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weepinwriter · 1 year ago

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Road to Heaven is an 18+ Dystopian fic which takes inspiration from popular media like the “Shatter Me” series and “Hunger Games”. It may contain distressing content like major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, body horror, amnesia and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth.

Within the grim confines of Tartarus, you have been branded as the most dangerous criminal, feared yet hated by both fellow inmates and prison authorities alike. It becomes clear to you that in order to survive and unravel the enigma of your past, escape from this formidable penitentiary is imperative. However, achieving freedom will not be an easy feat, as you must navigate treacherous encounters with some of the most malevolent criminals known to humanity. In your quest for freedom, you find yourself entangled in complex relationships with three significant individuals. Firstly, your cellmate, whose icy demeanor suggests a deep-seated disdain for your very existence. Secondly, your best friend within the prison walls, whose seemingly excessive friendliness may harbor ulterior motives. Lastly, there is the warden, whose overtly amicable nature masks a peculiar familiarity with your past. As you navigate the perilous labyrinth of Tartarus, your ultimate objective is twofold: to survive amidst the most notorious criminals and uncover the truth about your forgotten past. In a world where danger lurks at every corner, you must tread carefully, for the path to redemption and self-discovery is riddled with uncertainty and perilous choices.

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Take control of your interactions with the characters and experience the world of Elysium City through a personalized scope.

Romance one of the 7 RO’s, and if you are charming enough, fall in love with any two of them. The four possible poly routes available are: The Cellmate and The Friend, The Warden and The Master, The Protector and The Master, The Cellmate and The Rebel

Struggle against the evil that wants you dead and uncover secrets about yourself

Accept your identity as an Esper and rediscover your powers, or completely reject them

Master your ability of Conscious Manipulation and perhaps learn a few things about yourself unexpectedly

Choose to make allies within Tartarus or antagonize them. Your choices have consequences

Lead a dying rebellion against the Hightable or join them as an equal

There are a total 7 romance options, each with their own personality and a story along with dark secrets for you to uncover

Survive

1. The Cellmate [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Twenty

A palpable enigma surrounds the inexplicable disdain they harbor towards you, leaving you to ponder if your past misdeeds have sowed the seeds of their ire. Your questions remain unanswered, rarely do they grace you with a response, and when they do, it arrives veiled in hateful glares and a tapestry of venomous words. The origins of their animosity remain shrouded in silence, with fellow inmates mirroring their reticence. Only when they are complaining about the prison's wretched conditions and the Warden's despotic rule do they momentarily shed their icy facade, revealing hints of vulnerability and human emotion. When they do smile, albeit rarely, it is a fleeting moment of breathtaking beauty. If only you could find the courage to tell them that.

[ Number 1579 is an S rank Arcane Tendency Esper with the Cryokinesis ability. They are under Libra’s Jurisdiction, and thus only follow orders coming directly from them. ]

Other Tropes : Emotional Scars, Nobody thinks it’ll actually work, Hate Sex

2. The Warden? [m] | ???

Subject Name : Nikita

There is an uncanny familiarity surrounding him, leaving you torn between the unsettling grip of dread and the elusive allure of desire. He claims to know you personally. Apparently the two of you were close friends before The Incident. Yet, when you press for details, he skillfully redirects the conversation before your emotions can catch up. "The past is but a fleeting shadow," he says, "no need to talk about something that can't be changed. Besides, you wouldn't remember anything." Evidently your memories had been erased. The question of who hangs heavy in the air, but his response remains enigmatic, offering only a mirthless smile.

[ Nikita is the Warden of Tartarus, the Reformation Asylum in Sector 10, 8th District. He is under Scorpio's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Slowburn, Betrayal, Puppy play

3. The Friend [f/m] | Friends to Lovers

Subject Name : Victor (m.) | Vanessa (f.)

A compassionate and devoted companion, V. shines as a beacon of light in the desolate depths of this grim abyss that became your world. From the moment you opened your eyes, they extended a helping hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine complexities of Tartarus and easing your transition into this unfamiliar realm. Unfazed by the venomous whispers that tarnish your reputation, they remain steadfastly by your side, unwavering in their loyalty. Their warm smiles and whimsical wordplay serve as a balm, mending your wounded spirit after every bitter clash with Twenty. How fortunate you are to be blessed with such an illuminating presence, brightening the shadows that consume your existence.

[ Number 1339 is an A rank Catalyst Tendency Esper with the Illusion Manipulation ability. They are under Scorpio’s Jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Partners in crime, First Love, Good people get good sex, Slight yandere

4. The Count/Countless [f/m] | Forbidden Romance (relationship history can be friends with benefits)

Subject Name : Emir (m.) | Evara(f.)

A remarkable visionary and an exceptional entrepreneur, E. stands as an unrivaled figure in the illustrious realm of Elysium City. Holding the distinction of being the youngest Grandmaster in history and amassing unparalleled wealth, they reign as the CEO of the renowned Quinn Industries. E. is adorned with numerous titles within the esteemed echelons of society, serving as an icon of inspiration and a beacon of hope, while simultaneously arousing envy in the hearts of many. An arrogant and proud individual, their ugliness is conveniently covered by their astonishing fortune, combined with innate brilliance, seems almost mystical, as if destined for greatness from their very birth. Within Elysium City's grand social tapestry, few possess the persuasive prowess to sway the decisions of the Hightable itself, yet E. stands tall even among this select few. As an eligible bachelor, their daily inundation of love letters and marriage proposals is a testament to their allure. And yet, amidst all this splendor, it is you who has found a place of interest in their extraordinary life.

[ E. is a part of The Senate and thus does not fall under any District's jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Belated love epiphany, Billionaire, Power play, Daddy/Mommy kink

5. The Master [f] | Forbidden Romance

Subject Name : Leo

In her calculated pursuit, you find yourself ensnared. Your allure captivates her discerning gaze, for you possess what she desires most. You are the coveted object of her desires. In this strategic game, you are but a pawn, a possession within her calculated grasp. Yet, curiously she maintains a measured distance. Her reason? She eloquently articulates, “Witnessing the growth of one's possession is a fascinating phenomenon.”

[ Leo is the Master of {DATA REDACTED}. They are the Ruler of the 5th District. ]

Other Tropes : Secret Identity, Second Chance, Blood play, Begging

6. The Protector [m] | Bodyguard Romance

Subject Name : Caesar

A battle-hardened soldier, Caesar bears the scars of a lifetime spent serving the FAE and the city. With an intimacy unparalleled, he has danced with mortality on numerous occasions, making death a companion rather than an adversary. Yet, behind that facade of strength, Caesar is a fractured soul, haunted by insecurities and a self-destructive nature. His journey, filled with shattered dreams and the weight of his daughter's aspirations, has brought him to the edge of despair. The immortality he once embraced now feels like a curse, a harbinger of misfortune that has become synonymous with his presence. In his eyes, he sees himself as not a protector but a bearer of ill fate. However, the stars, in an unexpected alignment, have granted him a final purpose: to protect you. Beneath the intimidating exterior lies a gentle giant, yet one plagued by a profound sense of self-loathing. He grapples with the belief that his very existence is a catalyst for tragedy, a vortex that draws calamity toward him and those he holds dear. Intrigued by this complex guardian, you see the duality within Caesar — an attentive and understanding individual burdened by the weight of his own perceived malevolence. As you navigate through the intricate layers of his psyche, perhaps you could help him ease his suffering, even by a little.

[ Caesar is a registered S rank Endura Tendency Esper with the Regeneration ability. He comes under Leo’s jurisdiction. ]

Other Tropes : Beauty and the Beast, Single parent, Stop calling me daddy

7. The Rebel [f/m] | Enemies to Lovers

Subject Name : Gael (m.) | Gwendolyn (f.)

You betrayed them. Or perhaps it's the other way around? You do not remember. The trust you once held dear has been shattered, and now you must face the price for your misguided beliefs. Like a fool enchanted by deceit, you must bear the weight of your choices. Remember this lesson, for betrayal's toll is a heavy one to pay. Proceed with caution, lest you become ensnared in the web of your own treachery.

[ There is no known information on this individual. Extreme caution is recommended. ]

Other Tropes : Amnesia, Revenge, Redemption, Breathe play

Links

[ DEMO ]

[ PINTEREST ]

[ THE DISTRICTS ]

[ THE HIGHTABLE ]

All asks and reposts are welcome 😁!

#current wip #interactive fiction #if game #interactive game #hosted games #twine game #interactive novel #dystopia #if intro #thriller #road to heaven if #upcoming if #twine wip #no demo

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choerypetal · 11 months ago

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Cherry Red / Coriolanus Snow

summary : Snow had always harbored a liking for you, and your awareness of the platonic relationship with Sejanus only fueled his obsession, eventually culminating in decisions like appointing you as the First Lady of Panem. Just two pretty bestfriends both in awe by your beauty.

I apologize for any grammar errors as English is not my first language. Additionally, please refrain from copying my work without proper credit, as it may result in being flagged. Thank you!

How does one begin to describe this innocent youth, who simply wished for Panem to thrive in tranquility? Fate thrust him into the shadows of the reaping ceremony or the role of a mentor due to his father's actions. Despite being fully aware that survival in the Games was improbable, he, like many of his peers, managed to mask his fear, a skill he lacked. It was on that fateful day that he first laid eyes on you.

You served as his mentor, a role you assumed without the same coercion he experienced. Unlike him, you had the choice to either be a mentor or a regular student at the Academy. Yet, recognizing that being among the select few who would secure a favorable position in the university and potentially pave the way for a brighter future for your family, you saw it as the least profitable option you could contribute. Even if it meant overseeing the fate of a stranger, your assigned tribute, in a perilous game of cat and mouse.

During the inaugural week of the Games, you found yourself alongside Sejanus as you met your assigned tributes. Despite Sejanus displaying a sense of conscience regarding the circumstances and grappling with the notion of witnessing another species confined in a cage, he observed closely as you tended to your tribute. From that pivotal moment onward, each day saw him adopting a similar approach—nurturing his tribute, attending to their well-being, and primarily focusing on their strengths, all while harboring his internal opposition to the entire ordeal.

You were the one who comforted him in the aftermath of the accident following the memorial for Arachne. While he was paying tribute to his deceased classmate, Snow instructed you to remove Sejanus from the scene. He, too, attempted to cling to her in a desperate effort to preserve her life, but it was already too late. With your guidance, advising Sejanus to shift his focus away from the crime scene, he found solace when you encouraged him to breathe and exhale. You assured him that everything would be okay.

After that initial encounter with him, he underwent a profound transformation, growing closer to you. Your attentive check-ins during rehearsals, reminiscent of his mother's caring presence, played a significant role in this connection. Even stolen glances in class became a source of solace for him, helping maintain his sanity amidst the chaos of the Hunger Games, a veritable freak show.

You were well aware of his strong opposition to the idea. Despite enduring his complaints, you consistently reassured him that the popularity was just a temporary phase until graduation, and the Capitol would soon move on and forget. However, it turns out you were terribly mistaken. Despite the misjudgment, you believed it was the best you could do at the time.

Fortunately, your relationship gradually deepened over time, even though you hadn't experienced the concept of falling in love. In a world where survival was commonplace in Panem, the notion of allowing oneself to fall in love seemed as ironic as it was rare. Despite attempting to suppress any burgeoning emotions for Sejanus, his softened gaze upon seeing you and the way he spoke your name with such warmth made it increasingly challenging. This, in turn, fueled suspicion from his friend Snow, who seemed to resent him more, suspecting Sejanus's potential feelings for you. Eventually, it became inevitable that you acknowledged and accepted your emotions toward Sejanus, whether they remained platonic or evolved into something more; the signs were undeniably clear. And Snow hated every bit of it.

Certainly, rumors circulated throughout the Academy, fueled by the idea that someone as intelligent as you could outsmart even the wealthiest family, such as the Plinth. However, it wasn't until a few days before the commencement of the 10th Hunger Games that the scrutiny from your classmates' watchful eyes compelled you to hide your relationship in shame. You outgrew the stares, until finally implied official a mark to the relationship, all by holding Sejanus's hand with pride. The poor boy, initially taken aback by your sudden display of affection, was well aware of your usual reluctance towards public displays of emotion. Despite this, he began to grasp that your actions spoke of genuine love. It became increasingly evident that the sentiment was more than mutual.

The aftermath of the Hunger Games told a different tale. Sejanus's emotional breakdown during the games hinted that his involvement was driven by a sense of altruism. However, many of your classmates, including yourself, emerged from the ordeal seemingly unscathed. It was as if you all were like minions, compliant in a sick and twisted game, a game where refusal meant facing death the very next day. The turning point came when you witnessed Sejanus screaming helplessly, condemning the Capitol as "sick monsters." His tear-filled eyes and desperate plea were a stark warning. You felt his gaze fixed on you, but this time, it carried a profound sense of hatred—a gaze that lingered ever since that fateful day. In Sejanus's eyes, you had become a monster, and he was painfully right.

When Lucy Gray Baird was declared the victor of the 10th Hunger Games, Snow couldn't help but notice the shift in the dynamics of the relationship you had once shared with Sejanus. Despite his previous disdain for Sejanus, Snow's animosity towards his District 2 classmate intensified as he observed the unwavering focus of your eyes on him. You managed to hold back your tears, unlike Sejanus, burst into a complete symphony of a manic episode. Snow recognized that upon his return as a Peacekeeper, that he would make it his priority to take care of you. To Sejanus’s request if he didn’t make it out.

Sejanus was acutely aware of his impending fate, discerning the emotions in your eyes as you fought to contain your tears—an act you were often admonished for in the harsh realms of reality and sorrow. A palpable distance had grown between you, and he acknowledged that he deserved every bit of it. However, when the news broke that he, too, was joining the Peacekeepers, you couldn't resist bidding him a final farewell. As the departure approached, Snow spotted you, witnessing the emotional exchange with his own eyes.

He observed you shedding tears for another man, a sight that must have stung his pride. Despite the limited display of affection, there were undeniable traces of your past love for Sejanus. "I'll be a good boy." Sejanus would assure, and as you cupped his face, a rare moment of genuine closeness enveloped you. It was one of the first times you truly felt connected to him, and you yearned to grant him a farewell kiss, recognizing that this might be the last time you'd see him. "I'll keep your picture close with me... Even if you hate me so—" Sejanus began, but you swiftly cut him off, desperately emphasizing that any perceived hatred was rooted in self-centeredness. "I never hated you, Sejanus. Remember that."

"I will." Came Sejanus's response without a hint of hesitation, and just before he departed, he sought a final taste of your lips. This act served as the last straw for Snow, tempting him to announce that it was time for duty, that he too would soon be called to fulfill his responsibilities. However, he resisted the urge. Instead, he chose to observe what it felt like to be genuinely in love, watching the two lovebirds share their final goodbyes. Though deeply haunted by the realization that Snow wasn't your sole choice, the haunting thoughts accompanied him throughout the journey back to District 12. Snow yearned to make Sejanus prove to whom you truly belonged, finding some solace in the benefits of the situation—until Sejanus's impending death sentence, that is.

You received word of Sejanus's death while in the Capitol. On that particular day, you joined Sejanus's mother for dinner, a comforting routine that helped alleviate the absence of her son, engaged in his duties away. Despite her earlier tendency to downplay her husband's concerns for their child, she now comprehended the profound emotions you were experiencing mere weeks after Sejanus's departure. It was a moment of revelation for her when she looked into the eyes of her own child, realizing that her husband had been the true villain all along.

Later that same evening, you started clearing the table when you heard the official news. A Panem Peacekeeper had arrived at your apartment. For some inexplicable reason, an ominous feeling gripped you, signaling that something had happened to Sejanus. Questions swirled in your mind—was he injured, or had homesickness prompted his return? However, any hopeful optimism quickly turned to tears as Sejanus's mother's anguished scream echoed in your thoughts. The heartbreaking truth emerged: Sejanus had passed away. The official explanation cited him as a simple rebel, but you suspected a much darker reality. Sejanus wasn't merely a rebel; he was someone the Capitol despised, refusing any association with their ideologies.

The Plinth family arranged a formal funeral for their son, and while you had hoped for an invitation, you only learned about it through consequential rumors. Thanks to Tigris, who had the opportunity to style Sejanus's mother for her new job as a stylist, you were surprised to discover the disgraceful rumors circulating about your family. It was suggested that you had manipulated Sejanus to bend to your will, driven by your ambitions in the Games and an unbridled willingness to perpetuate a sick and twisted narrative for another year.

According to this narrative, you were deemed no different from the rest—a citizen with psychotic tendencies, adorned in the veneer of fake affluence. These rumors reached Snow as he returned calls to Tigris back home, he wanted some update about you. Know how you were doing, as Tigris before hand had your confirmation that she would tell what had happened. Which provided a simple yet substantial reasons for his disdain towards the Plinth family from the very beginning, not only due to their subjective opinions but also their newfound hatred towards you.

Upon returning to his role as a Peacekeeper, Snow found greater delight in seeing you. As you had gradually gained acceptance to the university yourself, securing a personal apartment became a challenging endeavor. The recent imposition of a new tax by the Plinth family added to the financial strain, making it doubly difficult to cover your university expenses. Fortunately, Tigris stepped in to assist, swiftly helping you secure a job. A renowned cabaret in the Capitol was in need of entertainers, and although hesitant to showcase your body for money, you recognized it as a necessary option. Fortunately, your employer treated the dancers well, and as long as you were able to pay your bills, he harbored no objections. Over time, you even developed a group of favorite regular customers.

The streets of the Capitol had changed since his arrival. Not only had his hair grown, but wearing his father's wealth, symbolized by a stupid coat, had also demonstrated a newfound influence. Snow made sure to flaunt this affluence. The prospect of returning to the university and seeing you again mattered most to him. However, it wasn't until that particular evening when he decided to stop by your apartment that he noticed your absence. Puzzled, he thought to himself, as it was typically your time to prepare dinner or watch local television. Surveying the surroundings for any clue to your whereabouts, he recalled that his cousin Tigris had briefly mentioned something about you being the talk of the town lately. This revelation prompted Snow to consider searching the deeper and less savory streets of Panem for answers.

It didn't take him long; as soon as the sun set and the lights of Panem's stores illuminated the streets, he spotted a poster. There, your face stared back at him, unmistakably you. "Cherry Red this afternoon! 9 PM!" Proclaimed the bold red and gold font, showcasing your entire body. Snow couldn't believe it—let alone fathom the idea of other men being captivated by you. Nevertheless, he entered.

True to the promise, only the least affluent men in Panem and fellow Peacekeepers populated the bar. It being a Friday evening meant people were there to unwind and prepare for the weekend. Snow found himself struck by the stark contrast between his own downfall and the impoverished part of the Capitol. Despite the surroundings, he couldn't help but marvel at the luxury and lifelike atmosphere of the cabaret. Soon, other dancers spotted him, offering drinks or suggesting a little show, but he declined, asserting that he was there only for you, using your stage name, Cherry Red.

Fortunately, he arrived just in time for your performance. With a man who wore outfits reminiscent of Flickerman noticed Snow's arrival, sporting a somewhat absurd demeanor. Cheeks flushed, a clear sign of pre-show indulgence, he exclaimed each word of your name with awe and pride. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, we have someone we love so much right here at Pub Rouge. It is none other than our favorite, Cherry Red!"

Snow uncomfortably fell in line with the predominantly male clientele. Hearing "Ladies and Gentlemen." Was just one of the few flaws in the cabaret that he would have corrected if given the chance. To avoid arousing suspicions, he simply followed along, clapping like everyone else. However, rather than voicing your name in a distasteful manner, Snow quietly waited for your performance.

The room filled with the vibrant sounds of the band and trumpets as you gracefully took the stage. Your outfit perfectly mirrored your name—bold and red as cherries. For those observant enough, it seemed as if Snow intentionally coordinated his attire to match yours. You immersed yourself in the character, embodying the woman you intended to be. The men of your age exhibited a mix of pride and envy, further boosting your confidence. Your playful interactions, especially teasing one of the Peacekeepers, earned you considerable admiration, much to Snow's chagrin. He overheard some background chatter about you, with phrases like. "I'd be with her anytime. Have you seen her curves? If I were the lucky guy, I'd do everything to show her who she belongs to."

That fueled Snow with an intense anger, a boiling rage that churned within him. Fortunately, he managed to contain himself, sitting just far enough away to avoid you spotting him in the moment. However, his composure shattered when another voice crossed the line. "With that beautiful pair of lips, I bet she'd be a nice little whore and can take my big ass dick!" Laughter erupted, and though you were accustomed to such comments in the typically crowded environment, Snow, unable to restrain himself, swiftly delivered a punch to the man's face. Snow had completely lost his composure. As the scuffle continued, with the brawl escalating to a level one out of five, you were being escorted away. It was then that you noticed Snow's figure amidst the chaos.

"Coryo..." You murmured softly, as one of your colleagues attempted to escort you backstage. You complied with the act and tried to move, but upon catching his gaze after you called out his name, it took only seconds for Snow to be brought in, obliging even to be outside the hub before long. As he was pushed outside, one of the onlookers cursed under his breath. "Well, I'll be damned! If I see that guy again, he'll surely get a punch from me!" With his friends trying to calm the angered Peacekeeper down, he observed as you were escorted back, remarking, "I sense that someone had a little vulnerability over Cherry's presence."

Snow hadn't left entirely. In fact, he made sure to stay until the bar was ready to close. As he observed the group of Peacekeepers, memories of his own time in that role surfaced. They reminded him of the Peacekeepers in the Districts—little pieces of trouble, he'd openly declare if given the chance. Fortunately, you didn't have any bruises; in fact, you were so distraught that your colleague helped clean your makeup and took care of you. "My god, Y/N. What could've possibly happened there if you had intervened?" She questioned. Even you hated the fact that she was right; who knew what might have occurred if you had tried to break up the fight and ended up taking the punch meant for the Peacekeeper. You were well aware that Snow wouldn't easily excuse himself after this incident.

By patiently waiting at the backdoor of the cabaret, he caught sight of another escort he had noticed earlier, who swiftly disappeared inside. He wasn't trespassing; rather, he was trying to reunite with you. Explanations could wait; for now, he wanted you all to himself, to taste your lips and be the one to incite jealousy among the Peacekeepers. Skillfully, he found his way backstage, drawing uncertain glances from ladies younger than you. They hesitated, contemplating whether to alert their boss about the intruder. It wasn't until he spotted you from a distance that even your colleague, who had taken care of you, noticed his presence enough to understand that it was her cue. “I’ll see you later, darlin’.” She said with her typical southern accent, and as soon as she was about to leave stop herself next to Snow. “Sir.” And bowed before leaving.

On the other hand, you hastily adjusted your robe to cover your skin. Quickly, you applied the remaining red lipstick, swiftly cleaning the messy edges, assuming it was your boss's presence prompting the need for an explanation or reassurance that you were okay. However, as soon as you turned your head to see who it truly was, your eyes widened in shock. It felt almost too surreal, as if you had seen a ghost. "Coryo?" was all you could say.

How he had missed you calling him by his nickname. Even though you had been in a relationship with Sejanus before, it was all thanks to being close to Tigris that you adopted the habit of using his nickname, something he cherished every time it left your lips. Particularly because none of his classmates, let alone his closest friends, used it. "What is this?" He questioned, his eyes scanning everything—from the booth to you, with a hint of disgust, shame. "Why didn't you tell me—" He felt a sense of sorrow, realizing he hadn't provided you with enough wealth, let alone a clean lifestyle. Tonight, he vowed to make a change soon.

"Blame the Plinth." You uttered, attempting to push aside memories of Sejanus and your first love, concealing them as best as you could. Snow couldn't help but let out a light chuckle at the irony, recognizing that he, too, intended to make them pay for it all—every little bit. And in this endeavor, he envisioned you by his side. "I've missed you, you know." You continued, and to Snow's relief, he admitted the same. Perhaps, just maybe, a little too much.

"You have no idea how much I missed you too, sweetheart." He expressed, closing the distance between you. He kneeled, and even his piercing blue eyes softened as he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His finger gently traced your blushed cheek, the heavy makeup unable to conceal your undying beauty. "How about we go home? Together."

"Home?" You tilted your head slightly, doing your best to restrain your tears at his request. Despite the history of your relationship—from being a stranger to a friend and now a soulmate. "How—?" He nervously gulped, appearing confident in his words yet afraid to witness you in that emotional state. A state where money and selling your body didn't align with the image he wanted to see. "Because I'll do my best to take care of you." He assured, keeping his words simple yet sincere.

"Home. A place to finally be yourself. No trouble, no feeling of doubt within your own self." And with that, you simply dissolved into tears, nodding in response to his confession. "Please," You begged, yearning for him, longing to feel his lips like you did with Sejanus back in the days. But this time, it felt genuinely true. Was this what true love really felt like? "Kiss me." There was no hesitation as Snow's lips instantly met yours in a hungry and passionate kiss, an expression of love since the very beginning.

And in that very moment, Snow realized all too well that you had become his Lady. Not any kind of lady but the First Lady of Panem.

Y/N, Snow.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x y/n #president snow x reader #coryo #hunger games x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus imagines #coriolanus snow imagines #hunger games imagines #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader

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tragedyofdevotion · 8 months ago

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Sagau Liyue

Sagau reader's life in Liyue is sophisticated and luxurious and often accompanied by quarrels between humans and adepti.

Humans, (mainly Ningguang), want to keep you in her Jade Chamber, adorned in all silk and gold, and accompanied by rows of maids and servants to care for you as you deserve.

On the other hand, adeptis want to keep you in their adeptal realm, peaceful and tranquil and away from all dangers and perils. Moreover, if you stayed among humans, yaksha like Xiao who cannot walk among people can't meet you. So, they were all so against Ninggaung.

The situation becomes so tense that aware almost broke out between the two species until you decided that you will stay in both sides by turns.

So, you stay with Ninggaung for a week and then at the adeptal realm for another.

While you stayed with humans, Ninggaung bury you in riches, the most delicious of dishes are prepared by Xiangling, and the most interesting of books are presented to you by Xingqiu.

Ninggaung also makes Yelan drop all her work and focus on your protection when you are here so she is always trailing after you.

Hu Tao often comes by and urge you to advertise the coffins of the Funeral Palor together with her because her buy 1 get 1 promotions seem to work more when you are with her.

So, everytime Hu Tao comes and takes you out, you have the maids assigned by Ninggaung, the millelith lead by Keqing and the secret agents lead by Yelan, trailing after you like a train.

Seeing you get exhausted by all the surveillance, Beidou often comes and swipe you away to her ship. Beidou's ship is the only place in Tavyet where you can drink alcohol. Unlike other Liyue people who always overwhelm you with their love, Beidou stayed frank with you so you can relax with her. That is not to say Beidou doesn't care for you. It is because she loves you so much that she wants you to be able to spread your wings once in awhile.

The time you are staying at the adeptal realm is the exact opposite of your life at the Liyue harbor. The harbor is noisy and chaotic but this place is quiet and calm.

You drank the most delicious tea brewed by the Archon of contracts himself as you admire the artificial yet ethereal scenery. The temperature, the weather, and all others aspects of the realm is managed to suit your liking and the architecture and the greenery is assembled in the style most comforting to you.

Afraid of tainting you with his karma, Xiao still avoids direct contact with you but you cannot pretend not to see Xiao who diligently trail after you like a lost puppy from a safe distance away. The one time you approached him to pet his head, he melted down under your hands.

There were be troubles here and there but overall, your stay at Liyue makes you feel the love of its people and adepti.

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact #sagau reader #genshin impact sagau

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 18 days ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 5: Ruby]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.5k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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Scarlet dusk spills over the pine planks of the deck like rising water. Sweet little Madeleine Astor invites you to attend dinner with her party—perhaps there is gossip that you and Daemon have had some sort of a row—but you have other plans. As the rest of the first-class passengers descend the Grand Staircase to the dining room on D-Deck, you make your way eastward towards the stern. You pass shipbuilder Thomas Andrews, who is ambling along with a group of chuckling, pipe-puffing gentlemen including J. Bruce Ismay and Benjamin Guggenheim. Mr. Andrews is mentioning the iceberg warnings that the captain has received from nearby vessels today; the other men are agreeing that Captain Smith is right to not be concerned. On a night as calm and cloudless as this one, surely an iceberg would be spotted by the lookouts with more than enough time to steer the ship to safety.

Aegon is waiting by the steel railing of the stern, stolen black coat, face glowing in fading daylight the color of sunstone, a crystal mined in Oregon. His scuffed brown leather portfolio and a folded easel are tucked under one arm; in his fist is clutched the handle of a small wooden box, which must contain his painting supplies.

“So,” he says, smiling when he sees you’ve accepted his offer, this final kindness before you are torn away from each other when Titanic docks in New York Harbor. “Where should we set up our studio? It can’t be in my cabin. One of my roommates is currently fornicating with a Russian girl. She seems nice. I hope she isn’t burdened with his bastard child.”

“You don’t think we should join them?”

He laughs. “Maybe I’m not ready to share you.”

“You’re not living up to your reputation, prodigal son. I had heard you were an irredeemable miscreant.” Then you turn to leave, and Aegon follows you.

You stop first at the Café Parisien on B-Deck, which is mostly deserted; it’s very cold outside, approaching freezing temperatures as the sun sinks below the bloodied horizon, and the heaters don’t work especially well in the restaurant. You purchase several different sandwiches and a chocolate croissant. No cash exchanges hands, which is good because you don’t ever have any; the stewards there recognize you and will add the charge to your illustrious husband’s bill, to be paid before passengers disembark on either April 16th or 17th, depending on how quickly Titanic arrives at her destination.

Daemon and Rhaenyra will be in the First-Class Dining Saloon for the next several hours, and thereafter will almost certainly steal away into her rooms to commit their incestuous adultery. Rush is eternally prowling nearby in case Daemon finds himself in need of anything: a drink, a gun, a troublesome wife shoved over a railing. Per her nightly tradition, Dagmar has taken Draco to the Verandah Café, which in addition to being a more casual eatery has become a sort of playroom for first-class children. And so in your staterooms, only Fern is present, finishing up some dusting before she journeys down to C-Deck to enjoy dinner in the Maids and Valets Saloon. From above the fireplace, the taxidermied tiger head watches you with eerily still gemstone eyes, a dispassionate witness to your treason.

“Hello, ma’am,” Fern says when you enter. “Can I make you a cup of tea before I go?” Then she sees Aegon walk in behind you with all his equipment, and she blinks, bewildered. “Good evening, sir. Did we meet on the Boat Deck this morning…?”

“We did,” Aegon replies a bit sheepishly. Fern looks at you, seeking an explanation.

“I need a favor,” you tell her.

“Of course, ma’am. Anything.” But Fern’s large dark eyes shift skittishly between you and Aegon.

You give her the paper bag heavy with treats from Café Parisien. “I’ve brought you dinner. I wasn’t sure what kind of sandwich you’d prefer, so there’s ham and Gruyère, tomato and chèvre, and pâté and cornichon. Eat whichever you like, or all three, it doesn’t matter. Oh, and there’s a chocolate croissant as well, nice and flakey and shining with butter. It’s absolutely massive.”

“That’s very kind, ma’am,” Fern says. She’s touched, but she’s still puzzled.

“Fern, I’m asking you to stay here in the sitting room. It doesn’t matter what you do, but don’t fall asleep, and for God’s sake don’t leave to go outside, not even for a moment.”

“Alright,” she agrees cautiously.

“I don’t think they’ll be back for a few hours, but if somebody does walk through that door—Daemon, Dagmar, anyone—all I need you to do is offer to make them tea, as you would on any other night. And offer loudly.” This will alert you to the intruder and give you more than enough time to get Aegon out onto the private deck, from which he can access the hallways of B-Deck and the Grand Staircase.

Fern understands. She nods, studying Aegon thoughtfully. “Yes ma’am.”

“And I didn’t have any visitors.” Your voice is grave; it is not only your reputation at risk. It’s your life.

Fern feigns shock. “Of course not. I haven’t seen a soul.”

You touch a palm to her shoulder, fleeting and gentle. “Thank you, Fern.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am,” she says, and then goes to the small circular table and begins to unwrap one of the sandwiches from Café Parisien.

As soon as you and Aegon are inside your bedroom, you push Daemon’s writing desk in front of the door, precious extra seconds bought in the unlikely event that your husband returns and Fern can’t slow him down. Aegon immediately begins setting up: placing his easel, clipping a piece of fresh linen-like parchment from his portfolio to it, and removing a palette, brushes, and tiny tin tubes of oil paint from his wooden box. He turns off all of the lamps except one, then glances at the unlit white candles on the dresser and the nightstand. Before he can say anything, you take his aluminum lighter from your handbag and light the wicks.

“Can I do anything else to help?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Aegon nods to your spacious walk-in closet, where the door is hanging ajar. It’s nearly as large as his entire third-class cabin. He shrugs off his black wool coat; beneath it he is wearing only a white button-up shirt and dark green corduroy trousers. “Get dressed. Put on something you feel like you look especially good in.”

You gaze blankly at the closet, then turn back to him. “I don’t think I look good in anything.”

“Well now I’m going to make you watch.” He smirks at you, mischievous, teasing, then drops to his knees to squirt beads of paint onto his stained palette: golden like the lamplight, a rich dark brown like the walnut wood of the bedposts.

“How would you possibly accomplish that?”

“You have a mirror.” He points to it with a paintbrush, the oval-shaped pool of silver standing upright by the bed.

You gape at it, mortified. “No, I couldn’t possibly stare at myself the whole time.”

“Sure you could.” Aegon goes to the mirror and adjusts it until it is filled with your reflection. “Not too bad, right?”

“I suppose,” you murmur, but you have already fled to the closet. As Aegon swirls colors together on his palette, searching for the perfect shades, you sift through your collection of jewel-toned fabrics: lace, cotton, velvet, wool. You think again of the dusk light that turned the decks and waves to rubies, and your eyes catch on a red silk robe: purchased only a month ago, never worn yet, no memories of Daemon or anybody else, a new age like sunset or dawn. You take off your green gown and remove the emeralds from your ears, then don the crimson-colored robe and return to the bedroom to meet Aegon, silk flowing behind you like a riptide, the rustling of your legs beneath the fabric.

Aegon is scrabbling around by the foot of the bed, smoothing out any bumps in the Turkish rug, straightening the white ruffled bed skirt that hangs down to the floor. He peers up at you and freezes, his fretful fingers going still.

You ask tentavively: “Is this okay?”

He chuckles. “Okay is one word for it. Come over here.”

You go to Aegon and he takes your hands, both of them, and draws you down onto the floor where he is. You sit with your legs bent and tucked to the right, as if you’re a mermaid, your tail the color of blood instead of cool rippling depths. Aegon arranges the hem of your robe—he wants your bare feet showing, the silk rumpled in some spots and smooth in others—then retreats and stands back to study you, chewing the corner of his full bottom lip, his hands on his waist.

“Can I take your hair down?”

“Sure,” you say, but when he touches you—even a graze, even a whisper—you have to stop yourself from startling a bit, from reaching out to grab his wrist and keep him close.

“I can paint from memory,” Aegon tells you as he works, perhaps filling the quiet to soothe your nerves. “But it always turns out better if I have the person in front of me.”

“I’ll try to stay still.”

“You can move around if you have to,” he assures you. “I’d rather have you comfortable. I know you’re not a statue.”

“Right.” You smile. “I’m a rock.”

Aegon laughs and places your left hand on the bedpost as if you are clinging to it. “The best rock. Now let’s see you glimmer.” He goes to the mirror and repositions it one final time, angling it downwards slightly so you are in the center of the glass oval. From behind you on the dresser, flickering dots of candlelight glow like stars. You instinctively avert your eyes from your reflection, but Aegon is insistent. Gingerly, he turns your head back towards the mirror before striding over to his easel.

You do not want to watch yourself, so you watch Aegon instead, his doppelganger reversed in the glass. He’s mixing paint on his palette, repeatedly glancing at your robe to make sure he’s made the correct shade of red. He’s absentmindedly tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. And you cannot stop staring at his hands: the way he holds a paintbrush, the bumps of his knuckles. He is not a man who has ever pillaged or bruised but only created pinpoints of light that gleam through the darkness, music and art and laughter, the gems of human existence. He is far from home, just like you are. His bones are the bars of a prison; you have married into the same one, created new life with it, melded your bloodlines together like forged metal.

Now Aegon is back, his reflection kneeling behind yours, and he begins to reach for your waist before he stops himself. “Is it alright if I…?”

“Of course. However you want me.”

The Aegon that lives in the silver sheen of the mirror settles his hands lightly just below your ribcage. He turns you just barely towards the mirror, only an inch away from where you were before, but he is precise, he is careful. This is the last image he’ll ever capture of you.

The warmth of him against you, his weight, his wonder as he gazes at your reflection with eyes like deep water; your breath catches, and at first he fears he has crossed a line and removes his hands. But your fingers are—slowly, like a suggestion that someone could so easily pretend not to have noticed—pulling up the hem of your silk robe, to just above your ankles, to your calves, to your bent knees. Aegon’s right hand covers yours, and then—as your eyes lock in the mirror—skates up the inside of your thighs as you part them, displacing the vivid red of your robe, revealing yourself in the glass, and so you can see it as he touches you, not like he owns or commands or uses you but like he is here to chisel you free from the perpetual darkness of the mine you’ve been trapped in for millennia.

You gasp in desperate, disbelieving relief, shaking all over, and you move to kiss him; but Aegon catches your face in his other hand and turns you back to the mirror. “No,” he whispers. “Watch.” And then he presses his lips to the apple of your cheek and lingers there for a moment, tasting you, breathing you in like you’re water filling the lungs of a drowning man.

“Aegon…”

“I want you to see how beautiful you are. I want you to see what I’ve been dying to do to you.”

His right hand is still between your legs, his fingers circling, a whirlpool that drags you down like an anchor until you hit the seafloor, an ocean not of pressure and cold but bright, yearning warmth, golden lamplight and flickering candles. You reach back to touch Aegon’s face—the stubble of his short beard, the sand-colored strands of his hair—but still he keeps your gaze fixed on your reflection. Now you are unashamed in a way you haven’t been since before your wedding night five years ago, just about the same time Aegon was leaving home. The proof is indelible, inking itself into your memory like a painter’s signature: you are desired, you are loved.

“Thank you,” you moan, so low it’s almost inaudible. You’re close. You’re very, very close. “Oh my God, Aegon, thank you…”

“Shh.” He kisses the side of your face, his eyes on the mirror, transfixed. “Show me.”

It’s a beam of sunlight refracted and scattered by a ruby; it’s a scalding torrent of blood that crashes through a web of arteries all the way to the heart. And when—still shuddering, still fighting for air—you pull away from Aegon’s grasp, he lets you go without any resistance.

You roll onto the floor and drag him on top of you by his shirt, struggling with trembling fingers to untangle the tie of your robe until Aegon realizes what you’re trying to do and helps you. He opens the blood-red silk and tastes the salt blooming on your belly, your breasts, your throat where your pulse is thudding drunk and maroon in your carotid. It’s better than cider or champagne or beer or nicotine; he is not a poison but a cure. He is unbuttoning his shirt and his trousers, hurried famished need. He is inside of you, and he is kissing you deeply, your palms on his flushed face, your hips moving with his. You steal a glimpse of the silver-moonlight mirror, and there you both are: lost and far from home, shipwrecked on the same island, castaways and wave crests and mirages. In the end, you know you have not disappointed him. His lungs are breathless and his eyes wet, his muscles just as spent and useless as yours. Neither of you are lost anymore. You have found each other here in the gloomy depths.

Almost immediately, Aegon forces himself off of you and crawls towards his easel, at last staggering to his feet. He grabs his palette and a brush and begins working with frenetic strokes, his damp hair falling in his face, his brow knit with concentration. You don’t have to ask what he’s doing. He’s trying to paint you before the memory begins to fade. He works in thin layers, just enough to cover the white of the parchment. His visions are soft and fragile like dreams, things that can be blown away and forgotten. From where you’re still lying on the floor, you gaze up at Aegon as he paints.

Is it possible that I’m in love with him? Is it possible that after this voyage I’ll never see him again?

You have no sense of how much time has passed when he finally looks over at you and says: “I think it’s done.”

You stand and wander across the bedroom, your red robe still open and hanging loosely from you like flayed skin. On the paper you find two faces instead of one, you in a golden haze of ecstasy no one else can see the cause of, Aegon whispering as your fingertips reach back for him.

He has written in black in the bottom right corner of the painting: Petra and Picasso.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon doesn’t want to move it yet. The oil paint needs hours to dry, and he’s worried that if he takes it outside while it’s still wet, the wind screaming down from the Arctic might be cold enough to make the paint freeze and chip away, and the momentary lust-red magic he’s captured will be gone. So with the new painting still clipped to it, you hide Aegon’s folded easel, the leather portfolio, and the wooden box of supplies under your bed, concealed by the white ruffled bed skirt. You both take turns cleaning up in the bathroom—someone always listening for the noise of an unwelcome interloper—and Aegon shimmies back into his clothes while you change into a blue dress, velvet for warmth, pale like ice.

“Where can we go?” you ask Aegon as you put on a coat, heavy white wool. I don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.

He must feel the same way. He pushes Daemon’s writing desk back to its original place, unblocking the door. Then Aegon offers his hand and you take it.

You walk together into the sitting room. Fern looks up from where she’s perched on the sofa and sewing closed a rip in the sleeve of one of Dagmar’s charcoal-colored dresses, her eye wide.

“Thank you, Fern,” you say, calm and drowsy. “That will be all for tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“How can I repay you?” You don’t have your own money, your own land; even the jewels in your collection belong to Daemon. You’d give them all up if they could buy your freedom. You’d let them sink into the dark cold North Atlantic Ocean, emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Randomly, you think of Daemon’s gemstone-studded dagger, the hilt glinting with gold.

Fern replies: “Never send me away to live with people who don’t bring me chocolate croissants.”

You dash to the sofa and hug her; Fern is stunned but accepts your embrace, warily patting your back as if the bones beneath might be porcelain or glass. Then you clasp Aegon’s hand again and vanish with him into the hallway.

Most of the men are still at dinner or have moved to the First-Class Smoking Room, the women are still gossiping and sipping their champagne, and so you and Aegon slip through the heated corridors like sharks in warm currents. He leads you towards the stern, to the section of the ship reserved for his chosen people, then down to F-Deck and the Third-Class Dining Saloon. They are just beginning to move the tables out of the way for dancing. You find a quiet corner of the room and take off your coats, then Aegon disappears for a moment and returns with a tray: two plates full of corned beef, cabbage, carrots, and potatoes, two bowls of plum pudding, two cups of tea, a dark bitter pint of Guinness for you. You can feel your face light up when you see Irish food.

“You’re lucky you weren’t down here for breakfast,” Aegon tells you. “We had fried tripe and onions.”

“Oh, awful,” you say, laughing. You take a bite of corned beef and close your eyes, thinking of Saint Patrick’s Day with your family each year, always a cold wet day in March, green hills and grey mist. When you open your eyes, Aegon is smiling.

“A little taste of Ireland.” Now he is wistful. Across the room, the musicians Aegon sometimes plays with have climbed on top of a table and are performing My Wild Irish Rose as couples whirl around the floor. “I’ll miss it. I love the music and the people. Perhaps one in particular.”

“What are you going to do when you get home?”

“I’m going to tell Aemond he has to teach me how to be a duke,” Aegon says casually as he eats. “I can’t really give it up, unfortunately. The title belongs to the Crown, not my family. It can be taken away any time the king decides he wants to. And he’s a strict one, George V. He’s humorless, he’s harsh. If I refuse my inheritance, I can’t just pass it along to Aemond, not unless the king agrees. But the way I am…my failings, my lack of restraint…it makes my bloodline look like bad stock, doesn’t it? Especially with all that eugenics bullshit floating around. I don’t want my mother and siblings to lose everything because of me. My mother has spent her entire life miserable, I figure she should have something to show for it.”

The Hightower branch of the family are phantoms to you. You know them only from newspaper articles and erratic gossip and sneering remarks muttered by your husband. You take a swig of your Guinness, and for the first time in as long as you can remember you don’t feel like you want to have another. You don’t want to take the jagged edges off this moment, hidden below deck with Aegon for what is almost certainly the last time. You don’t want to forget anything about him. “What’s Aemond like?”

“Superior to me in every way,” Aegon says. “Disciplined. Clever. Very tall.”

“I myself favor short, delinquent artists. Those tall clever dragons are nothing but trouble.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “I’m not a real artist.”

“Sure you are. You’re Picasso.”

He’s watching you with murky blue eyes, dazed and marveling. “What are you going to do when you’re back in Ireland?”

It’s a fantasy, a folktale. I’ll never see Ireland again. “I’m going to help take care of my father. He’s…he’s not well, and he hasn’t been for a long time. His memory is failing. I want to make his last years as painless as possible. I want to spent time with my mother again, I want to go on walks and sit in the garden and read books and paint our ugly little pictures. We used to play this game where we’d each paint an animal and then have the other guess what it is. It once took her twelve tries before she realized my grey blob was supposed to be a basking shark. I saw one washed up on the shore when I was little.”

Aegon is smiling. “I could teach you how to paint.”

“Yes,” you say softly, knowing it will never happen.

“You could teach me what it’s like to have nice parents.”

“They’d adore that. They always wanted more children.” You are distracted, gazing into your Guinness, flecks of foam like constellations in a night sky. “I want to make sure Draco grows up to be a good man. I want him to be kind and gentle.” You look to Aegon, the thought suddenly leaping into your mind like a cat onto a windowsill. “Like you.”

Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like me? No, Petra. You don’t want that. I was a demon.”

“And yet you turned out fine in the end.”

“I turned out weak,” he says, abruptly severe. He drags his fingers through his disheveled hair, staring forlornly at the white wall behind you. “I wanted to help you but I can’t. I followed you from Galway to Cork, to the first-class decks, to your staterooms, and now…now when we dock in New York you’re going to get dragged off to wherever Daemon wants you to be and…and there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

“You’ve helped me,” you insist. “But now you’re too far away.”

Aegon comes over to your side of the table and drapes an arm across the back of your chair, and you lean into him, and together you watch the couples dancing to cheerful Irish music. Below your feet the engines are humming, and outside the waves are crashing against the hull of the ship, and up on B-Deck Daemon is probably crawling like a spider into Rhaenyra’s bed, and Laenor is consorting with his new Parisien companions, and Dagmar is reading some Scandinavian story to Draco before he falls asleep, and husbands are dulling their worries with brandy and cigars, and wives are distracting themselves with gossip about other women’s lives.

You don’t want to leave, not even as the passengers here in the Third-Class Dining Saloon begin to clear out and those left are so drunk they can hardly keep themselves upright, stumbling into tables and chairs and howling uproariously. Aegon doesn’t want to leave either. Now his arms have circled around your waist, and he’s nuzzling at your throat and the curve of your jaw, and you’re trying not to notice the weight of your black opal engagement ring on your left hand so you can forget the life you’ll have to go back to tomorrow.

I want him again, you think hazily. Where can we go? Where on earth can we go?

There is a sudden jolt, a deafening grinding sound, a tremor that shakes through the steel latticework of the ship. The few remaining dancers shout and cling to their partners. Pints of beer are knocked from tables and spill across the floor. Plates clatter and lightweight wooden chairs slide away.

“What the fuck was that?” a drunk man slurs, but then he and his friends begin to laugh about it, pounding on each other’s backs. You turn to Aegon. He’s not laughing. His eyes are large and darting around.

“Aegon, the ship is fine, right?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, but he’s standing and passing you your white wool coat. “Come on. Let’s go up to a higher deck to see what’s happened.”

You picture the lifeboats that you have strolled past so many times, not nearly enough space for all the passengers, only the lucky half, the richest half. “The ship can’t sink, can it? That’s what everyone’s been telling me since we boarded, and I didn’t believe them because of course any ship can sink, but…Aegon…”

“It’s probably just a problem with one of the boilers or a propeller or something,” he says as he pulls on his black coat, stolen just like the way he’s stolen you tonight. But he doesn’t walk to the hallway and up the nearest staircase; he damn near sprints, dragging you along with him.

Outside the night sky is black and full of stars, bitterly cold, no wind. You emerge near the bow of the ship, and third-class passengers are kicking around chunks of ice as if they are playing Gaelic football. Aegon spins around, searching for the source of the ice.

“Ehi, amico! Did you see it?” an Italian man calls to Aegon. Aegon trots over to join him. You look down at the pine planks under your shoes. Is the ship listing towards the starboard side, or is that your imagination?

“No, what happened?” Aegon is asking the Italian. You can hear voices from the other decks, less alarmed than curious, people rattled awake, stewards helping to retrieve items that have rolled away.

“Iceberg, a huge one! We just went right past it! Pieces broke off and fell everywhere. We don’t have nothing like this in Napoli!”

“An iceberg?” Aegon echoes, stunned. He goes to the railing and leans over to squint out into the blackness. “Did we hit it?”

“We bumped it a little, I think,” the Italian says, unconcerned. Then he returns to the game, kicking a block of ice when it glides over to him.

“Look,” you say to Aegon when he returns to you, pointing skyward. Up in the crow��s nest, you can just barely hear the lookouts shouting back and forth. You cannot decipher their words, but they sound agitated. They sound afraid.

“Hit an iceberg,” Aegon murmurs, trying to make sense of it. “But that’s not serious, right? No one’s running for the lifeboats, no one’s talking about leaks or anything—”

“Aegon, does the ship seem like it’s listing to you?”

He peers down at the deck, shifts his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t have to answer. When he looks up at you again, his blue eyes are panic-stricken.

“I have to find the shipbuilder Mr. Andrews,” you say. “He’ll have investigated, he’ll know how bad the damage is.”

“I’m going with you.”

I don’t know where my jailers are: Daemon, Dagmar, Rush, Rhaenyra. “You shouldn’t be in my section of the ship.”

“If something really is wrong, they’ll be the first people to know,” Aegon says. That’s cruel, but it’s true. First-class lives are worth more than his.

You fly up the steps to A-Deck, where on the Promenade Deck men in black suits are chuckling about the ruckus as they puff on pipes and cigars, and women in beaded evening gowns are pressing their soft pampered hands to their chests as they recall the shock of the earthquake-like shudder that rattled Titanic. Stewards are flitting around fetching tea and pillows. No one is talking about lifeboats or sinking, which you take to be a good sign; but you can’t find Thomas Andrews.

When you and Aegon have at last circled back to the bow of the ship, you spot a group of men walking swiftly into the glass box of the bridge. They are speaking in low voices, their hands moving in frenetic gestures. Thomas Andrews is there, you are relieved to see. J. Bruce Ismay and Captain Smith are among those with him.

“Mr. Andrews!” you cry, and he stops and turns. He is carrying an armful of rolled-up engineering drawings.

“Lady Targaryen,” he says numbly, then seems to lurch out of a trance and hurries to you, standing closer than would be considered proper. In his state, he has not noticed Aegon, lurking a few paces behind you and listening intently. “Your family, Daemon and the others…you must wake them.”

“I saw the ice on the deck by the bow, did the ship—?”

“We hit it,” Mr. Andrews tells you, hushed so others will not hear and become hysterical. “An iceberg. Scraped along the side, caused the iron plates to buckle below the waterline. I’ve seen the forward cargo holds and they’re…” He blinks, astonished, as if this is a nightmare he might still wake up from.

This can’t be happening. This ship was supposed to be unsinkable. That’s what everybody told me, that I was insane to fear the journey. “But…but what about the watertight bulkheads?” He had spoken so confidently of them at dinner just a few nights ago.

“I didn’t built them high enough, and seawater is spilling over the tops. The first five compartments are already flooded, too many for Titanic to stay afloat.”

“The ship will sink?” you whisper, terrified. Aegon moves closer, a palm on the small of your back.

“Yes,” Mr. Andrews says.

“When?”

“Perhaps an hour or two.”

“An hour?!”

“Carpathia has answered our distress call, but she’s four hours away.”

You stare at him. “And the ocean…it’s freezing.” Anyone left adrift in it will die.

“Get to a lifeboat, Lady Targaryen,” Mr. Andrews says. “Don’t wait. I’m doing everything I can.” He rejoins the other men and goes with them into the bridge. Behind the glass walls, J. Bruce Ismay begins to yell something at Captain Smith.

“Hey, hey, listen,” Aegon is telling you, but you can’t seem to focus on him. His voice sounds like it is coming from very far away, another coast, another lifetime.

“There aren’t enough lifeboats,” you say, flat with shock.

“I know. I remember what you told Fern when I saw you up on the Boat Deck.”

You race for the steps that lead down to B-Deck where your staterooms are. “I have to find Draco—”

“Wait, wait, listen to me.” Aegon’s hand reaches out and grasps yours, not imprisoning you but imploring you, begging you to hear him. “Half the people on this ship are going to die.”

“Yes,” you agree, the horror of it quivering in your voice. In the frigid night air your words turn to fog like the mist that clings to the Cliffs of Moher, like ghosts captured in the corners of photographs.

“And most of the bodies will never be recovered, and there will be no way of knowing for sure what happened to them, and the crime scene will be at the bottom of the ocean.”

Crime scene? Crime scene??? “Aegon, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? Petra, this is your way out. I’ll help you. We’ll do this together.”

Draco. I have to get Draco into a lifeboat. “Aegon, I don’t understand, do what?”

His eyes are gleaming; the grin that splits across his face reveals teeth like pearls. “We’re going to kill your husband.”

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hellokittyyyysblog · 4 months ago

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𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 3

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

The shock of your supervisor's cruel death had settled into your bones, gnawing at your conscience. The mere thought that you were teetering on the brink of becoming the very person you despised—a bystander in the face of injustice—was almost too much to bear. Edward Davis was more than just a hard worker; he was a mentor who valued your contributions, always expressing gratitude for the extra hours you put in. Despite the extra workload he entrusted to you all the time, he never took your efforts for granted. —You couldn’t shake the thought of his wife, whom he had married less than a year ago discovering that he was gone. A man’s life had been brutally cut short, and you were grappling with the horrifying possibility that you might stand by and do nothing. The guilt was a heavy shroud, suffocating you. Yet, the thought of speaking out, of risking everything for the truth, was equally paralyzing. Would anyone even believe your story? and if they did, was the truth worth dying for? you knew Natasha was going to keep her side of the deal.

Natasha’s cautionary words of the night before echoed in your mind—was this knowledge a blessing or a curse? would it consume you, driving you to unravel more mysteries and risk your safety in the process? You had always prided yourself on valuing reason and pragmatism, but now you stood at a crossroads where the allure of uncovering secrets clashed with the very real threat of danger. You needed to believe that you could navigate this treacherous path without succumbing to paranoia or becoming a casualty of the unknown.

Maybe Natasha was right after all—Were you letting this truth about the supernatural world consume you, clouding your judgment and leading you down a perilous road? More importantly, were you willing to die because of it? You valued your life too much to throw it away, just because the situation seemed impossible to handle and the reality too harsh to bear. The decision loomed heavy as you contemplated the upcoming police inquiry—would you dare to lie to protect yourself!? you knew it was a necessary step for your own survival. You needed to protect yourself from the ramifications of this newfound knowledge, even if it meant veering from the path of truth. You were going to lie.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The early morning light filtered faintly through your half-drawn curtains, casting a soft glow on the room as your phone erupted into insistent ringing. Kate's name flashed on the screen—your best friend—whose calls you had been avoiding since the day before. You knew you should confide in her—as you always had. Your friendship thrived on honesty. But the weight of the recent discoveries held you back. You couldn't risk involving her, not while you navigated this dangerous reality—You would never do that to her.

She had been in Bali for a week now, celebrating her mother getting engaged. The thought of Kate, carefree and enjoying the tropical paradise, was a stark contrast to your current reality. Maybe you should’ve accepted her offer on going to Bali with them, you probably would’ve been enjoying the sun whilst reading a good book and maybe you would’ve also got the tan your skin so obviously needed, out of it—the shear, rose of your skin not complimenting your bright, light hair enough. Or so you thought. That seemed far more thrilling to you, than having to dwell between truth and death.

Kate wasn’t exactly thriving about the vacation, but she knew better than to say no to her mother.

Kate's mother was a striking woman with an air of elegance that masked an underlying fragility. She had a commanding presence, always impeccably dressed, with elegant, manicured hands and a natural grace that drew attention wherever she went. Despite her outward poise, she harbored a protective streak towards Kate that often bordered on overbearing. She had raised Kate single-handedly since her husband's premature death when Kate was just a child, leaving her fiercely devoted but also overwhelmed by the responsibility.

Kate often envied the physical distance you had from your own family, admiring how supportive, trustworthy and loving your mother was, despite you living on the other side of the world. You reassured her countless times that her mother’s love for her was equal, if not greater, but tempered by grief and overprotection.

You would lie if you said you didn’t miss kate—even if it had only been a week. Kate practically lived at your place due to her tumultuous relationship with her mother. Not like you were against it. You loved her pecan pie on Sundays.

You and Kate had been best friends since college, where you had been roommates. Both of you were naïve, young, and foolish, but in the best possible way. You complemented each other perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle that clicked together effortlessly.

Your friendship was a sanctuary of purest loyalty and understanding, untainted by judgment or betrayal, that’s why lying to her was extremely hard for you. However you couldn’t avoid her anymore, you needed to talk to her; so you finally conceived yourself accepting her call.

As you finally answered, Kate's voice erupted from the other end in a mix of worry and frustration. "Why the hell haven't you been picking up uh? You piece of shit!" Her words were sharp, filled with concern beneath the anger.

“Kate,calm down” you replied trying to keep your voice steady.

"I'm sorry…yesterday was…rough— someone... someone was found dead at the law firm….It's probably Davis, my supervisor; I don’t know much but it seems serious” you took a breath before continuing to talk “also my boss is MIA” you finished, choosing your words careful to not reveal too much. For the first time in your friendship, you were keeping something significant from her, not out of deceit but out of necessity.

The line was silent for a moment before Kate responded, her tone softening slightly. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“yeah I’m alright…just uh still in shock..but I’ll let you know when they tell us more; probably this morning”

“Eait you’re going to work after what happened?”

“Yeah, we all have to, but don’t worry kate, I’m okay now” you remarked, sensing the need for a change of topic—“anyway, how are you? how’s Bali?”

“Bali’s..okay…I mean don’t get me wrong, the beaches are gorgeous, but I miss New York”

“Oh Kate, not again! there’s only one week left..enjoy yourself, get a gorgeous tan, drink as much as you want, flirt with the boyzzz” you say enthusiastically.

“I feel like you need this vacation more than me” she says with a sigh.

“Maybe I do” you said—a weak attempt at humor.

"Seriously, you okay? You don’t sound like yourself" Kate pressed, her concern palpable even through the phone.

“yes, kate I’m fine” you hesitated—the words had caught in your throat for a brief moment.

How could you explain the surreal encounter with Natasha, the death of your supervisor, you almost getting killed by your boss, and the existential dread that followed?—Kate had always been your rock, grounding you in reality, but this situation felt too dangerous. The thought of dragging Kate into this nightmare felt selfish, yet the need for her unwavering support was almost overwhelming. "Just…a lot on my mind. Work stuff too" you finally said, the half-truth sitting heavy on your conscience.

Kate's voice softened, the concern not fading but shifting into a familiar tone of support. "You know I'm here for you, right? Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone."

Her words brought a lump to your throat, the sincerity piercing through your defenses. Despite the distance, despite the different realities you were living right now, Kate’s unwavering friendship was a beacon of hope. Maybe you couldn’t tell her everything— no, not yet—but knowing she was there for you was enough for now.

After assuring Kate that you were fine, (which you obviously weren’t) you talked for a few more minutes while you were having breakfast. You probed about her vacation in Bali, sensing her reluctance to share details, knowing the grim circumstances you were facing. Kate didn't want to seem insensitive or like she was boasting about her trip while you were dealing with such a heavy situation. Eventually, you both agreed to end the call—she needed to have breakfast with her mom and her mom's fiancé, and you needed to mentally prepare for the day ahead.

Hanging up, you couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated from here on.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The morning air was crisp as you made your way to the office, a gnawing sense of dread accompanying each step. As you entered the building, the usual hum of activity felt heavier, more subdued. You nodded at a few colleagues but kept your head down, avoiding prolonged interactions. Today, your goal was to blend into the background as much as possible.

As you approached your desk, you noticed a murmur spreading through the office. Small clusters of employees huddled together, their voices low but animated. The news had spread: Edward Davis had been found dead.

The office was alive with hushed conversations, speculations about what had happened, and what it meant for all of you.

As you were about to reach your desk, you found Ava already buried in her work. Her eyes were red-rimmed, a clear sign she hadn't slept well either. You exchanged a brief, weary smile before settling in.

"Hey" Ava said softly, breaking the silence. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm managing" you replied, trying to muster a convincing smile. "I was thinking of going through some of Davis's projects, see if I can pick up where he left off. Maybe it will help keep my mind off…things."

Ava approached with a look of concern etched across her face. "So, you've heard too?" she asked softly.

You met her gaze, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. "Yeah, I've been hearing whispers about it everywhere in here."

Ava nodded understandingly, her expression mirroring your solemnity. "It's unsettling, isn't it?"

You nodded in agreement, struggling to find words that could capture the mix of emotions swirling inside you. "It's just...hard to process.”

Ava nodded, her expression somber. "It's strange, isn't it? One moment he's here, the next... anyway, if you need any help, just let me know."

"Thanks, Ava" you said, appreciating her offer. —You turned your attention to the stack of files on Edward's desk, each one representing hours of his meticulous work.

Just as you were starting to immerse yourself in Edward's notes, the door to the office main door swung open.

You looked up to see the remaining CEO, James Anderson, entering with Emily at his side. Their faces were grave, adding to the already tense atmosphere.

"Attention, everyone" James called out, his voice carrying a note of urgency—"The police are in the building, and they will be questioning all employees. When you're called, please cooperate fully. I figure you’ve all heard the sad news; we need to get to the bottom of this, for Edward's sake and for the safety of everyone here."

Murmurs spread through the office as people exchanged worried glances. Your heart raced, knowing that you would soon have to face the authorities. You glanced at Ava, who gave you a supportive nod.

"Let's try to stay focused" Ava whispered, attempting to bring some normalcy back to the moment. "We'll get through this."

You took a deep breath and returned to the files in front of you. The work provided a small distraction, but your mind kept wandering back to the inevitable police interview—you needed to be prepared, not just to answer their questions, but to protect the secrets you had uncovered.

As you tried to concentrate, the words on the page blurred; the office felt stifling, the air heavy with unspoken fears. Edward's absence was palpable, a void that couldn't be filled with work or routine. And now, with the police involved, the stakes were higher than ever.

After what seemed like an eternity, though, in reality, only about twenty minutes had passed, Emily approached your desk carefully, her expression a mix of concern and weariness. She touched your shoulder, leaning in slightly. "You're up next" she said softly. "The police are ready to question you."

You felt a jolt of anxiety but nodded, trying to keep your composure. "Okay" you replied—your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Before you could move, Emily continued, her voice a touch more personal. "I also told the police that you were looking for Davis and that he had been looking for you. They suspect that Bowman had something to do with it, since he's MIA and was the last one to see Edward."

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Emily seemed heartbroken and incredulous, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can't believe this is happening" she continued, shaking her head. "Edward was a good man, and now... this.”— She paused taking a deep breath. “But don't worry, you have nothing to fear. Just tell them what you know."

You reached out, squeezing her hand in silent support. "We'll get through this" you said, echoing Ava's earlier words of encouragement. But inside, the turmoil churned more heavily.

With a final glance at Ava, you stood up and made your way to the conference room, where the police were waiting. Each step felt like walking on a tightrope, with the abyss of uncertainty yawning below. This was it—the moment where everything could change.

You could lose everything; you couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.

Emily's small smile as she gestured toward the conference room door was both reassuring and laden with unspoken concern. Her eyes, usually bright and determined, now held a glint of worry, reflecting the gravity of the situation you were all living in. You nodded in acknowledgement, grateful for her silent encouragement, and took a deep breath to steady yourself before stepping into the room.

You entered the conference room, feeling the weight of the investigation settle heavily on your shoulders. The atmosphere was charged with tension, each moment stretching taut as you braced yourself for the probing questions ahead. Thankfully, you had spent the night rehearsing what to say, each word carefully chosen and mentally cataloged. The hours of restless tossing and turning in your bed had given you ample time to prepare, ensuring that your story was airtight. Or at least you hoped it would be.

Two detectives were seated at the table, their serious expressions making your stomach churn. One of them, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a stern face, nodded at you. "Good morning, Miss (y/n y/ln), please have a seat" he said. "I'm Detective Mitchell, and this is Detective Harris." He gestured to his partner, a younger woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor.

"Good morning" you replied, taking a seat and clasping your hands in your lap to hide their slight tremor.

"We understand this is a difficult time" Detective Mitchell began, his tone somewhat gentle. "But we need to ask you some questions about Edward Davis and your interactions with him before his death."

You nodded, doing your best to appear composed. "Of course" you said, keeping your voice steady— "I'll help in any way I can."

"Emily mentioned that you had been looking for Davis the night he was found dead" Detective Harris said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you explain why?"

"Yes" you said, taking a deep breath. "Edward is…was my supervisor, and I needed him to review the work on a case I had finished. I went looking for him, but Emily had told me that he was in a late meeting with Bowman. I went to his office and knocked, but no one answered I made sure no one was there. However, I knew better than to disturb the CEO during a meeting—so I left."

The detectives exchanged a glance before continuing their line of questioning. You answered as truthfully as you could, omitting the supernatural elements and focusing on the mundane aspects of your interactions. The weight of your concealed knowledge pressed heavily on your conscience, but you couldn't afford to let it slip.

"Did Edward ever mention any concerns or threats?" Detective Mitchell asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Not directly" you said, frowning in concentration. "But he did seem more on edge recently. I just thought it was the pressure from the projects we were handling."

They nodded, noting your responses. Detective Harris flipped through her notes before asking—"Were you aware of any conflicts between Edward Davis and Mr Bowman?"

You shook your head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. They had disagreements, sure, but nothing that seemed serious."

After what felt like an eternity, the questioning finally concluded. The officers thanked you for your cooperation and told you that you were free to go. You stood up, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

Returning to your desk, you found it difficult to concentrate on the work in front of you. The office buzzed with nervous energy, the tension palpable. You knew that the day's events were far from over, and the real challenge lay in maintaining the facade you had carefully constructed.

Ava gave you a reassuring smile as you passed her desk, but the worry in her eyes mirrored your own. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever came next.

What if the security cameras had captured your hurried departure from Bowman's office, or worse, your flustered demeanor? Would the detectives interpret it as suspicious behavior? —You couldn't shake the feeling that every move you made was under scrutiny, every word you spoke weighed against yourself.

The day unfolded beneath the weight of palpable tension that seemed to seep into every corner of the office. Thoughts of Davis, his sudden absence and the unsettling whispers that flitted around occupied your mind, making it impossible to focus on your task. It was a stark reminder of how swiftly people's perceptions could shift; just days ago, your colleagues might have grumbled about Davis behind closed doors, yet now they were engaged in feigned sympathy and outreach to his grieving family—It struck a chord within you, this human inclination to reassess and sometimes sanctify individuals once they're no longer present.

Amidst the murmurs a middle-aged woman, who you remembered her name to be Lilian and two other women who you did not recognize, walked from desk to desk, discussing plans for a gathering to commemorate Davis's life on Monday. Their sudden shift in demeanor, from casual office gossip to earnest condolences, wasn't lost on you. It was a performance of respect that contrasted sharply with their previous feelings and opinion.

Oh the irony of it all, you thought as you sought quickly “refuge” in Ava's office. "Are we still on for those cocktails?" you blurted out almost desperately as Ava greeted you with a knowing look. Without hesitation, she nodded, understanding the urgency in your request. You quickly made plans and escaped the suffocating atmosphere of the office.

Walking through the busy streets of New York, the chill air nipped at your skin despite the layers you wore—you could almost hear your mother's voice admonishing you for not wearing a scarf and hat, which you despised for they seemed to always irritate your skin. The click of your high heels on the pavement echoed in the bustling cityscape, a reminder of the relentless pace of urban life, as you and Ava walked side by side.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Stepping into the cocktail bar felt like entering a different world. Soft lighting enveloped the room, casting a cozy glow over the polished wooden bar, the scent of cigar lingered in the air— the aroma mingled with the soft jazz playing in the background, creating an ambiance that made you feel at peace for an instant. If that was even possible. Peace.

The clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations created a soothing backdrop as you both settled into a corner booth. You found yourself drawn to observing the people around you, each clad in their work attire. You wondered what was hidden beneath their professional exteriors, surely it couldn’t have been as worse as the secrets you were hiding—still you couldn't help but speculate about their lives. What were their aspirations, fears, and burdens? —That’s what kept your mind occupied as Ava recounted the intricate beginnings of her relationship with Louis.

She spoke with a mixture of sarcasm and affection, making you laugh as she mimicked his deep voice and exaggerated mannerisms. “So then he says, ‘Ava, you're like no one I've ever met’ "and I'm thinking, 'Oh great, here comes the line that'll get him slapped.' But instead, I laugh and then I kiss him, and there we are, two idiots laug..” Ava paused mid-sentence, noticing your distant expression.

“Hellooo!? earth to (y/n)" she called out, waving a hand in front of your face. "You still with me?"

You snapped back, managing a weak smile. "Yeah, sorry, just a lot on my mind today" —Ava gave you a knowing look and flagged down the bartender. "Two of your strongest, please.”

As the drinks arrived, Ava slid one over to you. "Here, this'll do the trick. She said grinning at you. Ava raised her glass "To us handling this shit together." "To us" you echoed, clinking your glass against hers.

"So," Ava began, taking a sip, "what's eating you so bad?"

You sighed, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. "It's just... everything that happened today. The whole office buzzing about Davis, people suddenly acting like they cared."

Ava rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Half of them probably couldn't stand him when he was alive. Now they're all 'Poor Davis this' and 'Poor Davis that.' Hypocrites."

"Right?" you said, feeling a bit lighter. "It's like they forgot everything they said about him just a few days ago."

"They always do" Ava replied with a smirk. "But you know what? Screw them. Tonight is about us. No work talk, no office drama.Just you, me, and these kickass cocktails." —You couldn't help but laugh at Ava's attempt to lighten the mood as she quickly swallowed her drink. Taking a deep breath, you decided to follow her lead, setting aside the weight of the day for the moment. Ava leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Now, tell me. Have you seen that bartender? Total eye candy. And he seems interested, given that he hasn't taken his eyes off us for a second, if I might add."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Only you would come to a bar to pick up the bartender"

"Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do" Ava replied, winking. "And...you know that I’m very into Louis right now, however, I think you two could churn out awesome babies”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. "Please, like I need that kind of drama in my life"

Ava grinned. "Come on, you know I'm right. You two would have the cutest kids. Besides, it’s not like you’re seeing anyone else..."

You sighed, taking a sip of your cocktail. "Yeah, well, it’s not exactly at the top of my to-do list, Ava”

Ava raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across her face. "Or is there someone else on your mind?"

"No, there's no one" you replied quickly, too quickly. The image of a certain redhead had flashed through your mind. You brushed it off, convincing yourself that you were just inebriated by her charm—You vaguely remembered reading something about vampires being able to enchant people. Probably just a myth, but it was a convenient enough excuse to ease your mind.

"Uh-huh" Ava said, clearly not buying it. "I know that look”

You smirked, shaking your head. "There's really no one." Ava leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Sure, sure. But if there was someone, you'd tell me, right?"

“Of course" you lied smoothly, taking another sip to avoid her piercing gaze.

She laughed, nudging you with her elbow. "Alright, I'll let it slide for now. But I expect details the minute you find someone interesting. Deal?"

"Deal" you agreed, feeling the tension in your shoulders loosen slightly. —Ava's playful banter was exactly what you needed to distract yourself, just only for a moment.

"Good. Now, back to Louis" Ava continued excitedly.

Watching Ava talking about Louis, you couldn't help but notice the way her eyes twinkled with genuine excitement and affection. It was clear that she was really into him, perhaps more than she even realized. You started wondering if you were ever going to feel that way about someone, if you were destined for that kind of connection—Would you ever find someone who made your heart race just by walking into the room? Someone whose mere presence could light up your world the way Louis did for Ava?—Or were you doomed to be an observer, always on the outside looking in, marveling at the happiness of others while your own heart remained untouched?

A part of you couldn't help but hope that one day, you'd experience that kind of love too— A love that doesn’t need to be asked or prayed for, a love that makes you feel whole without demanding pieces of yourself.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As you stumbled through your flat's gate, each uneven step echoing in the quiet corridor, the faint optimism from your evening with Ava helped alleviate the weight on your shoulders—though it might have been the lingering effects of the alcohol.

With each precarious ascent up the stairs, your feet begged for respite—the unforgiving heels a torment that briefly sharpened your focus as you aimed the keys at the lock.

Finally inside, you shut the door behind you with a sense of relief—the world outside momentarily silenced as you kicked off your heels—the cool floor a welcome contrast to the ache in your feet.

"Enjoyed yourself?" a warm, mellifluous voice broke through the silence of your apartment. —Had you imagined it? —You had enough alcohol in your veins to rival your blood supply. But this voice, you knew well enough this voice, for your mind had replayed it endlessly for the past two days for it to stick in your mind permanently.

Turning carefully around, your eyes caught a figure perched on your couch, bathed in the gentle moonlight filtering through the partly-open window. Recognition washed over you, followed by a wave of relief.

"Natasha?" you asked, your voice tinged with surprise and a hint of annoyance as you reached for the light switch, flooding the room with a warm glow.

"That would be me, yes" she replied, her lips curling into a mischievous grin.

"What are you doing here?" you demanded, unimpressed by her ability to break into your apartment for the second time. The how of it no longer seemed relevant; you knew she wouldn't explain anyway.

"Looking for you, obviously. But you were taking too long, so I thought I’d entertain myself with a book. Hope you don't mind" she said, casually indicating the open book on her lap.

"I—uh..." you began, but she interrupted before you could form a coherent thought.

"By the way, I found your little notes on the book very amusing" she remarked, her smirk widening.

"Amusing?" you echoed, confusion coloring your tone.

"Yes, amusing" she confirmed. "However,as much as compelling that would be, I’m not here to discuss your insightful marginalia."

"Then why are you here?" you responded, maybe too quickly for the vampire’s liking— your curiosity tinged with apprehension.

"Is my presence here disturbing you in any way?" she asked, setting the book aside and rising gracefully from the couch.

"No, no..." you blurted out almost too quickly. "I'm just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, they say" she murmured, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, her eyes glinting with amusement.

You flinched at her response, your mind racing. Was she here to kill you? Is that what she had meant? Had her intentions changed?

"Are you saying you’re here to..." you gulped, your voice barely a whisper, "kill me?"

"Darling, relax. I can feel how stiff you are. I'm not here to kill you" she assured—her tone soothing your paranoid thoughts.

"Thanks" you mumbled, her smile rendering you momentarily speechless. It was embarrassing how easily she affected you.

"So...you still haven’t replied to my question" she prompted, her patience seemingly endless.

"Yeah, your question, right..." you stammered, trying to recall what she'd asked. The alcohol hadn’t entirely worn off, and her unexpected presence scrambled your thoughts further. — What had she asked again? Her mere presence seemed to erase your memory, leaving you in a daze.

She smiled softly, clearly amused by your struggle to remember.

"How much have you had?" she inquired—her voice pulling you back to reality.

"Uh, what?" you asked, still disoriented.

"Alcohol. I could smell it on you since you opened the door" she said— her smirk softening into a more genuine smile.

"Uh, just enough to forget about everything" you admitted, your words tumbling out in a ramble.

Natasha's expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing her features. "So you have come to reason; you wish to forget."

"No, that's not what I meant... I, uh, I kept thinking about Davis, and then…and then the detectives questioning us all, my colleagues... It was just overwhelming, I felt like I needed a night out with a friend" you confessed, your voice tinged with the day's accumulated stress and worry.

"Detectives, you say?" Her concern deepened, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yeah, they questioned us all this morning" you explained—the memory of the interrogation fresh in your mind.

As you spoke, your movements were restless, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your blouse, your eyes darting around the room. — Natasha's gaze followed your every move, her eyes darkening with a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place—Despite the day's events, or perhaps because of them, her presence had a grounding effect on you.

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly, her gaze steady on yours, as she leaned closer. “What did you tell them?”

“The thruth”

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

Note:

hello:)

I've been tinkering with this chapter for weeks now, trying to get it just right. In the meantime, I've already started working on the next one. But, I have to be honest—I'm not sure when I'll get around to posting it because I've got exams coming up soon.

I'll do my best to get the next chapter out to you as soon as possible!

158 notes · View notes

chosok-amo · 5 months ago

Text

CURSEBOUND HEART : RYOMEN SUKUNA

In the chaotic world of Jujutsu Kaisen, where sorcerers and curses clash, an unexpected revelation shakes the very foundation of Tokyo Jujutsu High. Satoru Gojo's enigmatic younger sister, Satomi Gojo, harbors a dark secret: she is the reincarnated wife of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. When she encounters Sukuna, now residing in the body of Yuji Itadori, memories of a past life surge to the surface, intertwining their fates once more. As old bonds resurface and ancient curses threaten to tear their world apart, Satomi Gojo must navigate a perilous path, balancing her duty as a sorcerer with the haunting echoes of a cursed love. Can she overcome the shadows of her past, or will Sukuna's dark influence consume them all?

CONTENT WARNING!

this fanfiction contains graphic violence, emotional trauma, dark themes, psychological manipulation, strong language, and complex romantic dynamics. Reader discretion is advised.

Including these warnings will help readers understand the nature of the story and decide if it's right for them.

Violence and Gore : The story contains scenes of intense violence and graphic descriptions of battles and injuries.

Emotional Trauma : Characters experience significant emotional distress, including grief, betrayal, and internal conflict.

Dark Themes : The plot involves dark and mature themes, including curses, death, and manipulation.

Psychological Manipulation : Sukuna's influence involves psychological manipulation and mind games.

Mature Language : Strong language and mature dialogue are present throughout the story.

Romantic Tension : The story explores complex and potentially uncomfortable romantic dynamics due to Sukuna's reincarnation.

Flashbacks : Frequent use of flashbacks to a darker past, which may include distressing memories.

CHAPTER TITLES :

0. INTRODUCTION

1. THE HIDDEN CURSE

Introduction of Satomi and the first encounter with Sukuna in Yuji’s body.

2. ECHOES OF THE PAST

Flashbacks to Sukuna’s previous life and his relationship with Satomi, interwoven with present-day events.

3. UNVEILED SECRET

Satomi reveals her past to Satoru and the rest of the team, creating new dynamics and tension.

4. FATEFUL REUNION

Satomi and Sukuna/Yuji confront each other again, leading to a deeper exploration of their connection.

5. WHISPER OF DARKNESS

Sukuna manipulates events to draw out his wife’s cursed energy, revealing more about his sinister plans.

6. BOUND TO FATE

The team faces a powerful curse connected to Sukuna’s past, forcing Satomi to confront her own fears and memories.

7. THE KING'S RETURN

Sukuna’s influence over Yuji grows stronger, leading to a dramatic confrontation with Satomi.

8. SHADOW OF THE HEARTS

Emotional turmoil ensues as Satomi struggles with her feelings for Sukuna and her duty as a sorcerer.

9. THE BROKEN SEAL

A major event causes Sukuna to regain more of his power, putting everyone at risk and testing the bonds between the characters.

10. LEGACY OF CURSES

Satomi makes a critical decision about her role in the battle against Sukuna, setting the stage for the climax.

11. THREADS OF DESTINY

The final confrontation between Sukuna, Yuji, Satomi, and the Jujutsu sorcerers, culminating in a decisive battle.

12. ETERNAL SHADOWS

The aftermath of the battle, exploring the consequences for Satomi, Yuji, and the others, and hinting at future challenges.

This structure provides a solid framework for the story, blending action, emotional depth, and the rich lore of the Jujutsu Kaisen universe.

TAGGING : @bahng @ryumurin @utarts @axeofwars @sparklyhologramstarfish @shuujin @qashmer @dookiemeshibear @cockonoi @tired-writter-club @junslxt @bubacakes @ejwrblog @glads-stuff @ourpastsilences-blog @crayolalili @caulfield-ley @levislui @fenix-why @wifeofnanamikento @diabetic-ace @miniaturechildmusic @diorlov3er @blueeyesboba @kaitrash @manyaya88 @genshinfinatic @rivq @btsblogsthings @mrsgaunt-sallow @space-doie @moonvyx @yeeter-skeeter-b @reiyastrauss @lunarracoon22 @toobytub @molliejames

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veryverynotgoodwrites · 2 months ago

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Writing Update (Sorta)

So the thing about writing is that, um, I'm not. I can't. I haven't been able to in a while.

Trigger warning: death, DV

My aunt was murdered. By her ex-husband. She was like a second mother to me growing up. Complete and utter devastation does not even begin to describe what my family is going through. Death is one thing, but to have someone taken from you like that? And to then have to watch it on the news and not even be told she was shot in the face until we got to the funeral and saw her? That's a whole different level of fucked up.

I have never in my entire life been in such a dark, scary place mentally and physically. I can't sleep. I barely eat anymore. I average a panic attack a day. I can't do anything but crochet because I can't sit still and try to get through every day at this point. The rest of my family is the same. We are drowning in anger and sorrow and confusion, and it's exhausting.

So I'm not writing.

All the words that come out of me are very dark and very angry and are just not the person I used to be. So I'm on a break. I have been for a while now. But maybe saying it out loud will help somehow.

I'll be back. Just not until I get help.

Thank you for still reading my stories.

Please be safe.

#veryverynotgoodwrites #perilous harbor #darkest winter

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wakacreations · 3 days ago

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Infernal Hugs:

What if Tav were to hug their love (Zevlor, Rolan, Raphael, Haarlep) after the immediate end of the Netherbrain battle? I thought it would be fun write up to do and to make sure I write them distinct enough from each other.

Zevlor:

We fell together. The heavens couldn't have written a more poetic fate. Maybe it’s by some strange form of repentance from Ilmater or a great act by Sune to have found ourselves here. Your hand reached to me as we plumped from the Netherbrain. How many times will you reach out to me? To save me from my perils? I grasped for your hand, my one devotion. “We will be safe.” You reassured me through the bellowing air. “You will be safe," I yelled back but my words never made it to your ears. “What," you called out to me. I pulled you towards I shielding you from the harsh slam from breaching the surface of the murky waters below. With a great thud we entered the frigid smelly harbor.

You choked on water as I rushed to drag us up to reach the skies above. We gasped when we took our first smoky breath of air. “Look out,” you coughed, pulling us down into the water as debris rained down from above. You motioned for I to follow you to make way to the dock. Are we still actually alive or is this some type of purgatory? Holding you up you clamored atop the dock, more so what was left of one. You held out your arm and I graciously took it as I dragged myself on the dry refuge. We laid there basking in the warmth of the sun. “You know I fully expected not to survive that fall,” you breathed. “I wouldn't have allowed us to perish so easily,” I rasped, shielding my eyes against the rays of the sunset. “Did you have a plan for such a scenario, Commander?” You coughed. “But of course who wouldn't?” You went silent except for your shaky breathing. “Tav?” I called out to you. “Yes?” You rolled to lay atop my breast. “Let's have a drink after this…” I sighed. If anything, not to dwell on their unsaid confession. “What changed? You're not one down a bottle, Hellrider?” I wrapped an arm around you. By the gods they were the death of me. “You. You my dear.” They gave a swat at my chest. “You make it seem like I'm more trouble than I'm worth,” you huffed. I squeeze you close. “If anything that title seems meant for I.” You looked into my eyes. “Then we are meant to be, aren't we" you grinned. "Two people that are more troubled than anyone could comprehend... So we are the only ones who can tolerate one another.. So, a perfect match!” I moved a wet tendril behind your ear. “Maybe you are right.” Maybe I just lost my sense of reason. You listened to the beating of my weary heart. I idly stroked your hair as I waited for my strength to return. You yawned as we watched the sun dip below the horizon. If the gods are listening, give me the strength to fight alongside them even for just one more day. Sleep came to them when they snored in my arms. Would it be alright for I to rest like this? I felt my own lids grow heavy. Let me keep this one oath to my radiant light, to the one I call home.

Rolan:

I didn't think you would ever return. I ran towards you as you leaned prone against the doorframe. I held you close not believing this was true. “You should have waited to be seen by a cleric or have drunk a tavern's worth of healing potions.” Your lips have turned a soft blue hue, the warmth drained from your complexion. “Why do you have no sense of self preservation!” I picked you up, your trembling arms wrapped around my neck. “I'm alright,” you whispered into my skin. “There is no point in lying,” placing you down atop the shop's counter. Not to save my heart when death is calling for you. “Don't let me go,” you whined as you weakly held onto me. “Take the potion at the very least,” levitating a bottle, nudging the glass against their hand. You drank it appreciatively over my shoulder. I won't let you go, Tav. Not when you have come back to me. Some strength returned to you as your hold grew tighter. “Don't fall asleep just yet, the others are looking for you," I whispered. You shivered against my chest. There are too many unknown injuries you might have sustained. If only that was a possibility you hadn't. I pulled my head back to watch some color return to your bruised face. “I'm so tired Rolan,” you mumbled sleepily nuzzling into the crook of my neck. “I know. I am too but promise me that you will stay awake for me, love.” I gently stroked your sweat-dampened hair. I won't let this be the very last moment for us. For I to hold you within my arms. For you to cling to I with such fear when this reunion should be met with tears of sweet happiness. This won't be the end, Tav. I placed a kiss upon your clown. With you in my arms.

Raphael:

It was a spur of moment impulse that the little mouse fell into my arms. I was in the middle of giving my grand wide armed bow to congratulate them on their well earned victory. “My was it such a spectacle to behold for all the realms to bear to witness,” I greeted them. I must applaud my own writing and to my main lead for their beautiful performance. Yet, you went off script in the bitter end. I should have expected no less from you. All joyous and smiling you were that you interrupted me, eager to rush into my awaiting arms. Hmm.. What manner of place is this for you to leave an unexpected surprise for me in such a gesture. For the first words you spoke to me after the finale was for your desire to go home. “By all means, little mouse.” Such an eager pipsqueak you were If only you cleaned yourself up first. You were still covered in the sinew of battle which fit the image I have conjured of you for this heroic end… but the stench of those illithids clung onto your skin. Somehow you always found a way to irritate my senses. Your body pressed against my own ruining my pristine doublet. But for now, what good is there to spoil the mood of our upcoming festivities. My arms came down to enclose you. “There is much to celebrate,” I purred into your ear. You shivered at my words. There is much time for you to rest but come morning the crown will be in my palms and for you to reprise your role. We watched on as the last reminisce of the Netherbrain sank into the Chionthar. There is no better than the great savior of Baldur’s Gate to lead once more. The day of reckoning shall come. It is with a great honor that I thank you. “This would not have been a great act without you, little mouse,“ snapping my fingers, the lick of Hellfire consumed us both. Let's partake and enjoy our supper as the rest of the realms will come to know my name. Raphael.

Harleep:

Well well my little thief comes bearing gifts. You crawled towards me covered in whatever grim from that filthy plane. That little brat won't be pleased you have ruined his silken sheets for this special occasion. Well that is something he'll have to come to ignore. To say that I am surprised to see you again would be an understatement. “I made it back. I won,” you spoke as if your fears had all but vanished. To have held faith you would return here to me, you are nothing but a loyal pup. “Then come here and claim your prize,” I beckoned to you. So easily you let down your guard, Tav. You eagerly climbed onto my lap, embracing me. “You were free now little mouse yet you purposely returned back to the Hells.” I trailed my claws grazing down your back. My little adorable mousey, you are not the brightest in mind. You yelped when my claws pressed on a sensitive area. “They did a number on you didn't they,” feeling the openings of bare flesh where once plated armor clung to. You were always so delectable but now I crave for something more. “Yes they did,” you sighed enjoying my soothing heat. That’s it, just relax my dear. “I missed you, Haarlep” you hummed. From the lingering sweetness I tasted in the air your words were true. How foolish of you but did I ever expect nothing more. “Let's stay like this for a little while longer,” wrapping my arms around you. You always enjoyed the soft gentle acts of lovers. I have grown fond in your ways. “I missed you too,” my head fell to rest on your shoulder. I will play into this fantasy of yours. I do enjoy a game of make believe. The gentle thumping in that chest of yours is all I could hear. I closed my eyes, savoring in the waves of your heart’s pleasure. More sweeter than any infernal wine or the pleasures I bestow onto you when you come to rest. Maybe just for a millennia he will grow tired of you and toss you away like so many others. Wouldn’t that be such a joyous fantasy? Your worn hands caressed my tense muscles. You shouldn’t have come back here, little thief. “It’s alright, I am here.” You soothed me with that tender voice of yours. I will indulge in you and for everything that you give but not here, anywhere but here. “No more tears, Haarlep,” you rubbed circles into my back. There is no such thing, mousey. My wings folded around us. He won’t let you escape here. “Please never leave,” I trembled against your small battered body. I am a selfish creature. You have saved everyone in Faerun, Tav. “Stay here with me, mouse. Pretty please?” For he has yet to return. Could you please save me too?

#bg3 #bg3 zevlor #zevlor #zevlor nation #bg3 rolan #rolan #holy rolan empire #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 haarlep #haarlep #haarlep the incubus

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yuelun · 2 years ago

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Quick mobile post, so don’t mind the lack of formatting— life decided to pull me away for a few days after setting this blog up, but I’m changing that tomorrow. There’ll be some activity here, proper tag drops, a first rough draft of a specific headcanon (Cuijue Slope) and its atmosphere and/or some IC activity. It’s time to start giving this girl the attention she deserves. So bear with!

#especially with having finally gotten to and through perilous trail act ii? ouch.#just major ouch all around.#but also— that entire quest gives one such pause in terms of liyue. it’s been 8+ hours and my brain is still racing.#i love this game a perfectly normal amount. honestly.#any way it is almost… 7am. time to head to bed now. >.>#[ ooc. ] wherever her spirit may be among the countless grains of sand and specks of dust between the harbor and the mountains…

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book--brackets · 3 months ago

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Temeraire by Naomi Novik (2006-2016)

DESCRIPTION

Aerial combat brings a thrilling new dimension to the Napoleonic Wars as valiant warriors ride mighty fighting dragons, bred for size or speed. When HMS Reliant captures a French frigate and seizes the precious cargo, an unhatched dragon egg, fate sweeps Captain Will Laurence from his seafaring life into an uncertain future – and an unexpected kinship with a most extraordinary creature. Thrust into the rarified world of the Aerial Corps as master of the dragon Temeraire, he will face a crash course in the daring tactics of airborne battle. For as France’s own dragon-borne forces rally to breach British soil in Bonaparte’s boldest gambit, Laurence and Temeraire must soar into their own baptism of fire.

Capt. Will Laurence is serving with honor in the British Navy when his ship captures a French frigate harboring most a unusual cargo–an incalculably valuable dragon egg. When the egg hatches, Laurence unexpectedly becomes the master of the young dragon Temeraire and finds himself on an extraordinary journey that will shatter his orderly, respectable life and alter the course of his nation’s history.

Thrust into England’s Aerial Corps, Laurence and Temeraire undergo rigorous training while staving off French forces intent on breaching British soil. But the pair has more than France to contend with when China learns that an imperial dragon intended for Napoleon–Temeraire himself– has fallen into British hands. The emperor summons the new pilot and his dragon to the Far East, a long voyage fraught with peril and intrigue. From England’s shores to China’s palaces, from the Silk Road’s outer limits to the embattled borders of Prussia and Poland, Laurence and Temeraire must defend their partnership and their country from powerful adversaries around the globe. But can they succeed against the massed forces of Bonaparte’s implacable army?

Wayside School by Louis Sachar (1978-2020)

There was a terrible mistake. Wayside School was supposed to have been built with thirty classrooms all next to each other in a row. Instead, it was built with the thirty classrooms all on top of each other - thirty stories high! That may be why all kinds of strange stuff happens at Wayside School. Especially, on the thirteenth floor. It is a school full of unusual characters too. Mrs Gorf the meanest teacher in the world. Terrible Todd who always gets sent home early. John who can only read upside down.

Modern Faerie Tales by Holly Black (2002-2007)

Sixteen-year-old Kaye is a modern nomad. Fierce and independent, she drifts from place to place with her mother's rock band until an ominous attack forces them back to Kaye's childhood home. But Kaye's life takes another turn when she stumbles upon an injured faerie knight in the woods. Kaye has always been able to see faeries where others could not, and she chooses to save the strange young man instead of leaving him to die.

But this fateful choice will have more dire consequences than she could ever predict, as Kaye soon finds herself the unwilling pawn in an ancient and violent power struggle between two rival faerie kingdoms--a struggle that could very well mean her death.

The Riftwar Saga by Raymond E. Feist (1982-1986)

My name is Pug. I was once an orphaned kitchen boy, with no family and no prospects, but I am destined to become a master magician...

War is coming to the Kingdom of the Isles from another world, bringing with it chaos and destruction. Pug yearns to train as a warrior and fight for his kingdom alongside his foster-brother, Tomas, but instead he is forced to follow a different path: a path that will lead him right into the heart of the enemy. And one that will change the course of the war - and two worlds - forever.

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld (2009-2011)

It is the cusp of World War I, and all the European powers are arming up. The Austro-Hungarians and Germans have their Clankers, steam-driven iron machines loaded with guns and ammunition. The British Darwinists employ fabricated animals as their weaponry. Their Leviathan is a whale airship, and the most masterful beast in the British fleet.

Aleksandar Ferdinand, prince of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, is on the run. His own people have turned on him. His title is worthless. All he has is a battle-torn Stormwalker and a loyal crew of men.

Deryn Sharp is a commoner, a girl disguised as a boy in the British Air Service. She's a brilliant airman. But her secret is in constant danger of being discovered.

With the Great War brewing, Alek's and Deryn's paths cross in the most unexpected way...taking them both aboard the Leviathan on a fantastical, around-the-world adventure. One that will change both their lives forever.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede (1985-1993)

Cimorene is everything a princess is not supposed to be: headstrong, tomboyish, smart - and bored. So bored that she runs away to live with a dragon - and finds the family and excitement she's been looking for.

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas (2020-present)

Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can’t get rid of him.

In an attempt to prove himself a true brujo and gain his family’s acceptance, Yadriel decides to summon his cousin’s ghost and help him cross to the afterlife.

But things get complicated when he accidentally summons the ghost of his high school’s resident bad boy, Julian Diaz – and Julian won't go into death quietly.

The two boys must work together if Yadriel is to move forward with his plan.

But the more time Yadriel and Julian spend together, the harder it is to let each other go.

The Spiderwick Chronicles by Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi (2003-2004)

After finding a mysterious, handmade field guide in the attic of the ramshackle old mansion they've just moved into, Jared; his twin brother, Simon; and their older sister, Mallory, discover that there's a magical and maybe dangerous world existing parallel to our own--the world of faerie.

The Grace children want to share their story, but the faeries will do everything possible to stop them...

Seraphina by Rachel Hartman (2012-2015)

Four decades of peace have done little to ease the mistrust between humans and dragons in the kingdom of Goredd. Folding themselves into human shape, dragons attend court as ambassadors, and lend their rational, mathematical minds to universities as scholars and teachers. As the treaty's anniversary draws near, however, tensions are high.

Seraphina Dombegh has reason to fear both sides. An unusually gifted musician, she joins the court just as a member of the royal family is murdered in suspiciously draconian fashion. Seraphina is drawn into the investigation, partnering with the dangerously perceptive Prince Lucian Kiggs, the captain of the Queen's Guard. While they begin to uncover a sinister plot to destroy the peace, Seraphina struggles to protect the secret behind her musical gift--a secret so terrible that its discovery could mean her very life.

The Queen's Thief by Megan Whalen Turner (1996-2022)

Gen can steal anything—at least that's the boast he's made in wineshops across the capital city, and this bragging has landed him in the king's prison. His chances of escape look slim—even for someone of his talents. When he is invited to join a quest to steal an object straight out of a legend, he's hardly in a position to refuse.

#best fantasy book #poll #temeraire #wayside school #modern faerie tales #the riftwar saga #leviathan #the enchanted forest chronicles #cemetery boys #the spiderwick chronicles #seraphina #the queen's thief

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