refused to kill anyone.”

Tom nods, tightening his cloak around his body as he walked away. There was nothing to say at this point. It was a fluke interaction, a mission that went horribly wrong. Y/N watched Tom disappear as cops flooded through the building, guns up high and escorting victims out of the scene. Y/N stood in the midst of it though, holding up her assignment sheet as it filled itself out.

113/155

That was printed in the score box on the top of her paper. Usually ,that would spark joy in her, but it validated what she had thought all along. The little whispers in the back of her mind that she was too afraid to say. She scanned the comment sections where it read.

‘.5 point deduction for trauma done to Lydia Richards’

A picture of the bank teller appeared next to the comment. She was held at gun point, almost died, and watched a man mysteriously die in front of her. Yeah, she was gonna have issues.

‘.5 point deduction in communicating with a Demon for more than ten minutes’

And finally

‘1 point for causing suspicion with mysterious death’

It was true. A woman’s life being forever changed was worth less than how the Angels were perceived to Earth-folks. Talking with a Demon on how many lives would be ruined was worth the same as ruining a life though. It made sense to the other agents. It made sense to The Creator. But it never made sense to her, and that was the point. The Place made no sense, and neither did the rules. Not even the description of Demons fit anymore.

Fear drove her to silence about these worries, and it would still drive her to hide her feelings, but now it was clear. This was not just a Y/N issue, it was seen by one other person. Tom, the Demon boy who saved a life. Unheard of, or maybe that’s what Y/N was taught. Either way, she needed to find Tom again and get some answers.

//

//

//

Taglist: 

@hopeless-starry-kingdom / @1-800-ahh-crap / @spnqueen02 / @heatherhollowayst

[pretty-rad-arson-dad]

Springing the Trap

A little something I wrote after I finished reading The Fourth Closet. It takes place in my Hardwired AU and happens soon after the other five children are murdered and Henry finds out about William being responsible for Charlie. Also the reason the Spring Bonnie suit was still in use is because in my Hardwired AU, they used it for booked birthday parties.

--------

"You know, I'm really going to miss wearing these suits." William sighed, running his fingers against the synthetic fur of the Spring Bonnie suit.

Henry gave an emotionless nod.

"But, as you said over the phone, this probably for the best." William said, turning to look at Henry with a smile on his face.

It took every ounce of will power for Henry to smile back. He really wanted to throw up.

Why are you continuing to act out this terrible fucking lie?

"William?"

Henry's business partner cocked his head to the side in his usual fashion. "Yes, Hen?"

Henry nearly cringed at the nickname but forced himself to act normal. It was getting hard, however, escpecially with how completely unaffected William seemed to be by his dark deed. Henry just wanted to pounce on the man and scream at him.

"Go ahead and put on the suit one last time." Henry suggested with a smile. William's eyes lit up at the idea.

"Can I?" he asked, speaking with a childish sort of excitement. Henry chuckled and nodded.

"I don't see why not."

With an excited and happy grin, William grabbed the suit and began to put it on. Henry casually reached for his beverage.

About a few minutes later, William had the entire thing on. The Englishman turned to look at Henry. Between the teeth of the mascot suit, Henry could see William's mouth, smiling with a child-like happiness.

"Hello Henry~!" William sang. He was using a cartoony entertainer's voice. Henry scowled and turned his head away in disgust. William took notice.

"Henry?"

Henry's eyes darted back over to William. He couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I know what you did, Afton." Henry said, his voice low.

William's eyes lit up with a sort of panic. His eyes flickered over Henry's face, scanning it. He settled on his partner's eyes. He could see that, instead of them being their normal bright and cheerful green, they were now filled with a cold hatred; angry and dull.

"What are you ta—"

"STOP SPEAKING TO ME IN THAT FUCKING VOICE!" Henry shouted, clenching his fist.

William began to speak in his normal voice. "Henry, I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Charlotte. MY DAUGHTER." Henry sneered. William inwardly cringed.

How could Henry have known? He hasn't been that careless, had he?

"You took her..." Henry cotinued. "My own friend..."

Henry's eyes showed a momentary flicker of sadness, but the rage quickly returned to them. William gulped.

"I trusted you blindly." Henry snarled.

"Henry I—" William was promptly cut off again.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" Henry roared. The man was clearly restraining himself from lunging at William and William noticed this. How could he tell Henry the reason he had done it was because he had been jealous? How could he tell Henry that he did it to bring them closer to each other?

Henry hissed between his teeth as he shook with anger.

"Henry, please... I-I....

"YOU'RE A FUCKING MONSTER!" he screamed, wrenching the top of the water bottle off. William's eyes widened as he saw this, immediatly realizing what Henry planned on doing.

He had certainly planned this out. The clever man.

Henry tossed the water on the suit as William stood still, knowing that either way it would probably set off the spring locks. He closed his eyes and prepared for the immence pain.

But it didn't come.

"W-What the..." Henry mumbled, backing away. William let out a chuckle and opened his eyes.

"Oh Henry~" William purred, stepping towards the man. Henry took a step back, dropping the water bottle as he did. "It seems you've made these suits better than you thought~"

William stalked towards the man, who now had backed up against the wall. Henry's eyes were wide and horrified.

Oh god no, he thought to himself, looking up at William's excited silver eyes.

William, removed the Spring Bonnie mask and set it aside. "Henry, my dear, were you trying to get rid of me~?"

Henry turned his head away, refising to meet Afton's gaze. All the rage he had earlier was now replaced with a gut-wrenching fear. His knees began to feel weak.

William chuckled and forced Henry to look at him. "You can't ever get rid of me, my darling~" William purred. "We're—"

Suddenly, there was a pop that came from inside the suit. William stumbled back from Henry and looked down at himself in confusion. For a few moments, there was silence.

And then there came the cracking and screaming.

Henry watched as William fell to the floor. The Spring Bonnie suit was jolting as each of the springlocks went off. He could hear the sounds of the robotic parts tearing through William's flesh. William screamed and reached out towards Henry.

For a split second, Henry felt pity for the man. But it was but for a mere second.

Henry stood there, watching as blood began to leak from the suit.

"H-HENRY PLEASE! I DID IT FOR US! I DID IT FOR US!"

Henry turned his head away in disgust. I should leave, he thought to himself.

And so he did. Leaving William screaming, with no other sounds but the breaking of his body and the popping of the springlocks.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Where Your Heart Lies in Safety”

Summary: A storm is taking over the night and the pouring rain is drowning out the feeling of security from Valtor's heart so he holds on to Griffin tighter in an attempt to escape the demons in his mind. Set soon after they got married. Part 4 of “Sparks of Life”.

Guess who had another idea from the storm we had last night. XD I was also dying to write something about this verse so here it comes. Now if I could only finish the first two parts, that would be great!

The thunders were rumbling outside but all he could hear were the words in his mind, scarier than the electricity of the lightnings that only coursed through the clouds tearing the sky apart for a second. The voices had been tearing at his mind for decades. And they kept doing it even now after he’d buried them way back in the depths of his consciousness and the monsters weren’t there to drag him back into their nightmare. But the nightmare would come regardless, if he ever managed to close his eyes with the storm raging outside.

He turned away from the window and to look at Griffin’s sleeping form, the only peaceful harbor in the midst of his life’s storm, and it immediately filled him with calm to know that she was sleeping so softly in his arms despite having seen the vicious things in his mind. She was gentle and vulnerable, and giving him so much strength that he could’ve never wished to draw from himself. It made him ache with the love she awoke inside him that was clashing with all the inner demons he had and still coming out victorious no matter how many times they’d sink their teeth into it and try to leave it in pieces. It was the most secure he’d ever felt to have that knowledge and all the illusions of power planted in his head had melted away to leave him only with the real strength of his feelings.

He snuggled closer to her, pressing himself against her warmth, against the inviting safety spilling from her body even when she was asleep, and leaned in even more to breathe in her scent hoping that it would make him fall into a pleasant dream himself. His hand wrapped around her waist and he held on tightly just in case the place he’d end up at wasn’t quite so dreamy. He’d need a lifeline to pull himself out.

“Valtor?” Griffin questioned, her voice so heavy with sleep that she barely managed to get it out but there was still enough conscious thought in her tone as it poked at him in her attempt to figure out what was wrong. Her head moved just the tiniest bit as she was still in the embrace of her dreams but she fought them anyway to try to turn to him and see what was bothering him and he was so close to her that the slight movement of her hair tickled his nose, forcing him to pull away a bit but it was better than letting go of her.

“Everything’s fine, Griffin,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice hushed and gentle despite the guilt clawing at it. He hated lying to her but this time he had to. He didn’t want her worrying about him when she had to be sleeping. She had work in the morning and he’d have to work through his own issues one of those days. He couldn’t expect her to hold his hand all the time. She was human, too, and needed her rest.

“What’s wrong?” Griffin asked, too well acquainted with his behavior to fall for that even when she was half asleep. And she was only beginning to pull herself towards wakefulness.

She turned around in his arms, making him miss the feeling of her body pressed against his as she did so and sending more pangs of guilt to his heart for disrupting her peace, but at least now he could see her face. And her amber eyes glowed like stars when she opened them even though there was no light they could reflect currently since the moon was suffocated in a blanket of storm clouds that shed their heavy tears over them, pulling at his own heartstrings hard enough to draw tears from him as well. But any sad impulse retreated under the attack of the love radiating from her gaze.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to soothe the expectation in her stare, or at least the uneasiness it left in him. “Go back to sleep,” he said as he moved to kiss her forehead and saw her close her eyes in bliss to accept his affection with. It helped his heart relax as some of the regret for dragging her out of her rest drained out of him. “You’ll be tired tomorrow.” It was today, actually. And that just proved his point. She had to sleep, and so did he. And perhaps now that he had the fresh sight of her precious love-filled eyes in his mind and the desire to stop affecting her negatively with his problems in his heart, he would be able to do that as well.

“I can tell something’s troubling you,” Griffin said, her gaze clear with no traces of sleep in it. She was wide awake and reading him as easily as always, and he couldn’t hide from her anymore. Not that it had worked even when she’d been swallowed in sleep. “What is it?” she asked as she cupped his cheek and he caught a glimpse of the wedding band on her finger that couldn’t shine in the dark but her love shined bright enough so that he could never forget it was there. “Tell me,” she urged softly, always faithful to the “in good and in bad”, and perhaps it was time he got used to that and stopped trying to hide the demons in his mind from her. She would see them anyway when they came out and it was best that she was prepared and knew what they had to fight.

“I can’t sleep during storms,” he said and took her hand in his, placing a kiss on her palm as he pulled it to his mouth, allowing himself to revel in the knowledge she was there. It was probably what had caused his restlessness that hadn’t been present all the other times wind and rain had raged outside their windows. They’d been sleeping in one bed for years now, of course, but it was the first storm since she was sleeping in his arms as his wife, the first storm since they were officially a family, and it had brought back memories of the family he’d once had. “When I was little, I would always stay up during a storm because I wanted to enjoy the few moments of peacefulness I got,” he said, not surprised to see the very slight movement of her eyebrows as she knitted them in confusion while she kept doing her best to just listen to what he had to say. It made him want to kiss her and take in her breath, keep it inside him so that he could feel at home in his own being. “My mothers were always more calm and controlled after a storm. I didn’t know why that was but it made me feel safer when I knew they were less likely to lose their temper and punish me the following day. And I wanted to soak up as much of that feeling as possible since it was rarely present so I would stay up all night until I eventually found myself unable to sleep during a storm.” He’d known how profound of an effect storms had had on his mothers when they hadn’t even scolded him for dozing off at the breakfast table the next day and it had been most soothing. He’d almost come to see them as caring when they’d been like that. Which only spoke loudly of how horrible things had been throughout the rest of the time.

He watched Griffin’s expression change slowly as the information sank in. He’d never told her about that, afraid to let the memories in his mind, for he had to remember the kind of monsters his mothers were. He couldn’t let them back in his heart, for they’d kick Griffin out of his life if he ever allowed them anywhere near her. And he couldn’t have that. She was the only one he’d truly felt safe with. He didn’t have to stay up late and lose sleep to revel in the security of her arms around him, for it would be there in the morning as well, forever his. She wasn’t going anywhere and he’d learned to trust that, allowing himself to feel safe all the time... Until the storm had disrupted his peace and he’d disrupted hers with the fragments of trauma still left in his mind.

Her eyes looked fragile with the sadness that crept inside them but there wasn’t any pity–she knew he’d rather die than have himself or someone else feel sorry for him even if there was plenty to regret when it came to his past–as her lips got pulled into a small smile, all the more impressive for coming victorious out of everything it had to fight through.

“You can always sleep with me,” she laced their fingers together, the feeling of her wedding band against his skin putting his mind at ease like nothing else ever had. Because she’d agreed to marry him even after seeing the most screwed up parts of him and she was there to look them in the eye with a smile on her face and love in her gaze and help him fix them. “Or you can stay awake,” she said. “Whatever you want.” All he wanted was to be with her, safe and free from the past hurt. “With me. Always with me,” she whispered as if she’d read his mind and stroked his hair with the hand he wasn’t holding, confident in the comfort she brought him and ready to offer it. It was those things that had made him stop doubting he could love her more because she always found a way to make him love her more. Even when he thought it was impossible. There was nothing impossible when she was at his side.

It was only proven further when he felt his eyelids growing heavier as his heart was lighter now that it was freed of the fear weighing it down. Her fingers running through his hair were all the reassurance he needed that the security he was feeling wouldn’t disappear by morning. Her touch had always been gentle and plentiful and she’d never stopped giving it to him just like she was doing with her love. So he leaned in and touched his forehead against hers, hoping to find her in his dreams just like she was always there with him in reality. And even if he didn’t, her warmth would still be there to tether him to her and the safe haven they’d built for themselves.

[manjehaal]

Ignite the Stars: Chapter 6

Read on A03

Adrien didn’t like being back to his usual self. Him, the farmer boy, with his cuts and his bruises that were hidden when he donned the mask. Now he looked like that frail boy who couldn’t hold his own against the monsters without the help of Laure. Like the insignificant child that was thrown around in school by the older students, relying on the aid of Nino to get him through. Like that little kid, scared to reveal his unique abilities and strangeness to his own family, in fear that they would shun him for not being the commoners that they wanted him to mimic.

When he merged with Plagg, he had a chance to embrace those things that made him strange and powerful, feeling for the first time in his life that they weren’t bad. That they weren’t abnormal, but that they were just special.

Plagg was nestled on his shoulder, vibrating on his collar bone. Not transforming his meek body, but keeping close. Attached to Adrien just as Adrien was attached to him. Finding safety in the warmth of a pitiful human.

“Plagg doesn’t usually accept just any holder, not without putting up a fight at least,” she told him, motioning to the kwami sitting on Adrien’s robed shoulder. “I’ve tried to interact with him over the years but he’s not as trusting as the other kwami.”

“Is there a reason?” Adrien asked, scooping Plagg into his hand and setting the sleeping creature on his lap.

She sighed, and there was a sad quirk of her lips. “Perhaps he still isn’t over the loss of his previous holder.”

“My father?” Adrien asked, not needing to ask.

It must have been a horrible loss. For Laure, sure. From the things she had said, it seemed her and Adrien’s father, Gabriel, had once been close. Closer than siblings even. An unstoppable and formidable pair.

But to have a companion such as this, a kwami, must have been much deeper of a companionship. Adrien could already see it, at the weight of the small body on his leg, how that bond could be. How to constantly have another being beside you, and then transform and become a part of you regularly, could be difficult to let go of.

If Adrien was lucky, he hoped perhaps he could remind Plagg of his time with his previous holder and earn his trust.

“Your father,” she confirmed, looking at the ring on Adrien’s finger.

Sensing the tension of the room, Adrien changed the topic. “Do you have a Miraculous?”

She shook her head. “As I’ve said, being gifted a Miraculous is very rare, especially during the time of the Jedi Order. A Jedi had to exhibit a great deal of strength and discipline to even be considered. And then, the masters of the Jedi council would correspond and vote on the proposition. After that, it would be up to the kwami to decide if they would accept their proposed guardian.”

Adrien reached to touch Plagg’s velvet back, running his thumb over the creature affectionately, wondering if Plagg wanted him as his holder or if he got privileges for being his past holder's son.

“Everything has changed, Adrien. The old ways have long passed. Plagg will not allow me to use his power, but he trusts me. He trusts me because your father trusted me. And so, he trusts that I have chosen well when I decided on you. Eventually, Plagg will decide if he accepts you or not. Until then, he will go with you. Stay loyal to him and he will stay loyal to you.”

Adrien responded with a firm nod, knowing loyalty came easy for him. And it was safe to say that he was already attached to the kwami. He wanted more than anything to be liked and accepted by him, basking in the thought of the freedom and life that the kwami could give him, but also being drawn to the little creature, wanting to be his friend and hold onto him.

He cared for Plagg. Just as he cared for Artoo and Threepio. Just as he cared for Laure. Just as he cared for the girl in the hologram. Call it a character flaw perhaps, that Adrien could trust and care so easily, but Adrien couldn’t help it.

“He has never let his guard down like that for me. You should be honored.”

*    .  *       .   ,          *

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*   .   .'    * ,      .       .  ,     *

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.  *        ,   *               '      *

                            .

        *          .   *

Caline Bustier had stood in her home, blinking at the flash of green light that had pierced the room. It was unfamiliar to her, to see a kwami appear before her eyes, unlike Gabriel, who must have woken up to this sight each morning.

Plagg dropped forward, resting his tiny head in the palm of her hand, not sparing her a second’s glance.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she told him, reaching for a slice of camembert to offer the kwami, as a peace offering, perhaps. “I know how much you hate the suns.”

The suns were risen now, at the strength of the day, warming up the hut through the fraying curtain by the entrance. It was a shock he remained still, since last time she had exposed Plagg to the blistering suns of Tatooine, he had lodged himself behind her bookshelf, not reappearing until well into the late night. Even then, he wouldn’t unpeel his eyes all the way and hardly had looked at her.

This time he responded with a slight huff, but no more. He waited, arms crossed, ready for whatever Caline would demand of him. He looked like a puppet, just hovering there like he was tied to a string, with glazed over eyes, and a sagging body. He seemed almost depressed. She had never even considered that a kwami could be depressed.

“Who’s the kid?”

“His name is Adrien,” she told him, offering another small piece of cheese. “Adrien Agreste.”

Plagg’s eyes sparked at the name Agreste, but then his entire expression soured. He had been clear since Gabriel’s fall that he would never offer himself to another guardian again, despite what the remaining members of the council suggested. Plagg resented Caline for leaving his kitten on Mustafar like that to die, protesting that the transformation would have saved him.

Perhaps it was cruel to not tell him that Gabriel has survived the accident, but it was possibly crueler to tell him the truth. Plagg put up a bold face, but she knew the truth would break his heart. She knew that he might even seek him out and try to talk some sense into his stray kitten. Herself, and the entire council, had agreed that they couldn’t have that.

Over the years, Plagg has warmed up to her presence slightly, but that didn’t always keep the heat from Plagg’s cataclysmic eyes, accusing her the most heartless of crimes.

My kitten was dying and you tore me away!

In time, Plagg grew slightly less calloused over the issue, but Caline knew she had to tread lightly. The idea of replacing a kitten never sat well with Plagg whenever he had to do it. This time it felt even more wrong.

The only reason he considered Caline’s offer was due to the boy’s last name.

The name Agreste was a double-edged sword for Plagg. While it pointed to years of war on the side of a good guardian, with a warm heart and unique conviction, it also pointed to those last few days of the war, when Gabriel’s heart turned cold and Plagg was betrayed as viciously as Emilie had been.

“He has passed every test, Plagg. He’s strong. He’s a perfect match.”

The kwami rested on the table, handing her a face that spoke a sigh. “So was Gabriel.”

“Adrien’s different,” she told him, offering another piece of cheese, which Plagg refused to her utmost shock. Yet, she continued. “He’s soft-spoken, selfless, and he doesn’t seek out conflict. He has everything Gabriel had but he knows how to hold back. He knows how to put out the flame before he burns down the entire village.”

“So he’s boring!” Plagg mewled, shooting away with the cheese Caline had left him.

“Plagg!” she retorted, marching after the kwami. “I’m saying that he has restraint. He has rage and he has the capacity to harness your destructive power and use it effectively, but he knows when to stop.”

The kwami hardly listened, but she went on.

“Look, I know you feel that I failed Gabriel.”

“Because you did.”

“But trust me on this, Adrien is our only hope. Please, go see for yourself. Go test him as I have.”

The kwami stared away for a moment, thoughtfully eating away at his cheese. Then he sighed loudly, shrinking onto the corner he was nestled in.

“Fine.”

           '

           *          .

                  *       '

             *                *

Plagg liked the fiery ones, even if he shouldn’t. The trouble they caused would fill him with pleasure. He was thrilled by the ugly trail of destruction left in their wake. It was as if Plagg was fulfilling the calling of his purpose. It was no wonder that so many of his kittens had fallen in some way. It was no question that the personality capable of harnessing the Cat Miraculous clashed heavily with the personality required to be a Jedi Knight. So often, his holders would either not fit the role and bore the kwami to death, or be influenced to break through the boundaries of the Jedi all together. Plagg always had more fun with the latter, even if their bond was shorter-lived. Most of them didn’t fall dark, but walked away from the Order. He often wondered if the Jedi would give out the Cat just to see if they should trust a Jedi or not. Just to weed out the bad ones early. It came as no shock that none of his holders were well-favored by the higher ranking Jedi Masters.

The point being, Plagg had to be sure he balanced out his chosen, and the same went for young Adrien. A little too much fire and Plagg may be assisting in a massacre. Not enough fire and Plagg may be bored out of his mind and want nothing more than to leave.

And then came the issue of the Ladybug.

It was a common tradition that they chose the Ladybug and the Cat around the same time, to be sure the sides don’t clash but complement each other. Gabriel’s Ladybug had complimented him well, but she had an early departure. Plagg was well aware that her death had been one of the catalysts that had caused Gabriel's fall. She had been like a little sister to him and he had never been the same.

As for this Adrien character, Plagg had to ignore tradition. Pairing him with a Ladybug would be a hopeful guess this time, but if they didn’t get it right there would be no one to bring the galaxy back in balance. There would be no one left to liberate the Jedi Knights.

So begrudgingly, he let his body rest on the sill of Adrien’s bedroom window, willing himself to listen and give the kid a chance.

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Adrien removed his eyes from his sleeping kwami and focused them on the Artoo unit instead. It became easy in all the commotion to forget why he had needed to speak with Laure in the first place.

However, something still itched at him from Laure’s stories of The Clone Wars and the way she had sadly spoken of the rise of the Empire. And the Jedi knights, such as his father. He couldn’t hold the question back.

“How did my father die?”

An uneasy expression passed over her face, and for a moment, she looked like she wouldn't tell him, but just as he let the tension drain from his shoulders, Laure rose her face to speak.

“A Jedi named Darth Papillion aided the Empire by hunting down and murdering the remaining Jedi Knights,” she told him, her eyes not meeting his. “He betrayed and then murdered your father. “

Adrien looked down, overwhelmed at the thought of his father dying in such a horrible way. He had always assumed, as a dealer of spice, that his father perished in some sort of collision or accident, or killed for failing to pay a debt. Knowing that this Darth Papillion was responsible for targeting his father put the whole loss in a new perspective. He couldn’t help but be filled with fury at the thought.

“The Jedi are now close to extinct. Papillion, or well known as Lord Hawkmoth…”

“The Emperor,” Adrien stated, eyes alight with fury.

“Indeed,” she said, not wishing to spark his anger further but understanding Adrien needed to know the risks of the darkness. “Papillion was seduced by the dark side of the force.”

“The Force?” Adrien asked.

She smiled, happy that he asked. “The Force gives the Jedi their power. An energy field created by all living things. It's everywhere. In you and in me. In your friends and family. In Plagg. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It holds the galaxy together.”

“And the miraculous?”

“The miraculous were discovered by the Jedi years ago. Most Jedi are not granted a miraculous, but those that are, are giving them for a purpose. While the Force gives power, the Miraculous extend that power. Only the most highly ranked Jedi Guardians possess them. They are meant to keep the force in balance. Such as yours, that harnesses the power of destruction. Another Miraculous is its counterpart, that possesses the power of creation. The two must balance each other out.”

“But Laure, I’m not a highly ranked Jedi Guardian.”

She laughed softly, nodding her head in agreement. “Well, perhaps not yet. But allow me to teach you and I’m sure you will do very well. You were chosen, after all.”

Adrien nodded, about to ask what Laure meant by that when R2D2 interrupted the conversation with a series of chaotic whistles and beeps.

Laure rose to meet him, kneeling down to look at the droid. “Let’s see if we can figure out what that droid is after and where he came from.”

Laure had to do very little before the hologram materialized in front of them, showing the girl in all her glory once more. Adrien was once again pulled from his thoughts so that he could focus on the girl in front of him.

“General Bustier," her smooth voice spoke. "Years ago you served my father in the clone wars. Now he pleads for you to help him in his struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father’s request in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour."

She paused, breaking the steady eye contact she had accomplished thus far. For a moment, you could almost catch the fear in her eyes.

"Help me, Caline Bustier, you’re my only hope.”

The image disappeared and Laure sat back thoughtfully, looking at the place where the girl had just been.

He moved his eyes to see that Laure was looking at him expectantly, containing a bit of light in her tired eyes.

“You must learn the ways of the Force if you’re going to come with me to Alderaan.”

“Alderaan?” he asked, incredulous. It was completely out of the question. His uncle would be furious if he followed Laure to a planet that far away from the outer-rim. Or anywhere for that matter. Despite the swell of excitement bursting behind his ribcage he forced himself to shake his head. "I can't go to Alderaan, Laure. I want to come more than anything but I won't leave Tatooine without Etienne's permission. I feel obligated to stay."

"Your dedication to your family is admirable Adrien, but you aren't a child anymore. You should be free to make your own choices."

Adrien turned for the door, hiding his face that was clearly betraying his commitment to his aunt and uncle. He wanted nothing more than to run as far as he could with Laure by his side, but he couldn’t help the weight of responsibility.

“I can’t get involved. I have work to do,” he said sadly “It’s not that I don't want to help. I do! But I'm needed here. I have responsibilities."

Laure's smile went soft, understanding his dilemma but also picking up on the pressure that was put on him. “That’s your uncle talking.”

“My uncle...” he said, his mind wandering, mentally preparing himself for the punishment he would get when he returned. “How am I going to explain this?”

He shook his head, turning on his heel and heading toward the exit, but he couldn't help but offer his assistance. “I can take you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport there to Mos Eisley.”

She nodded, solemnly. “Of course, Adrien. I understand."

Adrien slipped through the orange curtain, suddenly being stopped in his steps by the scent of death in the air.

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Bursting out of hyperspace, a large Star Destroyer pierced the black abyss, scraping through the starry black and pointing toward the ominous space station that hovered just in view. Hardly different from a moon with a distant naked eye, but now, as the craft neared the battle station, it became a new cage for the overambitious princess of Alderaan.

Several floors beyond the princess, there was a conference room filled with pompous authority. Men and women of various levels of roaring hubris defending their individual level of reasoning, attempting to prove that their claims were superior. Some had the utmost faith in the competence of machines and space stations, grasping at the concept of invoking fear. Others cowered and spun, certain the rebels had an advantage, that they may get the upper hand against even his majesty, Lord Hawkmoth.

Both arguments had Mayura fuming, as she stood at the end of the table, focusing her mind on the approaching Destroyer. Her Lord regarded her telepathically as if asking if he’d have to put up with the same denseness as the times before. Mayura could only send him a sigh, latching her hands behind her back and making an effort to look grave. It took everything in her, including the tightness of her latched fingers, to keep from slamming a few of those verbose simpletons into the already dented barrier.

Admiral Bourgeois was going off on a tangent when the Emperor strode toward them, crossing his arms at the sight of the tense conference room, frozen still like statues at the new presence. He turned his head toward Mayura, giving her an unreadable expression of ice blue. But she read it perfectly, feeling the weight of his exhaustion, only elated by the turn of events that the Alderaan princess provided for them.

In a tizzy of fear, a few of the admirals began again to worry about what threat the rebels posed. If perhaps, if they could dissect the plans, they might have an advantage. They might be a threat to the station.

“The plans will soon be back in our hands,” Lord Hawkmoth said smoothly, “I am quite certain we have the means to get our asset to talk.”

Bourgeois sat upright, narrowing his eyes at several of his fickle companions. He was known to have a haughty head, often blinded by the power of his station. If Mayura had a say in the matter, she would have obstructed his air supply many long years ago, if not for the Emperor’s requests.

“Any attack made by the rebels would be useless,” Bourgeois exclaimed, “It shouldn’t matter what they have obtained. This station is now the ultimate power in the universe. I would suggest we use it against their measly cells of rebellion.”

“Don’t be so proud of this technological terror that you’ve constructed, Admiral,” Hawkmoth said with reproach in his tone. “The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.”

Admiral Bourgeois seemed as if he might laugh by the smile that came across his lips. His extended time aboard the station without the supervision of neither Mayura nor Emperor Hawkmoth had left him ignorant to the power of his superiors. Mayura had to compose herself to keep from putting a fist around his large neck.  

“Don’t try to frighten us with your sorcery, Lord Hawkmoth. Your  pitiful devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you secure the stolen Death Star plans or given you insight enough to find the Alliance’s hidden base-”

Mayura gasped in delight at the curl of Hawkmoth’s fingers, extended a black glove forward as an invisible hand around the Admiral’s neck. Bourgeois startled, eyes bulging as he reached to pull on his throat, unable to remove the heavy force that pushed it. The other admirals looked down at the sound of choking, biting their own lips in an attempt to keep themselves from the same fate as Bourgeois. Mayura’s only complaint was that the Emperor had decided not to leave the task to her.

“Your lack of faith is exasperating, Admiral,” he said coldly, letting his hand straighten again. Admiral Bourgeois' face hit the table with a beat, followed by the uneven breath of a daunted child. He heaved, keeping his eyes away from Hawkmoth, already turned away from him, showing nothing but the back of his silver helmet and the amethyst cape that fell down the length of his back. Still not offering Bourgeois an eye, the Dark Lord began walking toward the end of the room. “Learn your place, Admiral. Next time, I won’t be as generous.”

“This quarrel is pointless,” Mayura said to the rest of the admirals seated.

Then Hawkmoth spoke. “Lady Mayura will provide us with the location of the rebel fortress by the time this station is fully operational. We will then obliterate the Alliance with one swift stroke.”

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        *          .   *

[cross-roads-blues]

You Made Me Believe

Title: You Made Me Believe

Pairing: Sam x Gabriel,  Sam-centric

Word Count: 4,476

Warnings: Fluff, some angst (i think??? i tried???), the usual tattoos on the skin soulmate au, so some unwanted body modification

Summary: Sam Winchester didn’t believe in soulmates. However this is about to change as Sam encounters his soulmate and goes on a long journey of accepting his feelings.

Square Filled: Soulmate AU

A/N: For @spnfluffbingo Round 2. Ah, this took me a while to write, but I think it turned out pretty well. Please no hate comments. Not beta-read, so excuse any bad grammar please. 

Sam Winchester didn’t believe in soulmates. As simple as that. Everything about an idea of a person being assigned to you by cosmic powers through a tattoo on your body disgusted him. It was the predefined destiny, it was the total and absolute obsession with finding one’s soulmate, hell, it was having something on your body that you didn’t consent to. It was because of all these reasons and a little bit more that Sam wasn’t happy on his 16th  birthday. He layed in bed in some crappy motel, being too afraid to open his eyes and see his soulmark. His Dad told him and Dean about soulmarks. Soulmarks were a black and white tattoos that became coloured once you touched the skin of your soulmate. The drawings represented your soulmate  and the completed pair was supposed to represent the relationship with your soulmate. Dean got his soulmark 4 years prior, a pair of angel wings stretched across his chest. Dean wasn’t as negative as Sam was of the idea of soulmates, but he also wasn’t overly fond of it. He wasn’t overall fond of the idea of settling down with someone, so the older Winchester never put much thought in finding his soulmate. “Sammy, this mark? It don’t mean squat. It ain’t worth shit. It’s just a mark. You can lead your life the way you want it. Don’t let some cosmic powers define it,” said Dean the evening before Sam’s 16th birthday and Sam held on to his words in the sleepless night, dreading falling asleep and dreading waking up to see something… foreign and permanent on his skin. Eventually, of course, he did fall asleep and now he was laying in bed, stalling the moment when he had to open his eyes.

“Sam! Wake up, we gotta go!” he heard his father’s voice from the other room. Right, they were on a hunt. He couldn’t afford to pretend to be asleep any longer. He slowly opened his eyes and the first thing he did was glance at his hands and check that there was no mark there. He saw people who had marks on their hands and he was terrified of the idea of everyone just being able to see his mark. The soulmark felt way too personal to be exposed to the world. Thankfully, the skin of his hands was clean. Sam exhaled with relief. He slowly got out from the bed, glancing down at his body clad in pyjama flannel pants and a tank top. The mark wasn’t visible anywhere. Sam quietly laughed, relieved. If he couldn’t see his soulmark, it means that other people can’t either and he can happily spend the rest of his life with his soulmark covered by clothes.

“Happy Birthday!” Dean barged into the room. Sam looked up at him and immediately saw Dean’s face change. His eyebrows shot up as a slight frown appeared on his lips.

“Dean, what’s the problem?” asked Sam, still examining his body on the subject of a soulmark. “I can’t find my soulmark anywhere, you think maybe it just didn't appear on me? That’d be nice.”

Dean cringed and gently took Sam by the shoulders and led him to the bathroom.

“Please don’t freak out.” With these words, Dean opened the door to the bathroom and turned on the light. Sam quietly gasped as he gazed at his reflection. From the start of his neck up to his eye covering most of the right side of his face, going above the brow stretched a branch with fourteen tiny roses on it that had angel wings instead of petals.

“Oh shit,” murmured Sam, examining the tattoo. As he traced the outlines of the branch with his fingers, he felt his hatred for the soulmark grow as he tried to keep himself from scraping the tattoo off with a razor.

Sam Winchester never seeked his soulmate. It was against his rebellious nature to give in to the cosmic powers and live his life with destined soulmate, so he preferred to have as much of his skin covered as possible to avoid accidental touches. The floral soulmark earned him a lot of glances and unwanted attention, so let his hair grow out to cover the soulmark, which wasn't doing much, however. When Sam got together with Jess, he couldn't help but notice that her mark - a guitar covering most of her left thigh - was already coloured, while his roses stayed gray. When he asked her about brown guitar, she just shook her head solemnly and quietly said that things don’t always work out. They never spoke about that again. His soulmark didn’t glow up when he touched Sarah. Nor did it color up when he slept with Madison. Perhaps that was for the best, considering the circumstances of their meeting. And then there was this case.

The case was crazy from the very beginning. The aliens, the crazy spirit, the alligators. Bonkers. Ultimately, it all boiled down to the confrontation in the stage room. The ‘monster of the week’ turned out to be a Trickster. A rather handsome one, if you ask Sam. Not that Sam was into… guys, or anything. But objectively - objectively - the janitor Trickster was cute. Anyway it didn’t matter, the guy was dangerous and was killing people. They had to take him out.

“Nice toss, ladies! Nice show!” The Trickster stood up and clapped his hands, as the illusions of the women threw Dean at a row of seats. Sam was being strangled by one of Trickster’s illusions, but both he and Dean spotted the spare stake that was lying close enough to be tossed by Sam to Dean.

“Dean... Dean, Dean, Dean. “ The Trickster almost looked pitiful and Sam couldn’t help but notice he had cute eyes. “I did not want to have to do this.”

At this moment, Sam got free of the chokehold enough to toss the stake to Dean who caught it and masterfully wielded it, stabbing the Trickster. “Me neither,” replied the older Winchester, as he stared down the body.

As they were driving in the Impala away from the city, Sam couldn’t help but feel just a little bit sad. Sure the fight was brief, Sam didn’t even get anywhere near the Trickster, the guy was taken out, case closed, but… there was something about the janitor that made Sam just a tiniest bit sad that they had to kill him. Just the tiniest bit.

And then came the clusterfuck of the demon deal. Sam had never felt so lost and in despair, as Dean’s borrowed time was ticking away. And a hundred plus worth of Tuesdays worth of Dean’s deaths didn’t really help. And then it hit him. It hit him with the strawberry syrup and non existent wormholes. Sam raced after the guy and pinned him down with a stake.

“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman, my wife's name is Amelia, I got two kids, for crying out loud I sell ad space—” stuttered the man, still acting his role.

“Don't lie to me! I know what you are! We've killed one of your kind before!” Sam further pressed the stake to the man’s throat.

“Actually, bucko, you didn't,” with a smug grin informed him the man, as he morphed into the Trickster.

Sam exhaled loudly, irritated. “Why are you doing this?”

“You're joking, right? You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?” The Trickster raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“And Hasselback, what about him?” added Dean from the background.

Trickster’s eyes darted to the upper right, as if trying to figure out who Dean was talking about. “That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” He chuckled, happy with his trick well done.

Suddenly a frown appeared on his face, as he angrily continued, “Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So this is fun for you?” Sam leaned forward, feeling murderous rage boil in his veins. “Killing Dean over and over again?”

Trickster thought for a second. “One, yes. It is fun.”

Sam couldn’t take it. The guy crossed the line. Talking like that, doing this to his brother, nobody does that and lives. Nobody. And in that moment, Sam didn’t think that he was facing a demigod, a creature powerful enough to warp reality to its whims. He just saw a guy who was killing his brother over and over again and laughing at it. Sam acted on the heat of the moment and slapped the Trickster on the face. “You don’t get to do that to my brother and laugh about that,” he whispered, a menacing light flickering in his eyes.

And as a red handprint appeared on the Trickster’s face, Sam felt the right half of his face burn as his right eye barely registered a flash of golden light. Trickster’s face went from smug to terrified, as something glowed right underneath the collar of his shirt.

“What the hell…” Sam touched the source of burning on his face and winced from the sensation.

“Sammy…” Dean stared wide-eyed at him. “Your soulmark…”

Sam gazed back at Dean, with slightly open mouth and raised forehead. “What’s with my soulmark?”

Dean produced his mobile and snapped a quick picture of Sam, still holding the Trickster to the fence. He then showed the result to Sam, with slightly shaking hands. “It’s golden.”

Sam stared at the picture of himself, dumbfounded. Sam’s face on the picture, with a horrified expression, was decorated by a hickory branch with medallion golden roses on it.

“Aw, shit.” Sam touched his soulmark once again and turned around to face the Trickster, who was looking at something under his shirt. With one swift movement, Sam  tore the shirt open to reveal a currant red, with a metallic touch, Taurus PT92AFS tattooed on Trickster’s chest.

“That’s my gun…” murmured Sam, not believing a thing that was happening. “Is this another one of your tricks?” Sam nearly jammed the stake into Trickster’s throat, but the latter one just shook his head.

“I’m all out of tricks for today, chuckles.” With these words the Trickster vanished into air, leaving Sam and Dean just standing there in confusion.

“What the-” Sam was cut short, as he once again woke up in the motel room.

“Promise me I'll be back in time...”  roared the radio, as the calendar displayed Wednesday.

“It's Wednesday,” murmured Sam.

“Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off,” commented Dean, as he stuffed his clothes into his duffle.

Sam quickly got out of the covers and gave Dean a long, perhaps way too long hug. He was just glad to be out of the Dean Dying Tuesday loop.

Dean laughed quietly. “Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?” he said, patting Sam on the back.

“Enough.” Sam pulled out of the hug and furrowed his brows. “What, uh, what do you remember?”

“I remember you were pretty whacked out of it yesterday. I remember getting up with the Trickster.” Dean hesitated for a moment and glanced up at Sam’s face. “I remember his soulmark being your gun and I remember it turning red. Becoming colored. Just like the roses on your face. That’s it. He must’ve knocked us out.”

Sam sighed. “They’re still golden?”

Dean nodded with a frown.

“So it wasn’t a dream.” Sam huffed. “Can you believe it? My soulmate being a frigging demigod and an asshole. Peachy! Joy!” he exclaimed sarcastically, pacing around the room. The fact that his soulmate was a man didn’t bother him at all, it was the major doucheness of the said soulmate that was a problem.

“Sammy.” Dean caught him by his shoulders and stopped him. “Remember what I told you? The mark is just… a suggestion.” Dean looked him dead in the eye.

“Yeah, but now I have to walk around with yellow roses on my face! At least they were grey before, now they are freaking yellow!”

Dean gave the roses on Sam’s face a judging look. “They match your inner sunshine,” he finally commented and, laughing, headed into the bathroom.

Sam groaned. “Jerk.”

“Bitch!”

Sam Winchester didn’t see his soulmate for a while after that. Sam’s been… busy, way too busy to care about his soulmate. Dean going to hell, angels, Dean getting his soulmate (those wings were frigging glowing when Dean got out of hell and were constantly changing colors up until Dean finally met Castiel in that barn and they finally set on being ebony color with hints of silver and grey in them), Sam’s little addiction, Ruby, Lucifer, Horsemen… Stuff has been happening and Sam hasn’t been caring much about his soulmate. Not that the latter one was acting up particularly. The Trickster’s been quiet, seriously quiet.

Next time Sam saw his soulmate wasn’t in real life. One day Sam found a Casa Erotica 13 on his bed with a label “For you from a dearest friend”, assumed it was from Dean, questioned why Dean would give it to him, since he always joked on Dean for watching those and decided to watch it just to see what his brother got him. He pressed play on the TV. It started as usual, with a ‘Dear Diary’ narration from the woman. Sam furrowed his brows and with a frown looked at the screen.

“What you doing?” he suddenly heard Dean’s voice in the halfway.

“I, uh, found your gift and am questioning the logic behind it.” Sam paused the video on his laptop and turned it around to show Dean.

“What do you mean, I didn’t give it to you.” Dean dumped his leather jacket in the corner and settled on the couch near Sam.

“I found it on the bed with a “For you from a dearest friend” label. I thought it was from you,” Sam raised his forehead. “Who put it there, then?”

“Cas?” suggested Dean.

Sam huffed. “I really don’t think so. Anyway…” He resumed the video. On the tape, the door to the hotel room, where woman was sitting opened and the Trickster  appeared, wearing a mustache and a service waiter's outfit.

“I've got the kielbasa you ordered,” he said with a weird accent.

“Ooh. Polish?”, said the woman, leaning forward.

“Hungarian,” replied Trickster with a smirk and threw  the dish onto the mantle as the tape cut to black and exaggerated smooching sounds that Sam assumed to be produced by Trickster kissing the woman could be heard.

“Well that is disturbing. I don’t think- I don’t think I can unsee that,” mumbled Dean, as his eyes followed the Trickster on the screen passionately making out with the woman, accompanied by moaning sounds.

“What the hell's going on?” muttered Sam, as the video cut to black again. After a second, an image of the Trickster appeared on the screen, who was sitting on the bed of the hotel room, with the woman behind him. He turned to the camera and removed his mustache and begun to speak, addressing the camera.

“Sam, and may I assume Dean as well. You're probably wondering what the hell is this. Well, if you're watching this, I'm dead. Oh please! Stop sobbing, it's embarrassing for all of us. Now, seeing as I am dead, I got a couple of revelations to make. I am…” The Trickster sighed. “I am Archangel Gabriel. Been wearing this pretty face as witness protection.”

“Okay, what?” Sam turned around to Dean. “What the hell?”

Dean made a not bad face and nodded. “The guy is good at disguises, I give him that.”

Gabriel went on to explain how he fled Heaven and how to trap Lucifer using rings of Horsemen. The information proved vital in defeating Lucifer, but there were two things that didn’t let Sam rest easy for years after that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about that even while in Hell, even while suffering from hallucinations, even during his time with Amelia. These two things were that his soulmate was an Archangel and that his soulmate was dead.

Sam Winchester knew his soulmate was dead. And he also knew that all romantic relationships in his line of work were largely a risk. So he just kept going on and on and on, disregarding any opportunities of a family life. And to be honest, life didn't give him many. He just couldn't get a break. At least they moved into the bunker, which was nice. That day Sam was returning to the bunker after one more false lead on removing Mark Of Cain, which was largely disappointing. Dean decided to take a solo hunt - an easy salt'n'burn - in Oklahoma, so Sam expected an alone night. He wasn't particularly disappointed about, he was able to be most productive alone. As he descended into the bunker, he, however heard some jazzy music and smelled chocolate.

“Dean, why are you back so early?” he shouted to no reply, as he made his way into the kitchen, which seemed to be the source of music. He recognised the song to be Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah and was surprised to say the least at Dean’s choice of music. Unless Dean decided to have an impromptu date with Cas, he couldn’t think of a reason for his brother to listen to Leonard Cohen.

“Dean?” he called out once again and got no reply again. He walked into the kitchen and to his surprise saw nobody other than Gabriel there.

“Hey there, sugar.” Gabriel was sitting on the table, casually eating chocolate candies from a heart-shaped red box. He gestured towards it. “I gotcha a little gift, but they turned out to be freaking delicious and you live on rabbit food anyway so I thought you wouldn’t mind me eating one or two of them.”

Sam stood there, dumbfounded as he female choir sung hallelujah. He stared at the archangel with a slightly opened mouth, raised forehead and wide eyes.

“Gabriel? Didn’t you die, like a while ago?”

Gabriel furrowed his brows and shook his head. “I faked my death. Couldn’t surface because angels still have a warrant on my head.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam blurted out.

Gabriel smirked. “Thought I’d drop by to get to know my soulmate.”

Sam squinted. “How did you even know about this place?”

“I hear things.” The archangel raised an eyebrow.

Sam slowly approached Gabriel. “Don’t assume that just because you’re my soulmate-”

“I don’t assume anything, cherry pie.” The archangel gracefully jumped from the table and stared right in Sam’s eyes. “I know that we got a history and I know I didn’t make the best first impression.”

“The best?” Sam scoffed. “You killed my brother over 100 times!”

“And then I helped you stop the Apocalypse! I feel like I redeemed myself!” shouted Gabriel. They both didn’t say anything for two seconds after that.

“You do know that I don’t believe in soulmates, right?” Sam walked up to refrigerator and took out two beers.

Gabriel huffed. “Believe me, neither do I. When I got a frigging gun as my soulmark while all my brothers got something cool and elegant, like swords or fire, I nearly frigging scraped it off with my own nails.”

Sam slightly smiled, remembering his own urge to scrape his soulmark off with a razor and then narrowed his eyes. “But you could always change your vessel?”

Gabriel shook his head. “The soulmark doesn’t just appear on our true form as a binary representation of the picture, it also scorches itself in every vessel we use for the time we use it. I guess it really is cosmic power thing.”

The song changed to Humbled In Love and Sam smiled. Gabriel really knew how to pick a playlist. “Then why are you here?” asked the Winchester.

Gabriel slightly smiled. “I always liked you, Sam. Willing to bet you did too.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’ve met you like twice, and you’ve tried to kill my brother both of these times. Oh and the third time I met you, you were starring in porn.”

Gabriel grinned. “That wasn’t porn, that was art!”

Sam’s mouth’s corners twitched up. “Anyway continue on why are you here before I banish you.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and leaned a bit closer to Sam, who, to his own surprise, didn’t move away. “Feisty,” said the archangel and waggled his eyebrows, “I like it!” He smirked. “I wasn’t looking for my soulmate much. I mean I did kind of want to find the jerk who gave me a gangster tattoo as my soulmark, but I never overstressed about it. Just… living the good easy life.”

Gabriel walked around the table and sat closer to Sam. “And then came you. To tell you the truth, even back at that theater, I liked you. You’re cute to say the least. But you know me, I show my love through annoying the crap out of the subject. So that’s why Dean-Killing-Tuesdays happened. I kind of wanted to see you react to an extreme situation first hand. Plus being stuck with you in 100 Tuesdays wasn’t so bad.”

Sam laughed. “Have you been crushing on me since 2006?”

“Yeah, so you can see, why I’m trying to get it over with.” Gabriel moved even closer to Sam.

“I don’t believe in soulmates,” restated Sam in a hushed voice, however, slightly leaning towards Gabriel.

“What about matches made in heaven?” muttered the angel, maintaining steady eye contact “Cause I can arrange that.”

Sam smiled slightly. “I bet you could.”

Gabriel hesitantly reached out and tucked Sam’s hair behind his ear, moving slowly, carefully, but when the hunter didn’t flinch or move away, the movement of the angel’s hand became smoother, as he brushed against Sam’s hair. And even though Sam would never admit it, he liked the feeling. Most of his previous hookups were just jumping straight into the hot part of the process and skipping most of the touchy-feely stuff. Sam liked the hesitation with which Gabriel ran his hand through his hair, he liked the way the angel’s eyes lit up when he didn’t back away, he liked the way Gabriel’s hands felt, the warmth that came from them.

“So do you want to give it a try, Sam?” The angel lingered for a moment near Sam and then leaned slightly back.

Sam didn’t reply anything, just silently drank his beer. “So,” he said after ten seconds of silence, “Gabe, tell me about yourself.”

Sam Winchester actually got along well with his soulmate. Gabriel was dropping by the bunker every now and then, sometimes bringing some almost romantic sweet gifts, like chocolates in a heart box, just like the ones he was eating on their first meeting in the bunker, but he never was too pushing with his affections. It was almost as if he was restraining himself. Months went by and nothing changed.

It was a rainy morning and Sam was outside of the bunker, sitting on the porch, drinking his coffee. He liked to be up early and maybe either take a walk or go for a run, but that morning all he wanted to do was just to sit there and drink coffee. It was then that he heard a familiar flapping of wings behind him.

“Gabe,” called out Sam, without even turning around. He knew it was the archangel.

“Samsquatch.” The angel walked up to him from behind, sat near him and swung an arm around him. “You’re all brooding and pensive today, huh? Intense staring at the rain?”

Sam laughed and playfully shook Gabriel’s arm off his shoulder. “Oh, you!”

Gabriel laughed as well. “Mind if I join you?”

Sam shrugged. “Not at all.”

They spent the next few minutes in silence. After some time the angel spoke up, with a bit hesitation at first. “Hey Sam, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really know how to say this-” Gabriel giggled “-first time in millennia that I am actually speechless, so I’m just going to say this. Life is short, I guess, so might as well make the most of it.”

Intrigued Sam put aside his coffee and tilted his head gazing at the angel’s face.

“Now, if you say no and stuff, and this flops, can you promise me that nothing changes and we keep our friendship?” Gabriel intensely stared at the hunter’s face.

“I don’t know what you wanna ask, but I’ll do my best to keep the promise,” with some hesitation replied Sam. In all this time he had really grown accustomed to the archangel and he thought of him as of the closest person he had after Dean.

Gabriel took a deep breath. “Sam Winchester, I love you. And I’m tired of hiding it. I just- I’m tired of constantly holding me back. I love you. And I want to spend my life with you.”

Sam’s heart plunged. Angel’s words were certainly not what he was expecting, but the were something he was hoping for deep inside. Even though Sam denied it even to himself, perhaps because of his rebellious nature and refusal to accept the idea of soulmates, Gabriel was very special to him. In the romantic kind of way special. Sam didn’t want to make the first move, because he just couldn’t accept that he had actually fallen in love with his soulmate, a thing he thought would never happen to him.  But now that the angel had actually confessed to him, all Sam’s feelings finally made sense to him.

“Gabe…” Sam felt a lump in his throat forming. “Gabe, I- I love you too.”

Taking that as his go ahead, Gabriel slowly leaned closer to Sam, then hesitated for a second, but then saw Sam lean in as well and proceeded, running his hand through Sam’s gorgeous hair, pulling him closer at the same time and then Sam felt his lips collide with the angel’s and Sam could swear that that was the best feeling in the world. Sam swung his arms around Gabriel, pulling him tighter and letting his body relax in Gabriel’s secure arms, as Gabriel’s usual scent of chocolate filled his senses. They stayed like that for at least five minutes, finally letting the pent up feelings act, releasing all emotions that they’ve been holding back.

They finally came apart, just to get some air, and then they kissed again, holding each other tight and feeling like letting go was physically impossible.

“I- I love you, Gabe,” muttered Sam once again just to hear himself say it and be comfortable with it.

“I love you too, Sam, I love you too,” murmured the angel as he pulled the hunter closer to him. “I love you too.”

Sam Winchester believed in soulmates. His soulmate made him do it.

[rockets-sillyobsession]

Don’t make deals with the Jevil- Chapter 1

My very first Deltarune fic! I don’t think i’ve ever put in so much effort in something that started out as a tickle fic, and still kiiiinda is?? It still has tickle stuff, but it isn’t quite the main focus. Hope you enjoy!

“After all the trouble I went through to lock him up, you want to release him?”

“Perhaps a little chaos might be fun.”

“If you can call THIS luck...no, it’s more like a curse…!”

Those words rang around in Ralsei’s head as the elevator descended downwards. At first, he was all for freeing this odd prisoner. The King didn’t seem to be very fair, so it was very likely he was just an odd monster the King didn’t like and happened to lock away. But, after hearing those words from the one who sealed him away...It didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

“Are you sure about this? This seems like a really bad idea.” Ralsei noted as elevator stopped. Kris lead the way out, carefully stepping down the stairs.

“Don’t be such a stiff. We went to all the trouble of getting this damn key, we’re gonna use it. Besides, I can handle the worst case scenario.” Susie assured. They walked until they reached the bottom of the staircase. All there seemed to be was large door with no way of opening. As they approached, a voice laughed with joy. “Uee hee hee! The key, the key! A marvelous fun is about to break free! Won’t you let yourself outside?~” The voice mused. Ralsei took a step back, unsure of what to think. Maybe he was being too judgemental. Kris took out the key, placing it in what he assumed was the keyhole. After a moment, the key faded and produced another, smaller door that opened up. Kris walked inside, Susie having to crouch. The landscape seemed warped beyond belief, causing weird illusions. In the center of the room was a small, odd looking jester-like creature. He balanced on his tail, gripping his feet as he laughed. “Uee hee! Visitors, visitors!” He cheered, landing on his feet. “Now we can play, play! Then, after you, I can play with everyone else, too!” Susie looked skeptical, crossing her arms. Ralsei stepped forwards, looking much more friendly, though his eyes gave away his nervousness. “So, what are we playing, exactly…?” He asked softly. The creature giggled, jumping upwards to float in the air.

“Oh, it’s a simple game~” At that moment, several things that looked like scythes dropped in front of the group, causing them to have to stumble backwards.

“You smile or laugh, you lose~” He purred, holding his hand out as one of the scythes landed back in his hand. Susie scoffed, lifting her axe up slightly.

“Doesn’t sound too hard.” Jevil laughed at her response, smirking.

“Your confidence is amusing! Let’s see how long it lasts~” He teased, waving to her. Susie growled, leaping up in the air with her axe. She brought it down, though it struck the ground. Jevil reappeared behind her, cackling. She growled with rage, slashing at him. They repeated the process several times, Jevil appearing close by and vanishing before he could be hit. Eventually, Susie caught on the pattern he had. She spun around in a circle with her axe out. As Jevil reappeared again, the axe slashed at his side. There was a pause before he simply started laughed again, much more frantic like than before.

“Oh, your attacks to nothing! They tickle me so~” He purred teasingly. Susie glared daggers at the creature, lifting the axe above her head.

“I’ll show how ‘tickly’ this axe is!” She yelled, jumping up to slash at him again. Jevil stayed put the time, only moving slightly to grab the axe in midair, holding it and Susie in the air with him.

“No, I think i’ll show YOU how tickly this axe is!~” He vanished, only taking the axe with him, leaving Susie to fall on the ground. He reappeared and tossed the axe into the air, snapping his fingers. The axe melted into glowing, purple feathers. They swirled in the air all together, and then dove straight for Susie. She didn’t have much time to run and when the feathers caught up, they swarmed all over body, brushing and spinning in small circles where they could reach. Susie instantly knelt down and laid down on the ground, holding her stomach in laughter. She swatted the feathers the best she could, though it only pushed them to different spots. She turned on her back and started pounding the ground with her fists in protest, catching a few feathers in the process. When pressed into the ground by her fist, the feathers turned to dust. While there was a way to get rid of them, it didn’t seem like she had much of a chance of getting rid of all of them.

Ralsei simply stared in amazement, watching as Jevil lowered himself to the ground beside her, scythe in hand.

“Looks like I have one, who seems to be a bit of a sore loser~” He smirked. He pounded the end of the handle of the scythe on the ground a couple of times, the blade of it turning into a large, curved feather.

“Who’s next?~” He asked, staring at Ralsei. The prince stepped back a little, still staring in awe.

“Y-You...you know what...what tickling is…?” He asked carefully. Jevil giggled in response, putting his hand over his mouth.

“You sound surprised! What kind of fool do you take me for?” Jevil asked, crossing his arms as he balanced on his tail.

“W-Well...I had to have tickling explained to me...and i’m pretty sure there’s more in the dark world who have no idea what tickling is. It’s just...surprising.” Ralsei explained, hoping his words might calm the creature down a little. Jevil stopped smiling for a brief moment, staring back at Ralsei for what seemed like forever. He finally laughed again, shaking his head.

“You were unaware! I see, I see, this is quite awful, awful!” He yelled, tossing his head back dramatically. Kris glanced at Ralsei, putting his hands together and putting his head on his hands to mimic sleeping, then making a singing motion. Ralsei nodded, and cleared his throat in preparation to sing.

“When the light is running low, and the shadows start to grow…”  

“And the places that you know seem like fantasy~” Ralsei’s eyes opened in shock as Jevil’s voice joined in the song, sounding oddly melodious and soothing. Jevil gently held Ralsei’s snout shut. Ralsei was already falling under the spell of the song, looking quite sleepy. Kris also felt quite tired suddenly, kneeling down on the ground. He was suddenly jarred out of it by a loud scream. He perked up again, rubbing his eyes. Susie screamed again, as if to snap Ralsei out of his trance as well; but it was too late. Jevil pulled away, ending the song and Ralsei fell to the ground, completely passed out. Kris rubbed his eyes again, drawing his sword. He dashed over to Ralsei, lifting him onto one of his shoulders, using his other arm to point the sword at Jevil. The creature responded by laughing, tilting back slightly. Susie picked herself up and wandered back out of the door. The feathers vanished as they left, stumbling to the floor. Ralsei perked up slightly, looking around.

“H-Huh…?” He asked. “What happened?”

“Some bitch...decided to fuhuhuck with us…” Susie giggled, still brushing the ghostly feeling off of her.

“Dohohohn’t worry about ihihit…” She assured. Kris nodded in agreement, standing up. They’d get Susie a new axe. They’d get ready, and they’d face the King, no problem. They’d be fine.

Kris regretted his own thoughts as he watched Susie kneel down to the ground, gasping in pain and exhaustion. The battle against King Spades was a lot harder than all three of them had anticipated. Ralsei was down for the count, and Susie looked to be on the same path. Kris was the only one who seemed to be up to fighting. He kept his eyes hidden, but dashed forward and slashed his sword. Barely missed. He tumbled to the ground as the king walked back a step, out of the way. He smirked, crossing his arms. Kris tried to get up, but was forced down by a great, sudden weight on his chest. King Spades had placed his foot and all of his weight onto Kris to keep him from getting up.

“Pitiful lightners...I should have known this would be an easy battle to win. Maybe you’ll learn to keep to your own world, at least until we take over.~” He purred, kicking Kris off to the side, near the ledge. Susie gasped, trying to crawl towards the two.

“No! D-Don’t you d-dare!” She stuttered, trying to bare through the pain. King Spades glanced back at her, scoffing.

“And what are you going to do? Yell at me some more? How horrifying.~” He mocked, rearing his foot back to kick Kris again, when he suddenly fell backwards with a yelp, causing the ground to shake slightly. Kris glanced up to try and see what had happened. A familiar scythe flew through the air back into its owner’s hand. Jevil laughed maniacally, jumping up to float above King Spades.

“There you are! How’s my oh so favorite care bear?~” He purred. King Spades simply stared in shock for a moment.

“H-How…? How did you get out?!” He yelled, trying to sit up. Jevil tilted backwards, smirking at Kris.

“Some people don’t think it’s very polite to shut the door on their way out.~” He mused, tilting back upwards. King Spades glared at Kris, clenching his fist.

“I should have known this was your doing!” He growled and started to step forward, but was stopped by Jevil hooking his scythe around him.

“Now now, boring bear, we have some unfinished business to attend to!~” He cackled. He lifted his scythe up in the air and pounded the handle of the scythe on the ground. Both him and the king vanished in a cloud of sparks, Jevil’s laughter filling the air.

“Well...guess that’s taken care of!” Ralsei smiled, tilting his head. Susie glanced at the doorway, then back at Ralsei.

“Guess it’s time for you two to go, huh?” Ralsei sighed, turning away.

“B-But what about Lancer? I wanna say goodbye to him!” Susie growled, though it sounded more sad than anything.

“Susie, it’s time. You need to go. I’ll say goodbye for you. It’s time.” Ralsei urged. Susie huffed, pushing Ralsei out of the way. Kris quickly followed, waving.

“Goodbye you two! I’ll miss you!” Ralsei waved, sighing as the two disappeared. It hurt, but they had to go home. It was for the better.

Kris was more than sure it wasn’t going to work a second time, but it was hard to say to to Susie, who was not only violently persistent, but was clearly very desperate to see her friend again. She basically dragged Kris back to the supply closet one day after school. They waited inside for what felt like forever. Kris glanced at his wrist as if checking a watch, glancing up at Susie.

“J-Just give it a minute! C’mon!” Susie pleaded. Right after, the floor seemed to fall beneath them, and they fell down once again. Kris allowed himself to fall, preparing himself to hit the hard surface of the rock. Instead, he fell into a giant pile of soft, fluffy...feathers? He tumbled out of the pile, staring at it in confusion. Susie popped out of the pile, spitting out a few feathers from her mouth.

“This wasn’t here before, right? Cause if you landed this while I landed on rock the first time, i’ll be pissed.” She growled playfully, dusting herself off as the two walked. The landscape was a lot more colorful than last time. It seemed like music was playing, no matter where the two went. Every place seemed different in some, subtle way.  The grass seemed to be almost fuzzy. There weren’t hardly any monsters outside anymore. The two stayed silent until they finally got to the castle. It was hardly even a castle; it had been changed to look like a circus tent. Right outside stood the familiar, ominous figure laughing his familiar, ominous laugh. Jevil turned slightly, smirking at the new arrivals.

“Welcome back, lightners! Care to play?~”

[lawlerek]

He let her go

Pairing: Loki x reader

Word count: 1108

Summary: Loki would do anything for you. But in this case he need to hurt you to protect you.

Warnings: angst, sad Loki, shitty english.

A/N: Gif’s not mine.

Enjoy! :D

„Will you say something already?” you asked.

Silence.

You've been standing in front of your husband's magical cell for over half an hour. All this time you were clutching the fabric of your dress and trying to make Loki looks at you. Unsuccessfully. This man did not seem to notice your presence at all. He was completely absorbed in one of  the hardback books his mother had given him.

„Loki…”

There was no reproach in your voice. No anger or disgust. No love. Only now it has reached him. He did not hear love in your voice. For a long time. Days. Weeks, months. All years! Every time you spoke, Loki only heard disappointment with his deeds. The sadness that he filled you with.

Why did he just notice it now? Why did the prison have to open his eyes? Realize how blind he was?

Loki's eyes narrowed and he looked at you from the book. Earlier he pretended to read, even though your presence was effectively distracting him. He just did not want to give you satisfaction. He did not want you to see how miserable and weak he was. The need to look at you burned him from inside like fire, and now, when he was staring at you, he wanted to turn his back on you.

He hated the look on your face.

„When did you start looking at me like I was a monster?” he asked quietly.

Pity.

You swallowed a sigh. You were happy that Loki looked at you at all. That he spoke to you, gave you a pretext to talk.

You smiled slightly. With pain on your face (Loki's reactions have been a blow to you) you took a step forward. And one more, until you finally stood in front of the barrier.

„I've never looked at you like that, love” you whispered. „I miss you" you added even more quietly.

Loki snorted and turned on his heel. He felt anger rising in him. He did not believe you, although the goddess of truth can not lie.

„Why are you like this?” you asked. Usually you were calm, but Loki's attitude (especially in recent years) was very nerve-racking.

Your marriage was arranged by Odin while both of you were still young. As two opposing forces, which are truth and lie, you have not been able to get along for a long time. In fact, you spent many years in silence without speaking to each other. Then the silence changed into constant quarrels, and only then a thread of understanding came between you two. With time you learned to love your husband and you knew that he also has feelings for you. Your relationship was full of ups and downs, but lately something more has happened. Loki distanced himself. He did not speak to you for all days. The silence (which you hoped you had disposed of over a thousand years ago) returned. And now this. Contributing to the exile of Thor from Asgard. Take over the throne. His fake death. You were happy when he came back, but then he disappeared to take over Midgard.

First, you tried to convince yourself and Odin that there must be another explanation. Hidden reason. However, when Loki admitted everything, you felt fury. When anger left you, you immediately went to Odin. You almost begged him not to treat Loki badly, but your prayers did not help. And finally this morning you were strong enough to accept reality. And stand with it face to face.

When anger has passed, you felt sadness.

However, anger rose in Loki. He turned to you so quickly that you twitched. The man came to you quickly. He stopped only when the millimeters separated him from the transparent barrier that imprisoned him. You shuddered again when you saw your husband's face. You clearly saw he was tired, but something else caught your attention. Anger, desperation as if he had been accused of something innocently. As if you, the only person who can understand him, blamed him for everything.

And maybe you did.

Loki opened his mouth, but did not say a word. He raised his hand in the well-known gesture, as if he wanted to put a strand of your hair behind your ear like he had done so many times before. You felt a twinge in your heart when you saw your husband's powerlessness.

„Speak to me. Please.”

Loki lowered his hand. He looked away, bit his lip and after another minute he glanced at you.

„What should I tell you? What do you want to hear?” he repeated impatiently when you did not answer.

You wanted to scream, tear your hair out, punch your hands in the transparent walls of his cell. You did not know what you want to hear from Loki. All. And nothing. You deserved the explanation. Loki did not have the right to treat you the way he did it.

„Anything!” you raised your voice, but you immediately stopped it again. „I’m your wife, Loki, and you act like I was a worm. Insect unworthy even to been crushed! You have no idea how much I suffered when I was told you were dead! And then... then...”

You shook your head in disbelieve. Your hands squeezed your skirt tightly until yours knuckles ached.

„Go away, [Y/N]” Loki said. He seemed unperturbed at your outburst of emotion. He just stood there and looked with a calculating expression on his face. Still, you knew there was something behind this indifferent mask.

„You know you can tell me everything? Everything.”

You noticed that Loki's face softened. For one fleeting moment he looked again like during this nights you spent in the dark bedroom. When nothing separated you and everything connected you. But then Loki again put a mask of indifference on his face. He left you with silence. He just gave you the last, almost wistful look and settled himself in the chair. He opened the book he was reading earlier.

„You give me no choice, Loki. In that case I will not come back. You push away all those people who loves you” you said with anger stepping back.

When you left the dungeons, Loki ripped the book in rage and threw the two parts through the cell. He was furious. He wanted to tell you, but he couldn’t. He preferred to push you away. That was better. Because you were angry, but alive.

So he let you go. But deeply in his heart he knew that you will come back. Sooner or later you always came back to him. Just as Loki always came back to you. Sooner or later.

[queenofcats17]

BATIM Inktober 31

Last day and it’s Reborn. I decided to focus on Esther and Joey’s relationship since Esther’s been on my mind lately.

This is three days late, and for that I am sorry. 

Most people who were friends with Esther Klein didn’t know she even had a brother. Her best friend hadn’t even known Esther had a sibling until she’d been invited to the Drew household and had seen the family portraits. She wasn’t surprised, honestly. She’d led most of her life separate from Joey. She was six years older, after all, always too old to be a proper playmate for him. She’d had expectations to meet, responsibilities to perform. By the time he’d run away from home, she’d been up to her ears in work at the law firm. Still, she remembered the day her mother had called her with cold clarity. She’d gotten home from work to find the phone ringing off the hook. She’d answered, expecting it to be a colleague from the firm who had been pursuing her relentlessly. She’d been ready to yell until she heard her mother crying on the other end. Her mother was speaking too fast, her voice clouded with tears.

“Ma, slow down,” Esther said. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“It’s…It’s Joey.” Her mother sobbed. “He’s gone.”

“Gone…? What do you mean gone?”

“He ran away!”

Esther’s heart sank. Looking back, she felt like she should have seen it coming. Her parents had been worried about Joey, telling her about how angry he’d been getting, how he’d been drawing away from them. Looking back, she felt like she should have done something. She hadn’t been able to go back home to comfort her parents, so she tried to assuage their fears on the phone. Her heart was heavy when she hung up. She knew Joey’s mind had been set on art, but their parents had been worried he wouldn’t be able to live comfortably like that. Joey had evidently taken this to mean that they didn’t believe in him. He was always doing things like this. Always acting impulsively without any regard for the consequences. But she couldn’t force herself to be angry with him. She was terrified. She didn’t know where he’d go or what was going to happen. And that was petrifying.

She didn’t see her brother again for almost 20 years. By that point, he’d made quite a name for himself in the animation world. Joey Drew Studios. When the studio had opened, Esther had almost cried from relief. Her brother was safe and alive. And best of all, he was making cartoons like he’d wanted. She allowed herself to believe, for a time, that he was happy. But this only lasted for so long. When the rumors of bankruptcy began to circle, she paid a visit to her brother’s studio. She told no one at the office where she was going, nor did she tell Robert. But her husband knew. He always seemed to know. No one at the studio recognized her, not that she expected them to, especially since she introduced herself as Esther Klein. The employees looked nervous when she said she was a lawyer, but also resigned. She was led down to Joey’s office by a thin man with crooked glasses and dark bags under his eyes who told her he was the accountant, Grant Cohen. He assumed she was there because of the bankruptcy, and she did nothing to tell him otherwise.

“Mr. Drew, there’s someone here to see you,” Grant said when he opened the door.

“Tell them to wait.” Joey snapped. He looked to be buried under a mountain of paperwork.

“I’m not waiting.” Esther’s voice made him freeze. He looked up very slowly. Grant took one look at Joey’s face and got out, leaving the siblings alone.

“What are you doing here?” Joey’s expression was closed and guarded. There was no trace of the bright-eyed boy who had tugged on her sleeves to show her his drawings.

“I came to see you.” She replied. God, he looked so much older. She could see the beginnings of grey at his temples, mixed in with his dark brown hair. There were lines around his mouth, his eyes. He’d filled out a bit since she’d last seen him, stocky like their father. He’d grown a mustache too. It looked good. He looked like an adult. He was an adult. So why did she still think of him as that gangly kid?

“I figured.” Joey narrowed his eyes. “Why did you come to see me?”

“I missed you, Jojo.”

“Don’t call me that!” He stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk. She didn’t flinch. She was used to his outbursts.

“I missed you.” She repeated. “Ma and Pa miss you.”

“It’s been 20 years. If you really missed me that much you would have found me sooner.”

“How?” She could feel her temper beginning to rise. “You ran away, Joey. You didn’t want to be found. You didn’t tell us where you were going, you didn’t tell us where you were staying, you didn’t even tell us you started this studio. Ma and Pa had to find out from the paper that you were even still alive.” She still remembered that news clipping her parents had sent her, the photo of Joey standing side by side with a man she didn’t recognize, looking happier than she’d seen him in years.

Joey grumbled something, sitting down. “What do you want Esther?”

She sighed, pulling out a check from her purse and placing it on the desk. Joey looked at her, then at the check, then back again.

“It’s not going to bite you.” Esther folded her arms. Joey snatched the check up, looking it over. His eyes widened.

“This…This is a lot of money.”

“It is.”

“Are you…giving it to me?”

“I am.”

For a moment, relief seemed to wash over her brother’s face. Then it was gone.

“You think I can’t do this.” He snarled, face transforming into a mask of rage.

“I think you’re having a hard time right now.” She chose her words carefully. “But I believe in you. I just want to give you a little help.” He scowled at her, then at the check.

“You changed your name.” He said. “Did you get married?”

“I did.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Robert.

“Do you have kids?” His anger was ebbing now, curiosity peeking through.

“You have a niece and nephew, Joey.” She pulled out a photo, handing it to him. It was a family photo of her, Robert, and their two children. Rachel scowled at the camera, displeased by the dress she’d had to wear. Isaac dozed in his mother’s arms. He’d never minded getting dressed up as long as he was being held. Joey held the photo gingerly. The children in the picture were so small. The girl looked a lot like Esther, and the boy looked like the man he assumed was Esther’s husband, but with that trademark Drew dark hair.

“What are their names?” He asked quietly.

“The girl is Rachel and the boy is Isaac.” It was hard to miss the pride on Esther’s face. He’d always known she’d make a wonderful mother. Joey felt his stomach begin to twist into knots. She was like Henry. She had a family, a good job. There was no place for him in their perfect lives.

“They’re…They’re beautiful kids.” He handed the photo back to her. Esther tucked the picture back into her purse, studying his face carefully. He looked so sad.

“I’d love for you to meet them.” She said. Joey’s eyes shifted away from her. He pursed his lips, folding his hands on the desk.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“That’s not an answer, Joey,” Esther said flatly. “Why can’t you come to meet them?”

“There’s no place for me in your perfect life.” Joey shook his head, a touch of bitterness entering his voice. “You’re some big-shot lawyer. I’d be a disgrace if you introduced me to any of your friends.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “As if I’d ever be friends with someone who would think that of you.” The people at the firm who spoke disparagingly about Joey and his cartoons were not the kind of people she liked to associate with. Elitist assholes who looked down on her and the people she was close to.

“You’d eventually become ashamed of me.”

“Joey.”

“You’d throw me out eventually. As soon as I do something you don’t like, you’ll just pretend you’re not related to me.”

“I would never do that to you,” Esther said softly. She was honestly hurt that he thought she’d do something like that to him.

“You will.” Joey looked up at her, his expression hard and his eyes cold. “You’re just like everyone else.” Esther stared at him for a moment before her expression hardened as well.

“You want to wallow in self-pity? Fine.” She said, turning away. “But don’t come crawling back to me when this whole thing blows up in your face.”

“I don’t need your pity!” Joey stood up again, hands on his desk. “You never believed in me anyway! None of you ever did! But I’ll show you!”

“I hope you drown in ink!” She stormed out of the office and up the stairs. The employees whispered as she passed, saying something about how Joey had pissed off another lawyer. Grant shot her an apologetic look as she passed his office. She drove him, going upstairs once she returned and curling up on her bed. Robert came to join her a few minutes later.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go great.” He sat down beside her, rubbing her back.

“I don’t even recognize him anymore.” She muttered. “What happened to my brother?” She felt on the verge of tears. Esther didn’t like crying. When she’d been young, bullies had called her crying a sign of weakness. Unless she trusted someone, she didn’t want to cry in front of anyone.

“It’s going to be okay.” Robert pulled her into his lap, stroking her hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

There were many times in the years following that where Esther wondered what it would have been like if she’d been able to talk Joey down, if her children had been able to grow up with their uncle. Maybe she could have saved his employees from the fates they’d suffered. But she’d been so angry at him after that conversation at his office that she hadn’t gone back for a long time. And when she did…It was too late. Her brother had died a long time ago. In his place, there was only a monster. And Esther felt she’d helped to create that monster.

[fandoms-equal-life]

Rewriting Their Stars Once Again - The Greatest Showman Fanfiction

Chapter 4: How?

Originally Posted on Ao3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365846/chapters/35057585#workskin

Summary:

What will Anne and Phillip do with this news from Dr. Turner?

Notes:

I'm sorry my chapters are few and far between. I have started to work somethings out in my life, so more will come. I plan to write for any ships I love, which if you follow my Tumblr (http://fandoms-equal-life.tumblr.com), you will know is a lot of ships. I won't stop this story though, but if you share any of our same interests, look out for more content.

Also, if you have any requests for shared fandoms and ships, please feel free to message me on my Tumblr and I will see what I can do! Writing is new for me, but I am excited to expand on this new found love

Chapter Four: How?

Triplets.

Never in a million years did Phillip think he was going to be the father to one child. Now he is going to be a father to three.

Phillip stopped that train of thought immediately. That was not even the most shocking news from Dr. Turner.

“…as there is a chance you will not make it out alive.”

Phillip could see the whole room was stunned. Dr. Turner was staring at them, waiting for a comment from one of them. He was used to giving hard news and was ready to take any reaction that came his way.

Finally, after a couple minutes of stunned silence, Charity, to help the young couple in their stunned state, asked, “What do we have to do to ensure the safety of Anne and the babies?”

Babies. Oh god, now he knows Anne’s pain of instant nausea.

Dr. Turner started to go into detail of what they needed to do. Anne was looking straight at him with determination in her eyes, taking in everything he said, while Phillip, sat there completely dumbfounded.

He heard instructions like “purchase everything now” and “bedrest is the most important part of this process” and something about “weekly checkups at home” when she reaches a certain month in the pregnancy. Phillip was not fully listening at this point. He was worrying how he was going to support their family now.

Three different cots, three sets of clothes, enough cloth diapers for three newborn babies. He was sure he could buy enough for Anne and the one baby he thought they were having until summer came and the income of the circus rose, but now he had no idea how they were going to purchase everything in this moment for three babies.

Even worse, three babies they did not even know will make it into their family.

That is when Phillip started listening, when Dr. Turner started to talk about the survival rate of the babies.

“I will try to simplify this for you. Growing one baby is hard enough for a woman’s body but growing three is a tremendously difficult task. There is only so much space in a woman’s womb, meaning that you are more likely to give birth earlier than the nine-month point. If you make it to seven, consider that a miracle. If you reach seven months at least, it should be a little easier to deliver the babies. There is also the chance of one or all dying in your womb before birth, a stillbirth or the babies dying within the first weeks of life.

“Also, the chance of your survival is another factor. Miss Wheeler, you will lose a large amount of blood during the delivery of your babies. The more blood you lose with each baby, the weaker your body will become. That is why in these coming months, you need to bulk up with foods that will make your body and blood strong. Chicken, beans, lentils, bread, different types of nuts are foods I recommend to all mothers, but you especially. From now on, ignore your cravings for unhealthy food and think of the good of your unborn children.”

Neither Anne nor Phillip have said anything through Dr. Turner’s whole speech. While Dr. Turner was a serious man who did his job with little emotion involved, he could not help but feel sorry for this couple. Young, breaking the views of society (in more ways than one), now having to worry about the life of their children, but also the life of the mother, will be challenging for them in the coming months.

It was Charity once again who spoke up for Phillip and Anne. She stood up, thanked Dr. Turner and said they were ready to depart if they were allowed. Dr. Turner said he and Phillip would meet Anne and Charity outside once Anne was up and ready.

When Phillip and Dr. Turner left the room, Charity faced Anne for the first time since the news. Anne looked like she was on the verge of tears, keeping them in for Charity’s sake. When Charity went to hug Anne, she stood up and firmly said, “I’m fine” and walked out of the room to meet Dr. Turner.

Dr. Turner gave her instructions for the next few weeks. Purchase everything, be here every two weeks until she reached her sixth month, which is when Dr. Turner will be visiting her once a week.

Once he was done giving instructions, Anne shook his hand and thanked him, then walked out to the carriage that Phillip had called for them. Not even acknowledging the stares she received when she is approaching the carriage, she walks in and sits in the corner to look out the window. She heard Phillip ask for the driver to be as careful possible, which annoyed Anne to no ends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a couple minutes, Phillip asks Anne if she is okay. She waves him off, stating she is fine, and the silence takes over the carriage again.

Anne has not registered the news Dr. Turner gave her. She is sitting in total denial next to Phillip on the way back to the circus. He informed her that he needed to go and settle a few things before they went home, even though P.T. was going to run the show tonight.

When they arrived at the circus, Phillip helped Anne out of the carriage and paid the driver. He reached for her hand, but she stalked into the circus tent, looking to be alone. Charity was planning to find P.T. to discuss this matter with him, but Caroline and Helen grabbed her attention and brought her towards the elephants to show her their new trick. Anne saw Phillip go to his office while she stood in the middle of the ring.

The circus ring. The first place she ever felt accepted. One of the only places she felt safest, even though she is flying through the air, the only things keeping her from falling is her brother, small rope and bars, and her talent. She has not flown through the air in months and she dearly misses it. While she would never admit to it, she hated coming to the circus with Phillip during the first few months of her pregnancy. Watching W.D. do their routine with a different trapeze artist and listening to her family sing joyfully throughout the show made her ache with longing to be back with them.

During her pity party, she noticed that a hoop was on the ground and was hooked up to a sandbag. Anne realized she could easily set the hoop back up into the air, even with her big belly in the way. She quickly looked around to see if anyone was around to stop her, then suspended the hoop in the air. The hoop was no more than a foot off the ground, so she sat herself on it, still holding the rope that would suspend her in the air farther, and easily balanced herself on the ring, even with her weight change.

Anne felt instant happiness suspended in the air like this. She moved the rope and sandbag in a way so she would go higher into the air. Now she was a couple feet off the ground and she feels more alive than she has in months. A little higher, she thought, no one was around to stop her, plus she was Anne Wheeler, expert trapeze artist. Anne was no more than ten feet off the ground, filled with more glee than she has felt since leaving the circus, when Phillip stormed out of his office with a voice sounding like P.T. calling after him. Anne had not noticed him, too wrapped up in her own mind.

That is when it all went to hell.

When Phillip walked up the edge of the ring, he realized it was Anne, his pregnant Anne, who was suspended in the air, not one of the other trapeze artists. In full shock he yelled, “Anne, what on earth do you think you are doing?”

Anne, surprised that someone had seen her, lost her balance for a split second. She let go of the rope keeping her suspended in the air and went free falling.

Phillip reacted in a spilt second and caught the rope before she hit the ground. He slowly lowered her the rest of the way down and helped her off the hoop before letting it hit the ground.

All Phillip wanted to do was hug Anne, because she was safe, but after what happened in the office, his rage took over him.

“Anne, we just left the doctor, where he told you that you had to be careful! Did you not hear his warnings? Do you have a death wish? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was for the babies?!”

In that moment, Anne let all her pent-up frustration out, “I’m sorry that I wanted to go back to my old life for one second! How dare I have a minute of joy after four months of sickness and despair, because I cannot do the one thing that has made me the happiest!! I cannot have anything for myself anymore, because now not only do I have to worry about surviving something I did not sign up for, but now I have to make sure I successfully bring life to three helpless creatures! What an absolute MONSTER I am to you and these unborn creatures!!!!”

Phillip felt like his breath was knocked out of him. He did not realize how much Anne was suffering. He was too wrapped up in his own worries to see the sadness in Anne’s eyes.

He reached out to her, to apologize and to explain, but instead she shook her head and ran out the tent with tears streaming down her eyes, leaving Phillip alone.

Chapter 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10 ~ 11