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carnalpleasure · 4 years ago

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Michael x Angel!Reader 👼

hi!! i’ve had this idea in my head for months and finally felt inspired to start it tonight. i’m still working on my other two fics.. but Michael’s been calling to me lately💕

Summary: The reader assigns herself to be Michael’s guardian angel. This takes place at the beginning of Sojourn, with Michael in the wilderness. But takes a slightly different turn <3

Every human being in the history of humanity had been born with a guardian angel. The precious moment a newborn baby breathes its first breath of life, an angel is assigned to be their lifelong guardian. The angel’s main mission being to protect their human ward from the dark forces that had plagued the earth for all eternity. Ever since the serpent seduced Eve into her first bite of the knowledge of Good and Evil.

But that streak was broken one day in late March of 2012, when Vivian Harmon gave birth to Satan’s only begotten son.

She was the Anti-Mary. Instead of a blessed virgin being touched by an angel, she was a victim of a demonic sexual assault. She died giving birth to the Antichrist.

Michael Langdon was Satan’s very first creation. Because he was not a child of God, he was not born with a guardian angel. His father didn’t bother to assign him a guardian demon either. The spawn of Satan was left in the hands of none other than his grandmother Constance, whom his father felt was perfect for raising the little monster.

When Michael outgrew her, his father introduced him to Anton Lavey, one of his most trusted followers, who would then introduce Michael as the heir to the Church of Satan.

Michael, however, didn’t really take to Anton. He felt much closer to another key member of the church, Miriam Mead. She took a liking to the boy too and lovingly welcomed him into her home, where she taught him all about rituals, prayers, Black Mass, satanic prophecy.. She was preparing him for the apocalypse. His destiny, as they’d all say.

Once Michael began becoming aware of his powers, his father then led him into the hands of the Warlocks. They thought they were training him to be their next Supreme, but he only needed them to show him how to use his powers. They were disposable beyond that.

Michael was a loyal son, never questioning his father’s decisions, until his beloved Ms. Mead was permanently taken from him by the witches. Cordelia was right, why did he let this happen?

In search of answers, Michael fled to the wilderness on a quest. Jesus had spent 40 days out in the desert being tempted by Satan himself before his own Father finally spoke to him. Michael decided he had to do the same.

That’s when he wandered out into the forest on the outskirts of LA and started to trace a pentagram in the dirt, tired and out of options.

“I’m not going any further,” he sulked, dragging the jagged stone across the ground. “Father, tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” he pleaded, out of breath as he finished carving his sigil into the soil.

“I’m not leaving this circle until you talk to me,” he pouted stubbornly. “They’re gone.. the warlocks.. my Ms. Mead. Burned alive at the stake by the witches. Until nothing was left but ash and smoke,” his voice was breaking but he was too exhausted to cry.

“You tell me what to do,” he sighed, “or you let me die here.” Then he fell to his knees in the center of the circle and waited for a sign.

He watched the sun set and rise four times before he finally had a vision. But even then, he couldn’t be sure if he was seeing a sign or just suffering from severe dehydration.

He saw a little boy offering a cold grape Fanta, and a little girl holding a basket of red apples, and he thought maybe God was trying to tempt him into the light now. To distract him from his mission and derail him from his destiny.

He refused, “No, I’m on a mission. I have to talk to my father,” he said weakly. “Leave me alone.” Then the visions turned dark. He was taunted by Ms. Mead and then praised by Anton Lavey.

“You’re not real. None of this is.. re-real.” He shook his head and raised his hand to shield his face from the blinding light that was radiating from the High Priest before him.

“You’ve done a great job.” The Satanist proudly smiled. “No..” Michael protested, “I failed. I-I’m lost. I don’t understand my purpose,” he was out of breath and at a loss for words. He was tired of games, all he wanted was his father’s help. Everything was spinning.

The vision of Anton continued reciting to him from the prophecy in Revelation, calling him the Alpha and the Omega. Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He made a lunge for Anton, wrapping a hand around his throat to choke him out. Only seconds later, the vision vanished altogether.

And that’s when he saw you. The last thing he remembered was an impossibly beautiful girl with big white wings and a little white dress. He fell to his knees again, in shock and exhaustion, and collapsed into her arms. He felt the warm, soft embrace of feathers, and then he fell into a much needed sleep.

When he awoke a day later, he was still pretty disoriented from the lack of food, water, and sleep. His mind was a haze. He didn’t realize where he was, he only knew that this bed was softer than anything he’d ever felt.

The blankets felt like fluffed up clouds and the pillows smelled like lavender. A cool breeze caressed his skin, and he noticed the temperature of the room was significantly cooler than anything he’d felt in a long time. That radiating heat that seemed to consume him constantly just wasn’t there.

He reached his hand out to feel along the bed. Empty. He opened his eyes, hoping to see the angel from his dreams sitting there watching over him. But the room was empty too.

He sat up in bed, clutching the sheets and looking around anxiously. The room was nice, but it wasn’t anything extreme. It was kinda charming actually, soft and cozy. It didn’t look like anyone had been living here for very long.

Michael climbed out of bed, stepping foot on the soft, plush carpet and smiling at the touch. He walked towards the bedroom door which was just barely cracked open, and stuck his head out slowly to peak outside.

You were in the kitchen, digging around in the refrigerator when you heard him come out. You twisted around, bumping the fridge door shut with your hip and then dropping everything on the counter.

“You’re up already? Are you feeling okay?” The pained look on his face made you worry. He looked exhausted still, leaning against the doorway just to hold himself up.

You rushed to his side, a little faster than humanly possible, and wrapped an arm around his waist to help him steady himself. He leaned into your embrace but winced a little at your touch. His body was sore everywhere.

He couldn’t stop staring at you. Almost glaring, looking at you like you’d just lied straight to his face. You walked him to the counter, sitting him down across from you and then running back to quickly check the stove. He didn’t take his eyes off you the whole time.

“I’m making you a breakfast feast,” you smiled at him over your shoulder. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days..”

“I’m sorry,” he interjected. “But wh-who are you? How did I get here?”

You smiled gently, passing him a plate of bacon and eggs to get him started while you finished the french toast. “I’m Y/N, I brought you here,” you said happily.

He kept looking you up and down. You looked exactly like he remembered, but you were now missing one unique, defining feature..

“Are you-“ he couldn’t bring himself to say the word out loud. It didn’t seem possible to him. “You had.. wings before,” his brow furrowed in confusion and his glare returned.

You simply nodded, glancing over at him and frying a piece of toast in the pan. “You remembered,” you said with a smile.

His confusion only grew. You poured him a glass of milk and then slid the fork closer to him. “Eat, please. We have plenty of time to talk later. I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” you brushed his blonde curls out of his face and the divine touch of your fingers briefly lingered on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

He hesitated, picking up his fork and taking a bite. It wasn’t just the starvation talking, he genuinely enjoyed your food. He immediately started feeling his strength and energy coming back. He felt revitalized.

It wasn’t just the food. Something about your presence was so satisfying to him. You brought him a kind of merciful peace that was only reserved for the saints. He didn’t need confirmation, he knew in his heart you were something holy. And he only hoped that you didn’t know what he truly was. If you ever fell in love with him, it would be your fall from grace.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered softly. His heart was pounding. He felt like he was committing a crime just by being in your presence. He felt like God would smite him any minute just for laying eyes on you.

You cupped his face in your hands gently, wiping away a stray tear that fell from his eyes. “As of today, I’m officially a guardian angel,” you smiled proudly. Your eyes actually twinkled, it completely captivated him.

“Guardian? Who’s guardian?” his pouty lip quivered and you could see all the new emotions swirling around him like a hurricane. He couldn’t believe any of this was really happening. He thought he must’ve been dreaming. He wasn’t dead, he knew that. He was destined for hell and there’s no one like her down there.

He was so cute. “Yours, duh” you giggled, letting go of his face and playfully tousling his blonde locks. He looked up at you with a small smirk that spread into a big smile. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. “How?-“ he silently mouthed as the words he was looking for escaped him.

“You didn’t have one,” you shrugged. “So I.. guess you could say I volunteered.” You didn’t want to overwhelm him with too many details, but the adorable confused puppy look on his face was begging for answers. “Volunteered?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side curiously. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“I just thought you should have someone looking out for you too.. you know. You didn’t deserve to be abandoned. Not by God or anyone.” You said it with such sincerity, he could see it on your face how strongly you felt about those words.

His eyes started to overflow with tears but he couldn’t help but smile. It was the single kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. That’s when it hit him. You already knew what he was. You knew who he was. And you were willing to go against both God’s will and Satan’s to take over as his protector. You left heaven just for him.

He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and quietly sobbing into your chest. Tears of pure joy and gratitude. Little “thank yous” whispered on repeat against your skin, so close you can feel his lips brushing across your collarbones with each word.

He snaked his arms around your waist tighter and tighter, pulling you as close to him as physics would allow. It melted your heart how close he wanted to be to you.

“Aw.. you just want to be held,” you giggled, putting your arms around his shoulders and hugging his body closer to yours. “I’m here, Michael. I’ve got you now. You’re safe, you’re mine,” you cooed, your lips brushing against his temple.

His eyes were closed and his face was pressed against your chest, all he heard was a swift whoosh as your wings suddenly appeared, folding around both of your bodies like a soft shield tucking him into you. He’d never felt so safe before, all nestled in your feathers.

He peaked his eyes open to look around at them. “That’s fucking awesome,” he muttered softly, his jaw dropping as his eyes shot up to meet yours. You smiled down at him, kissing his forehead. You couldn’t help but giggle. He made you feel giddy, the way he looked at you. Like you were made of magic.

“My own guardian angel,” he said quietly to himself, still in awe of it all. He refused to let go of you for the rest of the day after that. All he wanted to do was lie in your arms. Feel your embrace. And you were happy to oblige because he needed to rest anyway. The two of you returned to your bed where he spent the rest of the night on your chest, fast asleep in your arms. The safest place he could ever be.

💕taglist: @sexwon131 @jimmason @whatcodysaid @angelicmichael @thewarriorprincessxo

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon au #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon x angel!reader #sojourn!michael #ahs au #michael langdon x female reader #michael x angel!reader

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amerrierworld · 5 years ago

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Spilling the Tea

Ocean’s 8 - one shot

For anon

Summary: Tammy clumsily spills a drink on herself because of nerves as you celebrate the end of the heist and as you help clean her up you finally figure out what caused it... you.

Characters: Tammy x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,273

Warnings: NSFW! bathroom sex.

Everything had seemed so simple up until now. Tammy and you were friends, right? You got along swimmingly. The heist went perfectly, and all nine of you were more than content with the riches you had.

But no, of course, now it had to get complicated. Because every time you glanced over at her from the other side of the kitchen, she would already be looking at you, and then she’d blush and turn away.

“Can I get another glass of wine?” you asked Lou who was standing across from you. The bottle sat next to her on the counter and she picked it up, accepting the offered glass you held out and pouring you a good amount.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking a generous sip. You turned away, feeling Tammy’s doe-like eyes burning into the back of your skull and trying to ignore the jittery feeling it gave you in the depth of your stomach.

You went and sat a little further from the gang, sitting on one of the windowsills and breathing in the cool night-air that came through deeply. The nice thing about having such a large group of con friends was that you could take a breather from them without being missed, which was nice once in a while.

Rain began tapping against the window and you felt a slight mist from the outside world greeting you through the small crack.

“...go do it, you coward...”

“...No! You can’t make me, I’m not ready,”

“If you’re not ready by now, Tam-Tam, you’re helpless.”

Your ears pricked up as the chattering from the girls had died down and there was only a collection of hushed whispers coming from the kitchen.

“Listen, Tam. The job’s done, you’re divorced, everyone’s rich. Why the hell would you not be ready by now?”

“Debbie!”

You turned your head and immediately they stopped talking. All eight of them were huddled in the kitchen, looking over at you. When you arched an eyebrow, they all scuttled away like frightened animals. The one person that stood stock-still was Tammy, staring at you, clutching the can of hard ice tea in her hands, her face beet-red.

As Lou passed her she gave Tammy a light shove that made her take a step closer to you.

You couldn't say anything as she began taking hesitant steps towards you, eyes downcast. When she reached your side she was still refusing to look you in the eye, looking at her flats instead and pulling at the edge of her floral summer dress.

“Hi,” you said, acting surprised that she’d suddenly come up to you rather than watching her make the whole journey across the room.

“Hey,” she said, trying to slouch nonchalantly and take a sip from the can at the same time. The awkward angle didn’t let her drink properly and some of the tea spilled down her chin onto her dress.

“Fuck,” she hissed as she pulled the can away, a hand lifting to catch the drops that started to settle deep in the light coloured fabric of her dress.

“Oh, dear,” you responded dumbly, trying to get your eyes off of the droplets that were running down her neck into the cleavage line of her dress. You set your glass down on the sill and took Tammy’s can too.

“You’re so clumsy,” you teased her with a small smile as you pulled some hairs away from her face so they wouldn’t become sticky with the spilled drink as well.

“Shut up,” Tammy retorted, but with a smile in her eyes.

“Here, let’s get you to a bathroom.”

Lou directed you to the bathroom upstairs and you tried to ignore the suggestive winking she sent your way, or the fact that Constance looked at Tammy and mouthed ‘well-played’.

The bathroom was big enough for the two of you to stand in comfortably. You dabbed some water on a clean towel and set to work on trying to get as much of the drink out of her dress as she cleaned her face. You pressed the towel against her stomach and she yelped a bit at the cold feeling of it.

“Sorry,” you said, blushing. “You’ll probably have to get changed, it’s better to wash it now so that it won’t be sticky and dry later.”

“Good idea,” Tammy said, her voice slightly trembling and her face on fire.

“You okay, Tammy?” you asked. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know, spilling a drink. Happens to all of us.”

“Yeah, I know. It-It’s not that.”

“Oh? Is something wrong?”

“No- I mean, yes, I-,” Tammy couldn’t finish her sentence and she looked at you with a pleading gaze as if she didn’t know what to say anymore.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. Where’s your stuff? I can grab a new dress if you like.”

A beat passed. Tammy looked ready to burst out with something, but instead her shoulders slumped and she nodded.

You exited the bathroom and hurried to find her things, in one of Lou’s guest rooms. A large suitcase sat on the bed and you rummaged through before finding the dark blue dress she mentioned, deliberately avoiding looking at any other pieces of clothing you came across.

As you went back to the bathroom, you passed Daphne who took one look at whose bedroom you just exited and smirked.

“Nice,” was all she said, and left you.

The fuck?

You re-entered the bathroom with a small frown on your face.

“Why are they all acting so weird? Every time I look at one of the others they act all.. smug, like they know something I don’t, and I-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as you realized you were staring at Tammy half undressed. The dress was scrunched in a ball in her hand and she stood in a black bra and underwear, with stockings that reached here mid-thigh. Her eyes were locked on yours but didn’t miss how you looked at her body at least once. Maybe twice.

“S-sorry,” you stammered. “I should’ve knocked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “What were they saying?”

“N-nothing,” you continued, frozen with the blue dress in hands. “They just- they’re acting all secretive. Like they know something about..”

“About what?”

You couldn't answer for a moment. Your mind kept racing, trying to piece together why they were all winking, smiling, smirking at the two of you. You looked up at Tammy and dared to say it out loud.

“... about you,” you breathed. “Us.”

Tammy chewed on her lip, probably due to nerves, but it made you squirm. “They're right.”

“What- what, what?” you blurted out as you stared, incredulous.

“Yeah, they’re right. They’re a lot more perceptive about that kind of stuff than you and I. Lou noticed first,” Tammy turned to the sink, giving you a gorgeous view of her side profile and she dropped the dress in the laundry basket on the floor.

“Oh, wow, really. But, you had a husband,” you frowned a little, taking a step forward as your nerves eased, realizing that the two of you were on the same page.

“Divorced, now, officially,” she breathed. “I’ve always liked both, you know.”

“No way,” you mumbled. By this time you were mere inches from each other, the only thing separating you being the dress you still had in your hands.

“You can’t be that surprised,” she chuckled, her cheeks red.

“So, you like me?” you asked dumbly. Tammy laughed.

“Yes, of course. Is that not clear yet or something?”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” you said, putting the dress on the counter and stepping closer. Her breath hitched.

“The two of us are definitely not as perceptive as the rest of them.”

Your lips met in a soft kiss. Both of you nervous, new, unsure. But Tammy’s fingers immediately began playing with the hem of your shirt and once she took it off you knew there was no going back.

Your pants came off quickly and you kneeled in front of Tammy as she pressed back against the sink. You started rolling down each stocking with careful precision, kisses following the soft skin as it was revealed to your eager eyes.

“That’s really nice,” Tammy squeaked softly, hands white knuckled at the edge of the counter. You stood up again and gripped her waist, her hands threading in your hair and pulling you close for a kiss. She began rocking against your thigh with a needy whimper in the back of her throat as you worked to get her bra off.

You let a thumb flick over a rosy nipple, enjoying the way it pebbled at your touch and how her back arched as you did so. Her hand worked down to stroke you between your thighs and you nearly lost your balance at the feeling. Fingers tugged and pulled deliciously at the edges of your underwear, trying to get inside.

Once she’d managed to push them down enough to run fingers uninterrupted through your folds with one hand, she didn’t hesitate to worm a finger inside , curling as a thumb pressed up against your clit.

You leaned down and bit on her shoulder as you breathed, “fuck,” in a low voice.

“Y-you’re so beautiful,” Tammy stammered, hips constantly rolling. You bent down further to catch a nipple between your lips and she gasped. “I-I wanted you.. for so long, god.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, barely able to think as another finger entered you, clumsy and slippery, but still incredibly arousing.

“I couldn’t.. work,” Tammy mumbled. You shook your head, incredulous at the notion that she tortured both you and herself for this long because of the heist being in the way.

You captured her lips in a kiss again as you felt her thumb quickening against your clit and you came with a long moan and a shudder, pressing your body against Tammy, fitting the two of you perfectly together.

Small licks and soft kisses pressing against your face and neck brought your attention back through the foggy haze in your head and the fact that Tammy was soaked through her panties against your thigh. You moved to lick along her neck, tasting the hard ice tea that left a sticky trail down to her chest.

“Oh, Tam-Tam, you’re so filthy,” you scolded in a mock tone. Tammy giggled and leaned back against the mirror as you lifted her up to sit on the bathroom counter properly.

“Please,” she whispered, fingers grasping your upper arms and shoulders. You got the hint, finally, and lowered yourself to kneel on the floor, knees pressing against the bathroom mat and your hands gently pulling Tammy’s legs apart.

The soft, black and ruined panties came off with a quick tug and you settled in comfortably, pressing kisses against her inner thigh while her hands clawed at your shoulders.

“Oh!” she gasped, high-pitched and sweet, as you ran your tongue up the length of her cunt. In the back of your mind you wondered how long it had been since she’d had this kind of pleasure. You thought of all those weeks of the heist where the two of you were dancing around each other, oblivious to the mutual attraction and growled at the fact that you missed out on so much opportunity.

The growl made Tammy shiver and you did it again.

“It’s-it’s not gonna take long,” Tammy breathed. “Please, oh, Jesus. Y/N!”

“Shh,” you said against her clit, flicking your tongue over the bud. “They’ll hear.”

“I don’t care,” she moaned. “They’ve known for so long. They know exactly what’s going on.”

“So you want them to hear how well you like being fucked by my tongue?” you grinned, pressing your tongue against her opening and slowly easing it inside.

“Oh, yes, yes please,” she went on. Her hips began moving as you fucked her, starting slow and working carefully to make every inch of here come undone. You mapped her out quickly, learning where she liked to be touched and how easily she became aroused if you just pressed your tongue in the right place.

She came with her thighs clamped around your head, your fingertips bruising her thighs as hers pulled at your hair. The mirror had steamed up and you were both sweaty. Your knees ached as you got up and grinned at her, hands rubbing at her waist as she hugged you close and kissed you desperately.

“Dinner?” kiss. “Tomorrow?” kiss. “I’ll pick you up,” she said. You arched an eyebrow.

“What?”

You shook your head and smirked at her. “Nothing, I just love that you’re so confident after just cumming on my tongue.”

Tammy rolled her eyes and smiled. “It helps me relax. I don’t see you trembling anymore either, you know.”

“I guess you’re right. So all we needed all along was just a good fuck, eh?”

Tammy laughed and you felt yourself swell with giddiness at the sound. “I guess you’re right.”

You helped her off of the counter, getting her dressed in the clean dress and picking up the laundry.

“Let’s go find the washing machine,” you said. She wrapped her hands around your waist and pressed a kiss against your sweaty shoulder as you opened the door of the bathroom. You looked down.

On the ground stood a bottle of bathroom-cleaner and a rag, and a note that said

‘pls clean my bathroom once you’re done, you dirty animals. Lou xox’

Tammy buried her face in your neck, moaning about how embarrassing all this must’ve been, but you could only laugh.

A/N: Sooooo, you think Tam-Tam spilled her drink on purpose or nah? ;)

#oceans 8 #oceans8 #oceans 8 fanfic #tammy #tammy oceans 8 #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x you #tammy x you #wlw #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #cate blanchett #sandra bullock #merry writes

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bittermuire · 4 years ago

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Dream of daybreak

The High Lord of Day, Helion, is gravely injured after the war with Hybern. Thesan sends Nuan, a young inventor and healer, to see to him on the battlefield.

I randomly love these two, even though they have all of one interaction in ACOWAR. If you’re curious and want to read, please enjoy :)

---

The High Lord Helion let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” murmured the female. “Just a few more minutes.”

He clung to the tether of her cool voice amidst of the burning of the gash in his side. Her hands were gentle as she cleansed it with some kind of antidote, potion, vial—whatever it was, he couldn’t concentrate on any one thing long enough to figure it out. He gritted his teeth together in an effort to stop from crying out, cursing himself for his weakness.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said again, and her voice was soft, nearly pitying.

If he wasn’t incapacitated and crumpled on the ground, exhausted and seeing spots, slipping to the edge of oblivion, then he likely would have spit some stinging retort back at her. He despised pity and rarely found it to be more than some emotionally manipulative scheme. But he was tired, and her hands were warm, and the drug was kicking in.

Her onyx black hair was a curtain as it fell into her face. She brushed it back with her forearm, hands dirtied with his blood. Dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, cracked lips pressed together in firm concentration.

He watched her with a sort of detached curiosity—too tired to speak, too tired to move. The gash on his side was a mere itching burn, now. Whatever she had done was working.

The only problem was… whatever pain that had resided in the wound had now translated to fatigue. The weariness he had felt earlier was absolutely nothing compared to this crushing exhaustion; his eyelids were terribly heavy, and his body was like a stone on the ground, and the pebbles and rough dirt beneath him had become the sweetest cushions.

Still the female bent above him, figure softened in his blurry vision.

“Just a few more minutes,” she whispered to him, and he wondered if it was not to him at all; he wondered if this was what healers did: they promised life and they promised time, and they promised it to themselves as well, so any life on the brink of death was thus tethered to theirs.

“Your hands are warm,” he muttered, then slipped into the dark.

•

His piercing eyes closed the moment the words were spoken.

Nuan sat back, in a bit of a shock.

The High Lord would be perfectly fine, much to her relief. The vial of brimrose had worked precisely as she had hoped. The wound, though a ghastly and ugly thing, was no longer lethal, and so she was not in danger of a High Lord’s death on her hands. She reached for the bowl of water and a towel, and began to sop away the blood crusted on his chest.

Your hands are warm.

Nuan’s hands were not a commonly mentioned topic—often they were overly ignored in an attempt at normalcy. One real, one material. One of flesh and bones and blood, one of metal and whirring dials and clicking gears.

One warm, one cold.

Your hands are warm.

“You’re the first to think so,” she muttered to his sleeping, unconscious face, wondering at the meaning in the slurred words.

When she’d met him at the Council, he was as intimidating as the rest. Tall and broad and proud. Handsome, like the sun breaking across the horizon. Where Thesan was Dawn in hope and beauty, Helion was Dawn in a ferocious, magnificent call to the Day.

He scared her. They all did. They were Prythian in a room and individually they held more power than any one living being should have.

Together…

She remembered with a shiver how that room had thrummed. How it had glowed. Shaken, spiraled into a wild, untamed power; one which she knew had spoken to all of them. It had caressed her ears and her neck, whispered sweet words that tickled her spine—it was not wise that so much power should exist in one place. It was not right.

Your hands are warm.

I wonder why you think so, High Lord.

One warm, one cold. Life is warm, the lack of it is cold. Nuan had initially tried to fashion her makeshift hand to have a general feel of life, but it was too complex and like nothing she could ever accomplish without magical aid.

So she had settled for one warm hand and one cold. And it had always been that way, just as it always would be.

•

When he came to, his head was groggy, and his side was itching like hell itself. Without thinking, he twisted to scratch it, but then his wrist was caught midair in a grip of iron.

The female.

At her tan, wan face, the last few hours came rushing back. Lying half-dead on the ground. Crushing fatigue. Blood gushing from his side.

A female with long onyx hair and warm hands.

Now he was lying on a cot in a tent somewhere, surrounded by countless injured and the healers tending to them.

“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp with order. “I’ve still got to wrap it. We had to move you before I could grab the tape—don’t make it worse.”

He nodded, stunned into silence.

Releasing his wrist, she raised one brow in a quiet command and strode to the other side of the tent. He was watching her again, as if the smooth planes of her back and shoulders were charmed to enchant him in this odd, casual way.

Silence gaped in the cot next to his. Sensing it, Helion turned to see a man with his head wrapped staring at him, jaw dropped. As they met eyes, the man regained his composure but was unable to meet Helion’s gaze again.

“My lord,” murmured the man, dipping his head.

Helion dipped his head as well, still dizzy with a steadily returning pain. “I see you fought well.”

“I am glad to be alive, my lord. Many cannot say the same.”

Hybern had left a field strewn with corpses. There was nothing suitable to say to that.

The man’s eyes rose to something above his shoulder; Helion twisted again to see the female striding back toward him.

“Nuan,” said the man. He spoke the word, the name, with as much reverence as he had said my lord.

Nuan. So that is your name.

Nuan. He remembered her. The young genius with the fabricated hand, a favorite of Thesan’s. He’d been struck by her commanding air, the way the room reverberated with her cutting grace as she spoke.

“Sit up straight,” she told him as she neared, and he did so. Shamelessly he studied the alluring plainness of her face—she wore no jewelry, no pins in her hair, no color in her clothes, and somehow it was an extraordinarily bewitching face. Her face was a good one. It was a face of perseverance and survival and absurd constancy in the face of desolation.

Hair blacker than night swung about her shoulders as she leaned across him, wrapping the tape around his torso. His traitorous hand lifted and touched the end of an inky strand, very lightly. At that she jerked back and met his eyes—met him with weariness and tedium, and the barest hint of irritation.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, and dropped his hand.

In a very strange gesture of forgiveness, she patted his arm once and promptly continued her work. It was done in a matter of moments.

She pulled back and looked him full in the face; something was smoking in the depths of her dark eyes, and it called him closer.

•

What did one do in this situation? He was staring at her in that unnerving way of his again: so full of intent and truth.

Do you always stare this way?

She smiled a very small smile. “Do you always stare this way?”

He said nothing.

You must be far away.

“Your hand,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and she supposed he was exhausted. “It’s of metal.”

“It is.”

“It’s warm. How is it warm? Did you make it warm?”

You were so frightening to me, High Lord of Day. You were relaxed and confident and brimming with arrogance. Now you look at me with such vulnerability… something is broken in you.

But you’ll heal. I have already given you a head start.

“I’ve never thought it was very warm,” she admitted simply.

He blinked. “Oh.” He blinked again, and swayed back.

“Why don’t you sleep?”

He nodded. “Good idea.”

She eased him onto his back, laying a thin blanket over his body. It was doubtful that he’d notice; he seemed to have passed into a deep sleep the moment his weight had rested in her arms.

“Dream of daybreak,” she murmured, looking down at that good face—a hard face, forged in fire and heat, and yet ever so soft in sleep. She brushed a hand to his cheek, and he stirred, but did not open his eyes. He only sighed, in the way of someone perfectly at peace.

•

Dream of daybreak.

He did indeed dream of daybreak.

Only, daybreak was the silhouette of a female with onyx hair and warm hands.

Dream of daybreak.

Fingers brushed against his cheek.

Dream of daybreak.

---

This is hands down one of the strangest fics I’ve written. I don’t really know what’s going through their heads or what was going through mine, but I’m mostly happy with the end product.

Anyway, Helion and Nuan are cute and I’m gonna keep shipping it🥰

#helion #nuan #acotar #a very random fic #but i couldn't get it out of my head!!

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im-hqlover · 5 years ago

Text

Arranged marriage/Royal AU - Chapter 3 - The next day.

A/n - And here's another chapter from one of the fanfics that I'm most loving to write, and I hope you are also enjoying it =)

Enjoy!

(none of the images used on the aesthetic belong to me, credit to their creators)

Warnings: arranged marriage, maybe some bad words, sex mentions, anguish, fight, war mentions, maybe discomfort?, cry (Idk if it is necessary, but I will put anyway), maybe english errors/mistakes. (I hope I haven't forgotten anything)

important details to mention:

-This is kind of a Royal AU, but time kinda mixes with middle Ages and current time, so some technologies exist and others don’t, it’s kind of confusing, maybe, but I hope this isn’t a big problem.

-The reader is 20 years old, Jason is 22 y/o

-The reader is female.

Pairings: Jason Todd x reader

Y/n = your name

F/c = Favourite cake

F/fd = Favourite food

Words count: 6013

Previous chapters: Chapter one, Chapter Two, Chapter two's Alternative ending

Next chapters: coming soon

Tag list: @sarcasmismyfirstlove

Y/N's INFO:

Gender: Cis-Female

Sexuality: Straight

Height: Shorter than Jason

Weight: Not Defined

Skin Color: Not Defined

Hair Color: Not Defined

Eyes Color: Not Defined

Other details? Y/n is myopic

(I hope I have put all the information, let me know if i forgot something)

The sun's rays from a beautiful autumn day filled the bedroom, leaving it fully lit, everything was at peace, and I was still sleepy, so I just try to sleep again, but my sleeping plans went down the drain when a bird appears and decides to sing right on the windowsill, I take a deep breath placing the pillow in my face to drown out the sound of singing, but it was useless, did that damn bird follow me from my kingdom to here, only to disturb my sleep?

I take a deep breath, giving up trying to sleep, I remove the pillow and look at the ceiling for a while, the moment I woke up I found that place strange, and I wondered where I was, until I remember the wedding and everything, and of course, remembering that didn't improve my day, in fact I seemed to have forgotten Jason's little gentle acts and only my anger remained, anger at my parents, anger at having married a stranger who killed people, anger at me. I was clearly not in a good mood, and I found it very difficult for that to change, although it could have been simply a dream, or rather a nightmare.

When I looked to my side to see my husband, he wasn't there, and then it crossed my mind what did he think of me, was the anger reciprocal? I thought so. I got up from the bed and sat down, I looked at the clock there and realized it was almost 10:00 am, I wonder why I managed to sleep for so long and didn't wake up when Jason got up… in fact, I’m not surprised, I was dying of tiredness yesterday/today's dawn, so I think it’s natural that I’ve slept for so long.

I go to the bathroom, wash my face, comb my hair that was a mess and do my other needs, when I left I thought about what I would do at that moment, until my belly growled and thought it would be better to find something to eat, but not before changing those clothes, I didn't really want people to see me like that, but there was a little problem, in fact two, I had no idea where my room was located neither the kitchen.

I tried to remember the path that that sir had taken until we got here, but I couldn't remember, because at that moment I was so nervous about what was about to happen that I completely ignored how I got there.

As I didn't want to be bothering other people and wanting to do things a little by myself, I decide that maybe by exploring the castle somehow I could find the kitchen or my room, but guess what? I was wrong. I walked through so many corridors, but nothing there seemed to be near the kitchen or my room, that castle was a complete maze and I thought I would need a map to be able to locate myself there. And I take a deep breath when I arrive in a dead-end corridor, turn around and end up getting scared because not far behind me there was a boy with maybe 10 or so, he had black hair as dark as coal, there were emerald green eyes, and he had his arms crossed for me.

- Huh, hi - I say awkwardly and soon I feel my face heat up when I realize that that boy was seeing me in those clothes.

- Hello Sleeping Beauty, you look lost. - He said with a serious face, I vaguely remembered him as being one of Jason's younger brothers, but I couldn't remember his name... maybe it had D? I had no idea.

- Huh, well, I was exploring the castle to get to know a little. - I rub my hand on my arm nervously.

- It seems to me that you are looking for something, not "exploring".

- Huh... well, maybe... I was looking for the kitchen. - I look away from him and he ends up laughing. - What's it?

- You'll never get there like that, the kitchen is practically on the other side of the castle.

- And… by any chance… did you take me there? - He sighs not seeming to want to do that much.

- Just this once. - He says with a tone not too friendly to be honest, he turns and starts walking, and I follow him.

He really wasn't kidding when he said the kitchen was on the other side of the castle, I don't know how long it took to get there, but I can say that it was a long way to go, as we get closer I can smell food in the air, maybe they were already preparing lunch, when we got the boy to stop and say.

- Is here. - He spoke and started to leave before I could even thank him.

- Thank you. - I thank him in the same way, but I didn't know if he heard me, I knock on the door and it doesn't take long for one of the tall and thin cooks, perhaps an apprentice for his age, would answer the door.

- P-princess y/n - He bowed when he realized it was me who was at the door, I just give a small shyly nod in response.

- Huh, could I come in by any chance? I would like to eat something if it were possible. - He nodded quickly several times and allowed me to enter the kitchen.

- W-what would yo-you like to eat your highness?

- Please just call me y/n, huh, sorry, but what's your name?

- J-Jeremy.

- Nice to meet you Jeremy. - I say to him smiling until an older woman, maybe 50 years old because of her gray hair, she approaches us with a wooden spoon and stares deathly at the youngest.

- What are you doing bothering the princess, Jeremy? And why is she here? - She said while pointing the wooden spoon at me. My impression is that the woman wasn't very friendly, especially when it came to strangers in her kitchen. The woman wearing chef's clothes looks at my clothes with a disapproving look.

- Huh, it's just... I was hungry and I thought if I could get something to eat here, it doesn't have to be fancy or anything, I'm happy if I can just eat a piece of cake with coffee. - Her expression seemed to have softened slightly, but her face was still not very friendly. - If it doesn't ask for much, of course, otherwise I can wait until lunch is ready.

- Jeremy! Get what your highness wants, immediately! - The lady said while pointing the wooden spoon again at the boy who quickly nodded in agreement.

- Y-yes, ma'am.

The lady soon asked if I would like to go to the royal dinner table, but I refused and said that I could eat right there if I didn't bother, she seems to have found this strange, but she didn't disagree and let me stay there, I soon found out that her name was Constance.

It didn't take long for Jeremy to come back with a plate with f/c and a cup of coffee, Constance said that I could sit at the staff table so that I didn't have to eat standing up, I agreed and sat there. When I finished eating I thanked them both and went out to the kitchen, now the new challenge, find my room, but this time, not to waste time I asked one of the servants who passed me, and she said she unfortunately didn’t know but that I was supposed to wait there and she would call someone who knew, and in little time the same man who guided me to Jason's bedroom came and guided me to my room.

- Huh, I don't want to disturb you, but could I know your name? - I say to break the silence while we walk.

- Alfred Pennyworth, your highness. - He replied gently and calmly.

- Please, call me y/n. - He turned to me briefly with a questioning look.

- Why?

- I just prefer to be called by my name only. - I shrug.

- I must excuse you princess, but I think that will be a difficult task for me, calling a noble without their title seems wrong to me. - Well, I kind of expected this, many said the same thing, and even if they didn’t say it out loud I had the feeling that they thought that, everyone was taught to refer to each other, mainly for nobles, as a form of respect, but I hated it, it was like people could be superior to each other just because of a damn title, and that's why I always say it's just to call me by my name, but I know that didn’t change things, since everyone always kept calling me princess or your highness, or something like that, but I don’t blame them.

- It's okay, I understand. - I look at the corridors we were passing through, in many of them there were several pictures of different things, from important people to things like a landscape, in addition to the corridors having giant windows to which they had equally large curtains to which they were in a way so that the sun could enter and illuminate the place. I didn't even notice when we got to my room, and I could see that there was a movement there.

- What is happening? - I tell Alfred who turns to me.

- They are taking your belongings to Prince Jason's room, since you will share it from now on. - I smile a little sad, my plans to avoid my husband were going down the drain, because now I would literally have to share the same room with him.

- Are you all right, your highness? - I look at Alfred and shake my head negatively.

- N-no, everything is fine. - He didn't seem to believe my answer, but said nothing more.

- I have other commitments at the moment your highness, so I have to leave you alone at the moment. - I nod and he makes a little bow.

- Thank you, Sir Alfred.

- You’re welcome, y/n. - I give him a small smile and he returns, and then leaves there.

I look at the servants there and tell them if they could wait a little while to take everything because I would like to change my clothes, they agree and leave me alone in the room. I look in the suitcases and choose torn jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt to dress, in addition to my underwear and sneakers of course, I take the clothes to the bathroom and a bath towel too, I take a long shower, after getting dressed I dry my hair with the towel and comb them, and decided that I wouldn't use the dryer and let the hair dry naturally.

Upon leaving my room the servants were waiting in the corridor to be able to continue their work, for a moment they look at me but for some reason they start to look away, which intrigued me, but I try to ignore that fact.

Walking down some corridors I reach the main stairway which I descend, reaching the great entrance hall.

- Y/n! - I hear my mother's voice coming back from me, and then I turn to see her, my father, my brother and some other nobles that I recognized to be some of our allies. - I finally found you, why didn't you show up for breakfast?

- I, huh ... I was very tired because of the night, you know. - I say looking away, maybe she believed that I and Jason did that, because in no way I wanted her to find out we didn't do that, she nods in agreement.

- And what clothes are these? You are no longer at home, daughter, you have to wear appropriate clothes. - She scolded me while trying to be "kind", when I knew she wanted to yell at me for wearing those clothes, but of course she wouldn't argue with me, not in front of the other nobles.

- When I went to my room they were already carrying my bags, those were the only clothes I could find. - Of course it was a lie, there were other clothes and others more "appropriate" as she said, but I decided to wear that outfit because I liked to dress like this, and she knew very well that it was a lie, but because we were in front of others nobles she just scowled at me.

- So it's better to change your clothes as soon as possible. - I cross my arms so that she sees that I refused to do this, as she didn't want to freak out in front of everyone she just changed the subject. - Lunch will soon be ready, join us and let's go to the dining room.

Well, it's not like I have a choice to refuse, but I also knew what time or other I would have to go to lunch, so it was better to follow them than to be lost again, so I say yes quietly and start following them in silence, while they talked about political things.

It didn't take long before we got to the big dining room, with a giant table made of some very expensive and chic wood, when we arrived we were the first to be there besides the employees who was preparing the table, and they indicated the places where we should sit, I sit in my designated chair and my mother sits on my left side, while on the right side there is a chair which I already had a brief guess of who would sit there.

At the end of the table which was closest to me was a chair that stood out from the others, and I assumed it was King Bruce who would sit there, on the sides of the table, next to me and the different chair there were five other normal chairs but these were empty, three on the side opposite me and two on my side, and I soon thought it would be the chairs for each of the princes.

My assumptions didn't take long to materialize, because soon the king along with the five princes came to the table while laughing at something. They all wore casual clothes but appropriate for a prince, their clothes were almost identical, white flax shirts, vests made of leather or some similar material, black pants that stayed inside his boots of practically the same color, and of course, there was a belt that served to hold their sword, the only thing that differed in their clothes was the size and colors of their vests, the oldest of the five wore a bluish vest, Jason’s was dark red that looked like it was blood, the boy who thought he was the third oldest wore a red vest too, but besides being a lighter red his vest had some golden details, the fourth wore a golden yellow vest with black details, and the last and youngest of them all, who was the same boy he had met this morning, wore an emerald green vest, and of course, the king dressed in the same way as his sons, his vest being black.

They all stopped laughing when they noticed the presence of other people there, and soon took their seats in silence, the king sitting on the end, the oldest sitting next to the king and Jason, who had sat next to me, the other three sat on the other side, and the youngest sat next to the king, the third oldest sitting next to him, and the other who wore the yellow vest sitting in front of me.

For a moment the place was in an awkward silence, until little by little the conversations were resumed, other people also appeared, both noble allies of my kingdom and Gotham's allies. After a while the employees finally bring the food to the table. My mother nudges me with her elbow and whispers to me "look at the posture", I immediately straightened up in my chair with the right posture, I kept watching all the food there, and I must say, none really made me want to eat because they were all those fancy, expensive and extravagant foods that I wasn't a fan of, I just stand there, watching the food and my empty plate, making no move to get anything to eat.

- Aren't you going to eat daughter? - My mom asks me while pointing to my empty plate.

- I'm not hungry. - I say in a low voice and still looking at my plate.

- You need to eat something, you didn't even have breakfast. - I look at my mother, but just shake my head negatively, I look at my plate for a while longer, until I get up from my chair, catching the attention of everyone present.

- Where are you going? - My mom asked, but I didn't answer her, and I just left the room and walking around the castle, I just wanted to get out of there, no matter where, just anywhere.

I didn't even look at where I was going, I just know that when I realized I was passing through the warriors' training yard and not far from there I ended up in the stables, where there were several horses, all of them very tall and ready for battle, I looked at them in awe, I loved horses so much, but it had been so long since I had galloped in one, I was a little afraid to get too close to them, because being someone they didn’t know they could very well end up attacking me, I walked slowly in the corridor, watching each horse, until I stopped in front of one that caught my attention, unlike the others he wasn't so tall, and his body was more rounded, and his legs were thicker and stronger than the others. But there was something different about him, not just his structure, but he looked at me differently, which through his eyes even looked like he was talking to me, I didn’t even notice when I approached him until I was stroking his muzzle, it was so cute.

- Hey! Caution! - I turn scared in the direction of the unknown voice and see that it was a boy who had called me, he should be the same age as me, or more or less close, he wasn't very tall as the other men here, he had tanned skin and dark brown hair. He approached me, and he didn't look very happy, in fact he looked like a mixture of anger and fear. - This horse is treacherous, it isn't good to be on his side.

- Are you sure? He looks so tame. - I say while looking at the short, golden colored horse with white details.

- Yes, I'm sure, I am the caretaker of all these horses and this is the most problematic, and I say, it is better to get away. - He spoke stiffly, I look at him and then at the horse.

- By the way, why are you here? I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to be here.

- I-I was just exploring the castle, and when I realized I got here, and I couldn't help myself and see the horses. - I say looking away. - I thought I could see them.

The horse caretaker didn't seem to know exactly what to say, he sighs and speaks.

- As long as you're careful, I think it's okay to see them. - I smile happily, finally someone wouldn't stop me from doing something. - I really need to get some things and then take care of one of the injured horses, just don't get hurt while I'm out.

He warn me while walking away from me, I nodded and said I would be careful, and so he left the stable. I approach that short horse again and pet him, I didn’t understand, he didn’t look bad, I look in his stall and notice that he has a small gold plate with a name carved in it, "Apollo".

- I don't think you're that bad Apollo. - I say as I continued to pet him.

An idea came to mind, I look around and realize that there was no one there besides me and the other horses, I smile at Apollo and say.

- I think you don't like it here much, do you?

He shakes his head to affirm my question, I look around the stable and see some saddles and reins, I take Apollo out of his stall and I take it close to where the items were, and soon I put all the items in him, before mounting Apollo I stand in front of him and say looking into your eyes.

- I don't know how we will get out of here, but I know that together we will be able to get out in a way.

His eyes seemed to say: "I know a way", I smile at him, open the door that was closed in the stable and realize that there it goes out into an open field where I supposed the horses to graze, I ride in Apollo and without delay he start walking towards exit. I looked around the field, I knew that that field would at some point be a limit for the horses not to leave.

- So, do you know a way to get out of here buddy? - He turns his head to me and neighs, his eyes say it is for me to leave it up to him.

- Then move on. - I talk to him, allowing him to start walking, I held the reins tighter when he started walking much faster. I just hope that after so long I still know how to ride a horse.

We both walked through the open field, Apollo seemed to know very well what he was doing, but it didn't take long for a problem to arise, there was a wall which prevented the horses from escaping, it was not so high, but I found it impossible to get past it, and I started to worry when the horse didn’t stop its pace.

- Apollo, what are you doing? - I tried to make him stop using the reins but it didn't work, what was I doing now?

It was then that Apollo went towards a rock that was there, he increased his speed even more and used that stone as a support to jump over the wall. I was unresponsive, I swore I was going to die at that moment, either from a heart attack or falling off the horse. I was paralyzed, and I was not released from this trance state until Apollo stopped and neighed at me.

- You could have warned me earlier! - I say to him and he just looked at me saying: "I'm just a horse, how was I going to warn you?"

I take a deep breath trying to calm myself down again, it was all crazy. Then I pressed Apollo's flanks to make him walk, I knew I would have to get out of there before the guards came after me.

Apollo trotted for a while, until I could hear the sound of the nearest sea, so I directed him until we reached the beach, I was enjoying the scenery for a while until I got off the horse.

Unlike most of the beaches I had already seen, a part of the beach was rocky, and the part that had sand wasn't that big. I watched it for several minutes, and even though I wasn't holding or riding Apollo, he didn't seem to want to leave my side.

I took a deep breath, letting the scent of the sea enter my nostrils and the icy wind ruffle my hair. I looked towards where the castle was supposed to be, and then I looked at the sea, and then at the woods behind me, I had a chance to escape with Apollo, but I knew that even if I did it, at some point someone would find me again, and worse, the war, the only thing that kept me from running away was this damn war, I knew everything would come back again, and knowing that it would happen and because of me, it made me very bad, I didn't want innocent people to die for my recklessness.

It might not have been a long time of freedom, but just riding and being there on the beach had already made me a little happier. I turn to Apollo and tell him.

- It's time to go back.

He turned his head immediately surprised by this, and he seemed to say, "but you said that we would run away!"

- I-I know what I said, but... but if I really do that, very bad things are going to happen because of me. But you can be free Apollo, there is no one who can stop you now. - I pet him and when I would take his halter off he turns his face.

- Hey! I just want to take this away from you, so you can be free! Isn't that what you want? - He shakes his head negatively, and I am confused, he approaches me and puts his head on my shoulder.

- Do you... want to stay with me? - I say as I walk away and look into his black eyes and pet his head, he seemed to say yes. I smile at him.

- Okay, so let's go back to the castle, but this time, without crazy jumps it looks like I'm going to die halfway.

He neighed and I think I should think of it as a laugh. Apollo then takes me towards the castle again, but then I guide him to the entrance, because I knew we had no way to get back the same way we left, and even though I knew that my parents would find me sooner to scold me, I knew it would happen sooner or later, so the sooner the better.

As we approach the big gate I soon hear a guard shout from above the walls: "PRINCESS Y/N! SHE'S BACK! PRINCESS Y / N IS BACK!"

It didn't take long for the gates to be opened for me to cross and I also saw that people started to leave the castle and they went to meet me, and of course one of the first to approach was my mother with her face of anger and disappointment.

- What were you thinking y/n?

- Riding a horse? - I speak pointing to the horse.

- Enough of your jokes y/n, you know very well what you did. - I look at her angrily too, I thought for a few seconds until I told her.

- Yeah, I know. And?

Her anger was so great that I could see that tears started to form in her eyes.

- Do you want to ruin everything? Do you want the war to return? This is what you want?

- If I wanted that I would have done a lot worse, by the way, I didn't run away, I'm here, am I not? What's more, what are you going to do about it? punish me putting me in my room?

My mother was quiet for a while, the other people who were there were also quiet, just watching the circus catch on fire.

- What did I do wrong for you to become that way? - She asks as tears fall, even after everything, she was still my mother, and I won't lie, knowing that I hurt her, hurted me, but when she hurt me before, she didn't seem to care.

- Want me to make you a list? - I say with anger still running through my veins, even if she was my mother, it does not undo the things she did.

She just looked at me with sadness and anger, and left, other people looked at me with disapproval, and I just ignored them and took Apollo towards the stable, I knew the stable/training area should have a path that connected with the castle entrance, so it wasn't too difficult to find the location.

Unlike before, there were almost no horses in the stable, and I also saw no sign on the caretaker, I leave Apollo and take him to his place again, I remove all his equipment and put it in place, I give him one last pet before leaving.

I know that everyone there would disagree with my actions, but I didn't care, but I was slightly worried because I knew that anything good that was in the relationship between me and Jason, or anyone in the royal family would now be negative, and that could be a bad sign, because with their distrust of me, it could indeed cause revolt against me, against my family and my kingdom, that is, in some way the war could return.

I sighed angrily, again I had been such a reckless and selfish big asshole.

I walked through the castle, trying to find the bedroom that I would share with my husband from now on, but as I searched I was stopped by an angry voice coming from behind me, I shrunk but I turned to see Jason approaching me.

- What the fuck do you think you were doing? Did you know that you could not ride alone without protection, let alone without permission? - I shrunk and I stepped back at his increasingly angry voice, unlike my mother, Jason still scared me, and I feared what he might do to me or someone else for my actions.

- I-I... I thought I would have a little mo-more freedom here, but... but of course it wouldn't be any different here. - I say turning around to ignore him and also so he doesn't see the tears that started to form in my eyes and soon I leave there, going anywhere.

- Where are you going?! - He says and I can hear his footsteps approaching me.

- And does it matter? - He goes ahead of me, so that I could see him, but I try to ignore him.

- Yes, it does, and from now on I won't take my eyes off you. - His voice was still irritated, and I could feel his eyes pierce me with anger. - Now tell me, where are you going.

I hesitate for a moment, until I answer him.

- I-I think where our bedroom should be from now on.

- That's the wrong direction. - He answers, his voice was still not very friendly, but he was not as angry as he was seconds ago. - Do you even know where mi-, our room is?

I shake my head negatively and he sighs.

- Follow me. - I did as he was told, and then in a few minutes we got to our room.

- Huh, could you tell me where my clothes were put? - I say when I enter the room and he points to the wardrobe.

- They must have put it in the wardrobe.

I agree, and then I look at him and I ask.

- Could I be alone for a while? At least until I showered and dressed.

He agrees and leaves me there alone in the room, I look for my clothes in the wardrobe and then go to the bathroom to take a shower. When I finished dressing in leggings, a short-sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt as it was starting to get cold, I left the room and came across a guard.

- Do you wish to go somewhere, your highness? - The man should have been in his thirties, he had brown hair and beard, and black eyes, he wore chainmail along with half his armor, and next to him was a scabbard in which his sword was kept.

- Huh, where's Jason?

- The prince is in a meeting at the moment, but if you need to go somewhere, I will accompany you, since from now on I will be your bodyguard.

Hmf, how great, a bodyguard, was everything I wanted most. I held back to keep from rolling my eyes, and then I smile at the guard and say.

- So, huh, if you will be my bodyguard could you tell me your name?

- Scott, Scott Dankworth.

- Nice to meet you, Scott. - I half smile and he makes a little bow.

- It's an honor to be able to protect you.

We were silent for a few seconds until Scott asked.

- Would you like to go somewhere, your highness?

- No, I… I'm going to stay in the room anyway. But thanks for asking. - I shake my head negatively as I enter the room.

- Alright princess, if you need to leave or anything, please let me know.

I agree slightly and then close the bedroom door and lie down on the bed, honestly I had no idea what to do now, so I just lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the hours passed like that, until I realize through the bedroom window that the sun had started to disappear, in a little while it would probably be dinner. I looked at the ceiling for a while longer, until I heard a knock on the door.

- Who is it? - I say without emotion in my voice.

- It's Scott, your highness.

- You may come in.

- I just want to warn you that dinner is on the table and they are waiting for your presence.

- Could you please tell them that I am too unwilling to attend the dinner?

- Of course, Your Highness.

He closed the door and I can hear the sound of his boots hitting the floor moving further and further away, but after some time I can hear the sound of his footsteps approaching.

- Your Highness? - He said while knocking on the door.

- Come in.

- They told me that you didn't eat anything for lunch or eat breakfast, and that you should go to dinner for the sake of your health.

- I'm fine Scott. I already told you, I'm unwell for that dinner.

The silence prevailed for a few seconds until the bodyguard started to speak again.

- Wouldn't you like me to bring you something to eat? That way you won't have to attend dinner.

I was thinking for a moment, I would be lying if I said I wasn't hungry, as the only thing I ate today was a piece of cake and a cup of coffee, and my stomach was now completely empty, begging for it I would eat something soon.

- Can be…

- What do you want me to bring, your highness?

- Hmm… if maybe there was f/fd, I would be very happy.

- I'll see what I can do, your highness.

- Ok. Thank you.

When he left my room again, he came back after a some minutes saying that there was no such thing at dinner, but that lady Constance said she could do it as long as I could wait to be ready, and I agreed. It took some time, but the whole wait was worth it because the food was delicious.

- Scott, tell Constance that the food was magnificent and that I thank her very much for her kindness.

- I will. - The guard left with the tray with the empty plate in hand, and when he returned he said the following. - Your family is leaving for your kingdom, I will guide you so you can say goodbye to them.

But I stayed in bed, I didn't want to say goodbye to them, not just because I hated goodbyes, but because I was still angry with them, and I didn't want to see them.

- Tell them I said goodbye and have a nice trip.

- Aren't you going to tell them personally?

- No. - I just say that and he must have understood that it was better not to insist, and so he left.

As soon as he left I couldn't stop the tears from falling. I don't know how long I was looking at the ceiling like that, but soon I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and ended up sleeping.

A/n - Well, I thought this chapter would be bigger than the second, but in the end it was almost the same size. I hope you enjoyed, by the way, I don't know if at the beginning, Damian's personality was similar to his or not, and I also know that aesthetic doesn't seem to match, but I couldn't find images that matched and related to facts in the chapter, so sorry for that. (and the knight in the aesthetic is the bodyguard, just so you know)

Btw, if in case it have anything confused or with English errors, please let me know.

I think that's it, I really hope you like it =)

Until the next chapter!

See ya!

- Ina -

Masterlist

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jaybear1701 · 5 years ago

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One-night stands are supposed to be quick, easy, and forgettable.

No strings attached.

And they’re certainly not supposed to show up on your first day at work--your first crime scene, no less--with a roguish grin and sparkling blue eyes that are just as mesmerizing in the harsh light of day as they had been after four cocktails in a dive bar.

"Oh,” is all Scylla can manage to breathe out when Dr. Izadora L’Amara aka the medical examiner aka Scylla’s boss for the next year introduces her to Raelle Collar. Detective Raelle Collar of the Salem Police Department. It should be illegal for someone to look that good in black slacks and a form-fitting blue oxford rolled part-way up her forearms.

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Ramshorn,” Raelle drawls as they shake hands, her grip lingering perhaps a second longer than necessary. “Again.” Her blonde hair--braided on one side like it had been on Saturday night--practically glows in the sun, and Scylla tamps down the memory of how much better it looked as a golden halo spread across a pillow.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Scylla says and then inwardly cringes when Raelle’s grin widens into shit-eating. She could have phrased it better. Much better.

“I didn’t realize you two already knew each other,” Izadora says, arching one eyebrow.

“We’re acquainted.” Raelle winks at Scylla, whose cheeks burn. At least Scylla could blame it on the summer heat.

Izadora hums as she makes her way to the bodies. Raelle follows after with Scylla in tow, past a small crowd of curious onlookers and a television news crew that’s setting up their camera and mic’ing up their reporter.

They approach an alleyway barricaded with yellow police tape, which Raelle pulls up to allow Scylla and Izadora to duck underneath.

“What do we have?” Izadora asks as Raelle leads them to the crime scene where three victims await, bodies arranged in a perverse triangle.

“Triple homicide,” Raelle answers. “And one we’ve identified as Constance Treefine, so you can imagine the press will have a field day if that gets out. Still waiting to confirm the identities of the others.”

“Treefine?” Scylla asks.

“A member of one of Salem’s oldest and wealthiest High Atlantic families,” Izadora explains.

Around them, patrol officers and crime scene investigators bustle about collecting evidence.

“Think the cause of death is pretty obvious,” Raelle says.

“We’ll be the judge of that, Detective Collar, thank you very much.” Izadora crouches down next to the closest victim and snaps on a pair of latex gloves. Scylla and Raelle follow suit. “Male, 40s,” Izadora says.“Ramshorn?”

“His larynx has been extracted.” Scylla prods at the wound carefully with a gloved finger. “The cuts are clean. Precise. Almost… professional. No signs of hemorrhaging, which is unusual. Cause of death unclear.”

Izadora nods in approval.

“If you say so, beautiful.” Raelle shrugs.

Izadora returns to a standing position. “Dr. Ramshorn, complete your preliminary examinations and meet me back at the station.” She eyes Raelle. “And Detective Collar, please remember to be professional. Lest I have another conversation with Sergeant Quartermaine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Raelle gives her a jaunty salute before turning all her attention back to Scylla, who pretends she’s not there as she continues a visual examination of the bodies.

She notices a patch of red skin behind the victim’s ear and carefully lifts his lobe. “There’s some kind of marking here.” Scylla points at a black symbol of what appears to be a complicated sigil. “A tattoo, perhaps.”

“Fresh by the looks of it,” Raelle says before waving someone over. “Tal, get a shot of this.”

One of the investigators with a DSLR approaches, a woman with long red hair tied in a ponytail. She crouches down and snaps a photo, the camera’s light flashing.

“Fascinating,” she exclaims. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” She looks up and smiles at Scylla. “And I’ve not seen you before either.”

“Oh, sorry,” Raelle says. “Tally, this is our newest pathologist, Dr. Scylla Ramshorn. Dr. Ramshorn, this is Tally Craven, one of our best CSIs.”

“Nice to meet you, Tally. I’d shake your hand, but...” Scylla raises her contaminated gloves.

“No worries.” Tally nods in understanding. “Scylla’s a really beautiful name. Greek, right?” She tilts her head toward Raelle. “Didn’t you say you met a Scylla the other night?”

Heat prickles across the back of Scylla’s neck.

Raelle clears her throat. “Just a coincidence.”

“Huh,” Tally says. “Well, welcome aboard, Scylla. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for ya.”

She pops back up and wanders over to take photos of the other victims, leaving Raelle and Scylla together in an awkward silence. Raelle looks like she wants to say something more, but she doesn’t. Thankfully.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it, Doc,” Raelle says before she walks away to confer with other officers.

And Scylla lets out a breath of relief, thankful that she can focus on the task at hand, trying her best to ignore the occasional looks Raelle throws her way.

***

Several hours later, Scylla's on her way to the morgue, eager to begin the autopsies. This is where she thrives, alone with her work, disengaging from emotions and focusing on science to uncover secrets from the dead that only she can find. To bring them justice. And, she hopes, a modicum of peace.

She doesn't expect to bump into Ralle at the elevator, waiting for the car to arrive.

“So, Doc, you left super early yesterday," Raelle says as she falls into step next to Scylla. "Missed out on some mean chocolate-chip pancakes.”

She has to nip this in the bud. Pronto.

“Let me stop you right there, Detective,” Scylla interrupts. “Saturday night was… fun." That's an understatement. Mind-blowing is more like it. Earth shattering. Game changing. "But nothing more. And the sooner we put it behind us, the better.”

Raelle’s smile falls from her all too-attractive face. “Sure, of course.”

Scylla inwardly curses.

And that's that.

***

Or so she thinks.

Every once in a while, Raelle stops by the morgue to check on the “windpipe” case--Raelle insists on that description even though Scylla has thoroughly explained that the trachea and the larynx, despite their proximity, are two very different anatomical parts.

Raelle's professional and polite, despite Scylla's rejection, but doesn't quite get the memo that she's not supposed to be charming or cute or adorable.

One day, Raelle sets down a disposable cup of coffee on Scylla’s desk and pushes it toward her. A familiar logo adorns its sleeve: two coffee beans in a V-shape to form a heart. It’s from Scylla’s favorite shop, nowhere near the precinct.

"Kona, no cream, one sugar," Raelle props her hip on the desk. "I've heard on the grapevine it's your favorite."

"Are you stalking me, Detective?"

"Stalking?" Raelle mimes being stabbed in the heart. "You wound me, Doc. It's called gathering intel."

"Gathering intel," Scylla repeats, leaning back in her chair. She'd prefer to keep Raelle at arm's length, but a small part of her feels flattered anyway, an unwelcome warmth spreading through her chest."

"Learning about a new colleague."

"Temporary colleague. The fellowship's only one year."

"Still plenty of time for us to get to know each other better. And there are much easier ways than me tracking down your coffee order. Like, lunch? Or dinner?"

Scylla has to shut this down. Again.

"Detective Collar."

"Raelle."

"Sorry?"

"You can call me Raelle. Like you did when we met."

"Detective." Scylla’s face heats up, remembering exactly how she had said Raelle’s name on that particular night. Had breathed it out like a prayer, and a curse. "You're sweet.. But I don't date coworkers."

Let alone one-night stands.

"Who said anything about a date?" Raelle rubs her chin between her thumb and forefinger, just beneath the scar along her cheek that Scylla vividly remembers worshiping with her lips in the not-so-distant past. "You’ve gotta eat, don’t you? Or are you not friends with coworkers, either?”

Scylla rakes her teeth across her bottom lip, partly mortified by her assumption.

“Tell ya what,” Raelle grins as she slides off the desk. “If you're ever in need of wholesome and completely platonic sustenance, you know where to find me."

Scylla picks up the coffee and removes the lid. She blows on it, breath skimming the heavenly brown liquid, and sips. It burns her tongue anyway.

***

"So, how are things?" Sergeant Anacostia Quartermaine takes a large bite of her turkey on wheat, elbows on her desk as she chews.

Much like Anacostia, her office is practical, functional, and no-nonsense, with hardly any personal decorations except for a single picture frame on her painfully neat desk. In it is a photo of Anacostia and Scylla on her graduation day from medical school, both of them beaming at the camera.

Smiling at the memory, Scylla unwraps her own lunch, a vegetarian wrap. Extra mushrooms. "Not bad," she answers.

"Not bad?" Anacostia repeats. "We've got a serial killer on the loose and all you have to say about it is: not bad?"

"Fine, it's amazing," Scylla says in an overexaggerated manner. "A dream come true. In fact, it's beyond my wildest imaginings."

"And here you thought coming back home for your fellowship would be boring." Anacostia smiled. "You making any friends?"

Scylla waves that off, as she takes a bit of her wrap and mumbles, "I'm not here for that."

"I know, but it wouldn't kill you to have some fun every once in a while." Anacostias waggles a potato chip at Scylla before popping it in her mouth.

Scylla stops mid-chew. "That's hilarious coming from you."

"Excuse you. I have fun."

"Your idea of fun is organizing your kitchen pantry by alphabetical order. You don't get to judge me."

"I'm not judging. I'm encouraging, as is my right as your guardian."

On the other side of the glass wall that partitions Anacostia's office from the rest of the detectives' desks, Scylla notices Raelle enter the room. She doesn’t take note of Scylla at first, but when their eyes lock, she gives her a slow smile that still makes Scylla’s stomach flutter despite the self-imposed distance she placed between them. And Anacotia--being the savvy detective that she is--notices Scylla noticing Raelle noticing Scylla.

"Not making friends, huh?" Anacostia has a knowing smile on her face.

"We’re not friends," Scylla says perhaps too quickly.

“If you say so,” Anacostia says. “Collar is one of my best detectives, but…”

“But?”

“Just be careful with her,” Anacostia warns softly. “She’s not as tough as she’d like people to believe.”

***

If there’s one thing Scylla learns about Raelle after her lunch with Anacostia, it’s that she definitely has quite the reputation. Not that Scylla’s going out of her way to “gather intel” on Raelle. Not in the slightest.

Raelle and her partner, Abigail Bellweather of the High Atlantic Bellweathers, are the two youngest detectives in the department. They’re on a hot streak for solving murders, but they also have a penchant for mayhem. Lots of mayhem. Rumor has it that they once managed to blow up two large trucks in the pursuit of a serial bomber, damaging parts of a newly paved stretch of highway. The mayor was, suffice it to say, far from pleased. Neither was Abigail’s mother, Chief of Police Petra Bellweather. Aside from their destructive tendencies, Raelle, apparently, is also notorious for charming the panties off half the women in the precinct and breaking hearts--if scuttlebutt can be believed.

And Scylla takes it all as proof that she made the right decision to keep Raelle at arm’s length. Raelle is nothing but trouble disguised behind gorgeous blue eyes and a roguish smile.

***

But Scylla also discovers Raelle is very much a study in contradiction. She plays hard, but works hard, too. On nights Scylla leaves late at night after a long day of autopsies or reports, Raelle’s always at her desk whenever Scylla walks past the detectives’ offices, typing furiously on her keyboard, candy bar wrappers and open cans of Red Bull sitting atop stacks of manila papers and folders.

One night, Scylla can’t resist and stops in the doorway. “Do you ever sleep?”

“These cases aren’t gonna solve themselves, Doc.” Raelle leans back in her chair, lips turning up, languid and easy.

Scylla hates how Raelle’s smile still makes her heart skip a beat. “Detective, are you familiar with the law of diminishing returns?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes, for your well being,” Scylla says. “At some point, the benefits you gain from working start to decrease the more you overwork.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Raelle makes an exaggerated show of stretching out her arm and squinting at her wrist watch. It’s nearly midnight. “But it sounds like the pot calling the kettle black.”

Scylla rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying, breaks are good every now and again.”

“Doctor’s orders?” Raelle winks.

“Yeah, doctor’s orders,” Scylla can’t help but smile.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Raelle accedes. “Though, if you’re offering to help me comply with those orders...”

And that’s Scylla’s cue to leave before she can do anything she might regret. Again. “Goodnight, Detective.”

***

The murders continue. Always in the same pattern. Three unrelated victims, of every age, sex, race, national origin, religion, and socio-economic status, positioned to form a grotesque triangle. All with their vocal folds removed with minimal blood from the wound site. All with a different sigil tattooed somewhere on their bodies..

“Toxicology finally came back on the first victims.” Scylla hands a copy of the report to Abigail, adopting a neutral and professional tone that she hopes effectively masks her disappointment that a certain blonde detective is nowhere to be seen. “Each victim had etorphine, pentobarbital, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride in their systems.”

“And what does that mean in English?” Abigail frowns as she flips through the pages.

“Etorphine is a tranquilizer. The others, when combined, are commonly used in lethal injections.”

Abigail’s head shoots up. “Seriously?”

It’s then that Raelle rushes into the room and brushes past Scylla, a little worse for wear. She tucks her dress shirt in her pants, creases apparent against white, and tosses a wrinkled blazer on the back of her chair. It looks suspiciously like she’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday.

“Sorry, I’m late.” She sits and rolls her chair up to the desk. “Oh, hey there, Doc.” Self-consciously, Raelle combs her fingers through her hair, wincing when they snag against tangles. “Didn’t think you’d be visiting this early.”

“It’s almost noon,” Scylla points out.

Abigail gives Raelle an unimpressed once over. “You look like shit.”

“Why, thank you, Bells. You always know how to make a girl feel special.”

Abigail gives her a flat stare. “Where have you been? Quartermaine would have had your ass if she didn’t have a meeting with the chief.”

Scylla bites the inside of her cheek at the mention of Anacostia. She wonders if anyone has put two-and-two together about their relationship. Not that they’ve been hiding it, per se.

“Had another all-nighter,” Raelle shrugs. “You know how those go.”

Abigail just shakes her head. “You’re hopeless.”

Scylla’s unsure what an “all-nighter” entails, though she has an inkling. Her stomach twists slightly, even though she has no right to be bothered about whatever (or whomever) Raelle does.

“Anyway, what were you guys talking about?” Raelle asks.

Abigail tosses the file to Raelle, who fumbles it slightly as she catches it. “Ramshorn here says the victims were drugged and executed.”

“Based on our findings, it’s plausible the victims were sedated and killed before their larynxes were removed,” Scylla explains. “That could explain the lack of blood around the extraction point.”

Raelle eyes the report. “So we could be dealing with a medical professional?”

“Assuming nothing was stolen or otherwise acquired through less than legal means,” Abigail says.

“Well, it’s more than what we had before,” Raelle smiles. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Oh, Scylla, there you are!” Tally bounds up to them from out of nowhere. “I swung by your office, but you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, Tally, I’m just finishing up with the detectives,” Scylla says. “Unless there’s anything else you two need?”

Abigail shakes her head. “Whoa, wait, your name is Scylla?”

“That’s right.”

Abigail’s gaze ping-pongs between Raelle, who looks ready to murder Abigail on the spot, and an increasingly embarrassed.Scylla, who wonders just how many people Raelle had told about their night together. For all she knows it’s the entire precinct.

“Well,” Abigail’s eyebrows raise, “That’s interesting.”

“Not as interesting as coffee,” Tally hooks her arm through Scylla’s.

“Wait, you’re having coffee together?” Raelle asks. She looks almost hurt, not that Scylla cares.

“That’s right.” Scylla smiles. “Tally Craven, let’s have that coffee.”

Tally beams as she pulls Scylla away.

Scylla swears she can feel Raelle’s stare every step of the way.

***

After another long Friday of autopsies, Scylla can’t wait to get back to her apartment and take a soak in a hot, hard-earned bubble bath. She’s almost to the front entrance when she nearly runs headfirst into Raelle, who’s sporting a busted lip and a bruise on her left cheek, just above her scar.

“Detective, what…” Scylla is at a loss of words, heart in her throat.

“Oh, hey, Doc,” Raelle tries to give her usual playful grin, but the effect is lost amid the shallow cuts along her chin and the dried blood caked around her nose. “Heading out?”

Worry claws at Scylla’s stomach. “Your face.”

“Still pretty, right?”

Scylla places a hand on Raelle’s elbow and guides her to the side. “What happened? Are you okay?” She asks as Abigail pushes the doors open, probably with a little more force than necessary. Unlike Raelle, Abigail is unscathed, a deep scowl on her face.

“Long story,” Raelle says.

“She tried to stop a robbery without backup like a reckless maniac.” Abigail crosses her arms.

“Okay, maybe not so long,” Raelle admits.

Scylla frowns, unable to stop herself from brushing a few strands of blonde from Raelle’s face. “You should really get yourself checked out.”

“I’m fine,” Raelle protests. "Everyone's overreacting."

“Raelle," Scylla says, immediately grabbing Raelle's attention with her use of her first name. "Come with me. Let’s get you fixed up.”

The corner of Raelle's eyes crinkle in a pleased smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Abigail huffs as she turns to leave. “Get her out of my sight, Ramshorn, before I kill her myself.”

Scylla leads Raelle back to her office near the morgue. Thankfully, it’s late enough that it’s empty. Dr. L’Amara had left hours before.

“Sit and wait here,” Scylla orders.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re hot when you’re bossy,” Raelle says, wincing as she lowers herself in a seat in front of Scylla’s desk.

Ignoring Raelle, Scylla enters the exam room to wet a washcloth, retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, and collect a first aid kit. When she returns, she sits in the chair next to Raelle and hands her the ice pack. Raelle presses it to the side of her head with a sigh.

Scylla begins cleaning the blood from Raelle’s face with gauze soaked with a saline solution. Although she takes extra care around Raelle’s wounds, she still winces in pain.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Raelle insists, pink tinging her cheeks.

“And you really don’t have to be reckless,” Scylla says, uncapping a tube of triple-antibiotic ointment, squeezing some on a cotton pledget, and applying it to Raelle’s cuts. “But here we are.”

“I’m not reckless,” Raelle insists as Scylla takes the ice pack so she can examine Raelle’s scalp.

“Right, that’s why you’ve got a lump the size of a softball on your head.” Scylla’s fingers skim across Raelle’s braids, gently outlining a hematoma.

“Someone had to step in,” Raelle says with quiet conviction. “It was the right thing to do.”

Scylla bites back a lecture. It’s not her place to chastise Raelle or tell her how to do her job, even if she can’t quite shake the worry that’s weighing in the pit of her stomach. Instead, Scylla hands back the ice pack, picks up an otoscope, and shines a light into Raelle’s eyes. One pupil doesn’t constrict, confirming Scylla’s suspicions.

“You have a concussion,” Scylla turns off the light.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Scylla sighs. “You should rest, but it'd be better if you stay up for a few hours.”

“You know, I might need some help staying up. What do you say, Doc?” Raelle waggles her eyebrows and Scylla can’t help but laugh because Raelle’s incorrigible .

"In your state, I doubt you'd be able to keep up with me," Scylla lightly teases. It’s not flirting, she tells herself. It’s harmless banter among colleagues.

"I like challenges." Raelle’s blue eyes are serious now, no longer joking, and Scylla finds she can’t breathe. Or look away.

"Collar!” Anacostia barks from the doorway, startling them both. “In my office. Now!"

"Some other time then,” Raelle says with a small smile before she leaves.

When she’s gone, Scylla slumps back in her chair, hand resting on her chest, wondering what in the hell she’s doing.

#raylla #motherland fort salem #mfsweek #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #non-magic au #a bit of an homage to rizzoli & isles too

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soprano193 · 4 years ago

Text

Not a Couple

Chapter 4

Constance:

"Maura, no!" Her cry made her seven-year-old jump, her hand rapidly retreating from the still hot curling iron that rested on the bathroom counter. "What are you thinking? Do you want to hurt yourself?"

Maura's eyes welled up, her hands knotted in front of her stomach. "I wanted my hair to look like yours." Her head fell, her eyes looking at the floor. It made Constance's heart break.

Walking forward, she attempted to soften her tone, plugging in the curling iron and tapping her child on the shoulder. "Next time, just ask for help." It was more blunt than she meant, but in the long run, was a lesson Maura needed to learn. "I would be happy to help you curl your hair like mine." The iron on a low heat setting, she wrapped a section of honey blonde hair around the barrel. Maura's hair curled easier than hers, so it didn't take long for her to have loose ringlets bouncing on her shoulders. Maura was quiet the entire time Constance fiddled with her hair, her hands tapping a rhythm on the sides of her legs. When Constance was satisfied, she turned Maura towards her, twirling the last ringlet around her finger. "All done. Now go pick out a dress."

Maura's hands came up to touch the navy blue strap of her mother's dress. "Is this what you're wearing?"

"Yes. Now go pick out your dress, we don't have much time." This spurred the young girl into action, and she dashed from the bathroom, her feet hitting the floor with a heavy thud as she ran down the hall.

As Maura frantically dressed, Constance switched over her purse and spoke on the phone with the gallery director, apologizing for the need to bring her daughter. "She is very well behaved, you won't even notice she is there." The woman on the other end seemed annoyed, but consented to the added person. As if Constance had any control over the nanny falling ill, or her husband's busy schedule. She yelled down the hall for her daughter one last time. "Maura! We need to leave, now!"

"Coming, Mother!" After a few moments, the young girl appeared in a navy blue dress of her own, and little pink heels. Her dress had short sleeves, and buttons down the front, but the color matched Constance's almost exactly.

"Maura, dear, what happened to your black shoes?"

The you girl's shoulders dropped and she shuffled her feet. "They don't fit. I know I don't match." It was futile to ask her to put on a pink dress instead. She wanted to match her mother, not her shoes, and they were running late.

Constance let out a sigh, but beckoned her daughter to come closer. "Regardless, we don't have time for you to change. Come along." Her daughter grinned, and clomped along behind her, reaching a hand out to walk with her mother.

Art installations always put Constance out of her mind. There was a lot going on, many people to talk to, pieces to sell, and she always seemed to lose track of time. Thankfully, Maura managed to stay close, always within reach, yet silent for the most part. She had always been a shy child, and large groups of strangers could make her anxious. So she stayed close to the one person she knew, and focused on the art pieces she could see.

When the event started to die down, Constance placed her hands on Maura's shoulders and looked up at the piece she was admiring. It almost reached the ceiling, with splatters of red, green, and orange prominently featured. "What do you think of this one, dear?"

The girl leaned back into her mother. "I like it."

"Why?"

There was a moment of silence before she answered. "The colors. They make me happy."

Before Constance could answer, someone walked behind them and tapped her on the shoulder. "Can I get a photo for the newspaper?"

Both of them turned, Constance nodding in the affirmative before walking towards better lighting. "Of course. Maura, stand right there for a moment, dear."

The photographer flashed a soft smile and addressed the girl, who tried her best to put on a brave face as she stood alone. "Hi, sweetie. Do you want to be in the picture with your Mom?" Maura nodded, but waited for her mother to hold out her hands. Constance knelt down and put her arm around Maura's back, careful not to crush her curls. "Beautiful!" The photographer gushed as she sapped a few photos. "Beautiful like your Mama."

"You think I look like her?" The seven year old beamed, turning to face her mother with excitement.

"Absolutely. You even dressed alike." The photographer grinned as she lowered her camera. "I used to dress like my Mom, too." She turned her attention to Constance. "I can get one of just you, if you'd like."

"I think what you have will do. Thank you." She rubbed her hand in circles on Maura's back, who was still beaming from the photographer's compliment.

"She said I look like you, Mom." Her body thrummed with energy. She didn't hear it too often. Most often they guessed that Maura must take after her father, when in reality, she didn't look like him either.

Constance twirled a loosening ringlet around her fingers, meeting Maura's eyes with pride. "She did." She took her daughter's hand in hers. "It's time to head home."

"You aren't usually the type for nostalgia, Connie." Her husband's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, the newspaper clipping of her and a young Maura dropping back into the box. He sat at the table next to her, picking up a picture at random. "I don't remember this one." He passed it over to her, looking for an explanation. Here, Maura was around four, a handful of weeds in her hands, the strap of her yellow dress falling off her shoulder.

"I don't remember this one, either." It pained her to admit it, but she didn't remember a lot of the photos that were currently spread on their dining room table. "I think that the Nanny might have taken this." She moved the photo to the left and picked up another. Maura with bulky safety glasses on, her Halloween costume when she was nine. She laughed as she passed it to Arthur, making a note to put it aside.

"I don't remember this either." His voice was quiet as he sat it down.

"You aren't the only one that missed her life, Arthur." She picked up another unrecognizable picture, with a two-year-old Maura dancing toward the camera. "But we can be there for her now." She reached for that picture with the safety goggles, placing it in a small pile with similar photos.

"So what brought all this on?" Arthur had started gathering piles of photos, leaning back in the dining room chair as he looked at each one.

"Maura's friend, Jane, sent me an email. She needs pictures of Maura as a child, with a preference for 'especially geeky and sciency pictures, please'. I think she said something about a slideshow for a party." Jane was a frequent subject as she worked on reconnecting with her daughter. Maura was always describing some new joke Jane told, or filling her in on the latest Jane gossip. It was clear the woman was a big part of their daughter's life. "You would like Jane, I think. She's very direct, a straight shooter, but very protective and understanding of Maura. They're a good fit." She grabbed her husband's hand, shot him a knowing glance, and pulled the photo of Maura with a ribbon from the science fair off the top of his pile.

It seemed to take a moment for Arthur to get it, but when he did, his eyes widened and he lowered his pile of pictures. "Wait. You don't think…"

"I do."

His brows furrowed as he processed the information. "But she never showed any indication that she might be interested in females."

Constance let out a breath as she picked up her own pile. "I'm not sure that's true." At his puzzled expression, she continued. "Do you remember when Maura came home for her first Thanksgiving break? We were all sitting for dinner, and Maura was going on and on about Biology." She could picture it perfectly, Arthur at the head of the table with a journal open as they ate, while she tried to dab at a cranberry stain on the front of her shirt. Maura was looking in Arthur's direction as she spoke. "She was rattling off facts about all the species they had seen homosexual relationships in. Mammals, birds, fish, she had an example for just about everything. And I made a mistake." Arthur raised his eyebrows, his pile lowering completely as he gave her his full attention. "I asked her what she was trying to tell us. And it came out so harsh, I think she thought we wouldn't approve." Maura protected herself the only way she knew how. She shut down the topic, moving to something else, refusing to be swayed. "I have found out from a source that Maura experimented in college, and she may not have hated it."

"Is that source Jane?"

This made Constance chuckle. "No, Jane doesn't tell me anything Maura doesn't want me to know. Jane's mother told me."

"Wait, how does Jane's mother fit into all of this?"

Constance put her pile of photos down, focusing on her husband. "Angela lives with Maura. They have a good relationship." A relationship she was envious of. But she was trying to do better. "Every time I see her, I try to drop hints about how open-minded I can be, but she isn't picking up on them."

This had Arthur laughing, his baritone bouncing off the walls. "You can't drop hints with Maura, Connie. You have to ask her directly."

"Well how do you suggest I do that? 'Angela told me about your ex-girlfriend, Sam, and now I want to talk with you about her?'"

"Sam?" He stopped laughing, eyes wide, and grabbed her hand. "She talked about Sam, I remember that."

"She talked about Sam in very gender neutral terms. And then stopped, probably whenever they broke up."

They both took some time to take it all in. Constance started putting the photos she wasn't sending Jane back into the box. Arthur's voice made her pause. "Has she dated other women since then? I feel like I've heard about a few guys."

"I don't know."

Arthur started adding photos to the box, looking at a few of them along the way. "What makes you think she is interested in Jane that way?"

She took her time to answer, thinking about what she had noticed as they worked toward rebuilding their relationship. "Well, she trusts Jane completely. And they understand each other. Both drop everything for each other, Maura even cancelled a night out with me because Jane needed her. And you know what I learned from that Thanksgiving night all those years ago?"

"I think you'll tell me."

"I learned how to listen to Maura. Really listen. To watch her face when she talks, to figure out the meaning behind her words. And I'm telling you, she has deep feelings for Jane."

Her husband was silent, holding onto the last picture, his eyes fixated on the young woman speaking at her high school graduation. "So what's the next step?"

"Keep up with her, regain her trust. I hope one day she can talk to me the same way she can talk to Angela, or Jane." Arthur regarded her answer with a nod of his head. He rose from the table and walked toward the front door. "Where are you going?"

He returned a half minute later with his briefcase, and pulled his phone out of the side pocket. "I'm going to reach out. I want to be around when she tells you."

Maura didn't answer. She hadn't spoken to Arthur in years, and never wanted to talk to Constance about it. But he was making an effort, as was she. It gave her some hope that their relationship would mend along the way.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #rizzles fanfic #my fic #not a couple #I'm super late posting these chapters wow

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years ago

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LAUREL LINWOOD is TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD and an ESCORT at FAIR FARIBAULT’S in KNOCKTURN ALLEY and a BARMAID at THE FOUNTAIN OF FAIR FORTUNE in HORIZONT ALLEY. She looks remarkably like SAMARA WEAVING and considers herself aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death

The coolest girl in any room, Laurel Linwood is a living legend. A beautiful blonde who doesn’t take life too seriously, Laurel’s motto in life is to have fun and look good doing it. Born in Barnet, Laurel was raised by her mother CHRISSIE LINWOOD and grandmother AILEEN, in a weird and wonderful boarding house. The middle of the Linwood sisters, Laurel was the tear away child never without a comment, sassy joke or a cheeky grin on her face. Outcasts in their local community due to their bohemian lifestyle, Chrissie was a former actress who had never quite made into anything most people had seen and made her living running a business without a man. The odd comments and stares their family received didn’t bother the Linwood women. Laurel loved Linwood Lodge and wouldn’t have changed her upbringing for all the money or normality in the world. Their house had a carousel of people who came and went as they pleased. Circus performers who did tricks in the garden, magicians who pulled flags from their arms, aspiring rockstars who wrote them songs and strum their guitars all called Linwood Lodge home for a time. The girls were encouraged to keep away from the guests as not to bother them, but Laurel never paid much attention to things that prevented her from having fun. Most guests were always happy to tell the girls how they had washed up at the boarding house and Laurel can recall very few who stayed in their rooms. It was the strange environment of Linwood Lodge that had attracted Laurel’s father to stay the first time he met her mother, whisking her away to a life as an actress amongst a circle of select viewership.

Laurel’s mother never used his name and her grandmother simply referred to him as ‘that man’ or ‘the mistake’ which left a lot to the imagination and allowed Laurel and MAREN to fill in the gaps. Their made-up narratives about their father were amusing but her curiosity in him didn’t really spark until strange things began happening to her. When Laurel was around seven her mother was called into her primary school with complaints. Children who bullied her would be pelted by floating chalkboard rubbers or their lunchboxes would empty themselves into the bin like magic. Teachers accused her of picking up strange tricks from the characters they hosted at the boarding house, which her mother seemed happy to agree to even though they both knew that wasn’t what was happening. Her mother didn’t seem shocked when her teachers told her what had happened, taking Laurel home and giving her a lecture on exercising control. Confused her mind began to wander, wondering if she was a strange creature like the ones she’d read about in books and watched on tv and if somewhere amongst all of this her father lied at the centre. When Laurel neared her eleventh birthday, Adairia sat her down and revealed to her the true nature of her gifts. The Linwood girls were witches, whose magic had reappeared in their bloodline with their birth. The revelation cast doubt on her theories about her special dad but otherwise filled her with excitement. Over the next few weeks Laurel waited patiently for her letter from Hogwarts, intercepting it in the garden when it arrived away from the prying eyes of her younger sister.

Sorted into Gryffindor, Laurel quickly made a name for herself as a large personality, dressed in fitted denim and a stack of records under her arm. Whilst people in her year like PATRICIA RAKEPICK became famous for pulling pranks, Laurel was known for her parties. A Beater for the Quidditch team with her best friend TRYSTAN WARRINGTON, Laurel loved cranking the music up loud on her record player after a Gryffindor win and seeing how many people she could cram into the common room without PROFESSOR MINERVA MCGONAGALL finding out and having a set of kittens. It was at one of these social soirées she got to know someone who would become a firm fixture in her life. NATAN DIGGORY was from a famous wizarding family and a chaser for the Hufflepuff team Laurel believed was incredibly full of himself. Natan’s belief he was the coolest guy in school began harmless teasing between the pair and set the foundations for a very close relationship the two would come to share. Equally as confident as Laurel, the pair spent their days laughing in the corridor and cracking jokes on the field with Trystan, forming an unreliable trio that was instantly recognisable to anyone in their year. Laurel loved her boys more than anything. Natan was her soulmate, her partner in crime and resident ball of fun, whilst Trystan always had her back and was ready to fight the good fight with anyone who got in their way. The trio were unapologetically themselves and whilst that made them friends in the form of ARTHUR WEASLEY and JENNIFER VANE who loved their carefree attitude, it also made them enemies.

ANYA ROOKWOOD, quickly became Laurel’s nemesis. A prim princess with a chip on her shoulder because she was a Half-Blood, Laurel assumed the reason Anya hated her so much because she wore her Muggle-Born colours on her sleeve with pride. When Maren joined Hogwarts a few years later it became clear she was heading for a similar route through school both Laurel and Adaria had. A beautiful singer and a kind soul, Maren quickly attracted bullying from a number of Pure-Blood students including VIOLET BULSTRODE and twins VICTOR and ELENAOR YAXLEY. Although the students were three years her junior, Laurel had no problem hexing them, berating them and receiving a number of detentions because of it with her fellow social justice bestie CONSTANCE SONG. Their work at Hogwarts defending the downtrodden sparked a dream in Laurel to become an auror, quickly enrolling in the progs,me after after graduation before being forced to pull out as disaster struck their family. Chrissie was dying. She had kept it to herself, calling her girls to her bedside in her last few weeks of life before she passed away. Laurel in particular was annoyed with her mother. Not only had she kept her illness to herself, Chrissie and their grandma had kept a mountain of debts they couldn’t pay to themselves leaving Laurel and Adairia lost on how to fix the problem. Whilst Laurel stayed at home to care for their grandmother and run Linwood Lodge, Adaria took off to find work that might help cover the debt, sending money whenever she could before returning fully a year later richer than Laurel could have imagined.

Laurel was stunned. At first she was suspicious of her sister until Adaria admitted to escorting in the city, a reasonable explanation in Laurel’s eyes for how she had made that much money. Selling up Linwood Lodge, the sister’s paid off their mother’s debt and put a downpayment on The Fountain of Fair Fortune pub in Horizont Alley. Laurel still had her own dreams but The Fair Fortune was her fun. When Maren left school The Fountain of Fair Fortune became a true family business and with a little refurbishing, Maren’s talent for singing and Laurel’s for organising specialist nights the pub and boarding house became one of the busiest spots in town to get away and have fun. It quickly became apparent to Laurel that although it was a popular spot for fun, it also proved great for secret meetings. Around the time MARY MACDONALD began working at The Fair Fortune that Laurel noticed something was up. During her shift she would notice the sorcerer take the occasional shady break with Maren, huddled in a corner with SIRIUS BLACK, JAMES POTTER and MARLENE MCKINNON as they all spoke too loudly and took turns looking at Laurel and Adaira before shushing one another. A month in, Laurel grew tired of the secrecy and cornered Maren and Mary demanding answers. With all the rising deaths and disappearances happening in the city Laurel wasn’t surprised there was something going on behind the scenes to try and stop it, but what she was met with she couldn’t have conceived in her wildest dreams.

An underground group run by their old headmaster ALBUS DUMBLEDORE was so wild it could be true and after chatting about it with Adairia, the two demanded Mary and Maren take them to ALASTOR MOODY. Offering up the room above their pub as the headquarters the sisters joined the ranks of The Order. Though other members of the group have more training than she does, Laurel is always the first to stick her hand up and offer to undergo dangerous tasks in the hopes it will provide the team with information. Recently, Laurel has found her working as an escort for Fair Faribaults escort agency attempting to gain information from the people working there and the owners GEORGINE FARIBAULT and her sister’s friend RICHARD ELLINGTON to find out if the evil underground group is making a play to seduce the creature community. As a ¼ veela on her mother’s side, thanks to information she recently learned from her older sister, Laurel is the perfect candidate to pull in clients has been working covertly to become their top earner in the hopes of joining their inner circle. Though he was just a job at first, Natan’s brother AMOS DIGGORY has become somewhat of a regular for her. Although Amos started out as just a job for Laurel the more she gets to know him the fonder she grows of him. Only her sisters know how long she has harboured feelings for Amos’ younger brother Natan but after his engagement to GIVA PATIL was announced Amos has been the perfect secret distraction and perhaps an antidote for her heartbreak.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood Muggle-Born/¼ Veela

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → Sorcerers for Equality

Family → Adaria Linwood (sister), Maren Linwood (sister), Victor Yaxley (unknown half-brother/adversary), Eleanor Yaxley (unknown half-sister/adversary), Corban Yaxley (unknown uncle)

Connections → Constance Song (best friend/colleague), Natan Diggory (best friend/object of affection), Trystan Warrington (best friend), Arthur Weasley (close friend), Florence Jones (close friend), Jennifer Vane (close friend), Mafalda Hopkirk (close friend), Daisy Hookum (close friend), Claudette Delacour (close friend), Laurent Dane (close friend/colleague), Olivia Hailsham (close friend/colleague), Patricia Rakepick (friend), Mary MacDonald (friend/colleague), Amos Diggory (client/potential love interest), Georgine Faribault (boss/target), Richard Ellington (boss/target), Giva Patil (rival), Anya Rookwood (adversary), Violet Bulstrode (adversary)

Future Information → N/A

LAUREL LINWOOD IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH/VEELA.

#samara weaving fc #marauders rpg #marauders rp #Harry Potter rp #Laurel Linwood #order member #witch #veela #fair faribault's #taken #taken order member #taken female #taken veela #taken witch

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littleangel4996 · 5 years ago

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My Fate Pt 5

Summary: After Michael and (y/n) were knocked out by their attackers, they were both tied up at the moment.

Warning: Meeting Ben Harmon, Interrogation? Kinda and I don't want to spoil more but there is a mention of switching houses.

Michael's P.O.V

My throat felt so dry that I was coughing up the weird taste in my mouth.What did those people knocked us out with? Last night, all I could remember is what (y/n) said about my grandma. Did she really took her own life because of me? No I have to find out why. Looked at my surroundings, seeing where I'm at and this looks like the Masters bedroom. The walls were painted white with a nice comfy chair and a vanity kinda like (y/n). Oh my God, (Y/N). She's not in the room with me. I tried to call her name out but to no avail.

"(Y/n) please say something. You bastards hurt her I swear I'll make you regret it!!!"

"Do not worry, we have no attention of hurting her or you". A calm smooth male voice said. I looked to see a man in his early 40s sitting on the chair. But I don't understand, he wasn't there. How the hell he came to the room without me noticing.

Unless…"Are you a ghost?" I asked.

"Yes, yes I am Michael" he chuckled.

"How do you know my name. Did Constance tell you about me. My grandma where is she I must talk to her" he put his hand up to stop me from speaking any further.

"The spirits is in this house can't be seen unless they want to be seen".

"You mean she doesn't want to see me?"

"I'm sorry Michael" he frowns. I don't blame her. I wouldn't want (y/n) to see me if I ever hurt her. I hold back the tears that threaten to come out

"Who are you?" I question as he stands up and says "Someone who wants to be seen ,someone who wants to help. If you want to change I can show you". Then I let the tears break free.

"I'm a monster, why would you want to help me?" I cried. He walks up to me as he unties my hands. "Because I can't help to think of you as my son" he stands back giving me space to get up and I rub both of my wrists. "Even though you're not really". I stand up from the bed to face him. "Since you know my name, I don't know yours".

"I'm Ben Harmon, a psychiatrist. Well used to. And (y/n) is in my daughter's old room, come on" he gestures as I follow him out of the room straight down the other room as he opens the door to reveal (y/n) laying down sleeping like an angel. But I ran to her side making sure she was okay. Ever since she's awoken me from the dead, I can't help but feel this urge to protect her and care for her. Yes she's been the one that's been caring and protecting me but maybe it's my turn I do the caring and protecting for once.I shook her lightly whispering her name.

(Y/n) P.O.V

"(Y/n), wake up." whispered a soft voice that sounded familiar. When I wake, a beautiful blond blue eyed boy hovers over me with worry in his eyes. Michael.

"Michael!" I got up so fast wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He had this nice welcoming scent on him, like a baby's scent. I don't care I was glad to see Michael ok. I was the first to pull away.

"I was so worried" I cried.

"Are you kidding, I thought badass witches don't get worried" he said squeezing my shoulders. I looked at the corner of my eye to see a man dressed in a navy blue collar and black slacks matching his dress shoes with his brown hair and brown eyes. In protective mode, I got up pulling Michael behind me as I put my hand up having an invisible force pinning him to the wall.

Third person P.O.V

Michael stood up putting his hand on (y/n) arm but she refused to let her guard down. "(Y/n) listen to me, he means us no harm" he pleaded, trying to put her arm down.

"Are you crazy" she snapped. "Him and someone else took us hostage and you want me to stand down? Give me one good fucking reason Mikey!".

"BECAUSE HE CAN HELP ME!!!" (Y/n) turned her attention towards him dropping her arm hearing Ben fall to the floor with a thud.

"Just please, hear him out." She looks towards the doctor then at Michael. "He better have a good reason" she gritted.

-Time skip- living room

"So let me get this straight" (y/n) said, standing up from the couch next to Michael and Ben Harmon sitting on his chair.

"You can help Michael with his problems and the only fucking way to do that is for us to move in this murderous house full of ghosts?"

The therapist doctor nodded his head. (Y/n) rolled her eyes not believing a word he's saying but she knows he's telling the truth. But she really cannot be angry at the ghost too much because he hasn't killed her or Michael. She knows Michael might need help but she could have called Cordelia but decided against it because (y/n) does not want her sisters to worry.

"(Y/n)" Michael broke her out of her thoughts.

"It's okay if you do not want to move into this house, we can find other ways to help me" (y/n) rose her hand placing it on his shoulder and said " No, that would be selfish of me. You need to talk to someone that's a professional" she points to Ben then turns her attention to him.

"Can you really help him" she asked.

"Yes, it's possible. But I can promise you two no one will harm you here and if they try to do anything ,then tell them to go away"

The two living beings looked at each other, looking for any doubts in their eyes. She may regret it she may not but the witch cares for the young man even if she has to move in this house.

Back at the house of constance

"Yes I understand I just bought the place but I just really like the house next door...

(Y/n) P.O.V

Yeah I'm well aware that people have died there... GOD YES I KNOW ABOUT THE FUCKING PLACE NOW CAN YOU OR CANNOT MOVE ME THERE...You can?...Okay good when can we move?...2 days oh perfect thank you have a nice day" I hung up tossing my phone to the couch as I sat down next to Michael who had this look like damn girl.

"How are you today" I asked in a sarcastic way and both started laughing. My God how can my life get more crazier than this.

"Okay so in 2 days we will be able to move into that house".

"Well yeah I heard you when you were hollering at the salesman. I bet you even made his ears bleed" he joked. Then the phone rang on my side as I answered it.

"Hello"

" Hello is this Ms.(Y/n) (Y/l/n)?"

"Yes this is she."

"Oh good this Ms Solomon from the Palmer elementary and I looked over your resume and I must say I am impressed. Would you like to start next week."

"Yes perfect thank you"

"Wonderful I'll see you next week on Monday."

I turned my attention towards Michael with beam.

"I got the job!" (Y/n) exclaimed

Michael's P.O.V

"Oh God that's great!" We wrapped our arms around each other like we did back in murder house. But this time I don't think I want to let go of her embrace. I don't know why but I never felt cared for like my grandma. I honestly don't care about her anymore if she doesn't want to see me that's fine. It may hurt me to say this but it's for the best. I'm going to be starting a new chapter with (y/n) and I'm glad to see where this journey is heading.

-meanwhile back at murder house

"Look I understand you three are angry but-"

"Are you out of your goddamn mind Ben" Vivian, Tate, and Constance were livid that Ben would talk the girl and the boy to move in a house full of ghosts.

"But nothing, that boy I raised was an abomination and one day he will hurt that girl" constance said after lighting her cigarette.

"Well she's a witch" Ben added. Now everyone wasn't happy except maybe his daughter violet and Moira the maid.Tate was so furious that he had to walk away along with Vivian and Constance but not before she said "I hope to God I know what you're doing" and disappeared.

A/n: Sorry it took me forever I hope you all enjoyed pt 5 and once again I'm sorry.If you liked it pls give it a heart, comment or reblogs😘😘😘😘

@barbie-solecism

@sodanova

@wvntersldr

@kylolangdon

@theghostoflangdon

@miskwaadesiwag

@whysosadmcfly

@creativedreamdesigns

@kaccatus

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@captainskyline

@gracethegeek9902

@castiel-saved-me-from-myself

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@dyns33

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fluff #ahs murder house #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #fallenangel4996 #Myfate pt5 #myfate Fanfic #fallenangel4996 masterlist

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dirtyahs · 6 years ago

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Summer Break. (Tate Langdon x Reader.)

hi friends! sorry i’ve been so absent lately, school and life are kind of kicking my ass right now, but im trying to get back into the schedule of writing - i miss it a lot. i hope you guys enjoy this, you can expect to see me much more often now :^)

Thank you for the request @sydddboiiii

Prompt: “I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to.”

Word Count: 2,745

Warnings: not much, reunion sex, slightly rough, slight choking kink

It was summer break going into your Junior year of college You'd moved out of California to go to Arizona State University; it was close enough you could drive home, but still far enough that your mom and dad wouldn't be knocking on your door whenever they wanted to. And you absolutely loved college. You were having a wonderful experience and had met so many amazing people you now called your best friends. But coming home for the summer just sounded like fun this year. So here you sat, looking through your old high school year books, chuckling to yourself at all of the little notes from old friends and acquaintances.

"Love you forever bitch!! xoxo"

"Don't ever forget the time you threw up in my moms backyard - future (Y/N), does the smell of fireball still make you sick?"

"See ya in twenty years at the reunion."

Flipping the page, one was taken up entirely by a black felt tip pen and shaky handwriting you immediately recognized. Tate Langdon. You two had dated for two and a half out of your four years of high school, you were sure you wanted to be with him forever. But then you made the decision to move to Arizona, and Tate wanted to stay in California for awhile. So you two broke things off after graduation, and you hadn't heard from him or seen him since then. He did cross your mind from time to time, wondering if he was working, or had gotten into another relationship.

Maybe you'd try to get in touch with him while you were home - the idea made your heart flutter in your chest though. You hoped he didn't cut his hair. It always looked best long. You took a deep breath - you knew Tate followed you on Instagram and had probably seen you post photos of a guy you had briefly dated at the beginning of this semester. It'd been years since your relationship with Tate, but he'd always been the jealous type.

You closed the yearbook and put it back on your bookshelf, taking up the final spot at the end of the others. The day had gone on as normal, other than the fact you couldn't get Tate out of your mind. Reliving those memories from high school made your heart race.

The time he was throwing rocks at your window, and the time you two snuck out together to get high by the beach.

You'd stolen the keys to your moms car and somehow managed to get out of the house without her noticing. You picked Tate up, he was wearing black jeans and a blue and black flannel with his old beat up Doc Martens. You two sat at the shore, wrapped in a blanket, passing what felt like an endless amount of joints until the sun started to rise. You talked about his father, and about all of your insecurities. He said he'd adore you even with your stretch marks and slightly uneven eyebrows.

Tate was romantic. He was in touch with his emotions, and it was such a rarity among most men. Every other (not that there were that many) guy you had been involved with was chivalrous and kind at the start, but quickly lost that motivation when you agreed to have sex.

Tate was never like that.

He opened every door for you, let you wear his flannel if you were cold, and always let you have some of his food even when you said you weren't hungry. About seven months in, you two lost your virginity together. You expected it to be awkward and unenjoyable; everyone said your first time always is. But to you, it didn't feel real. It felt like something out of some cheesy teen movie, but it was amazing. He was so loving and gentle. You'd never forget the way he kissed your neck and told you he loved you for the first time.

The sun was setting now and you couldn't imagine going any more time without trying to see Tate. You looked at yourself in the mirror, wearing a black cropped tank top and denim mini skirt, you touched up your hair and grabbed your car keys. Hopefully he still lived in the same house. You got in the car and rolled all the windows down, letting the warm air blow through your hair - you had this drive memorized and could probably do it with your eyes closed if you had to.

Everything looked the same.

The large houses were all still intact and beautiful as ever, front yards lined with rose bushes, the sound of kids playing in the street was clear. You remembered watching Tate and Addie jumping on the trampoline they used to have in their backyard. It damn near gave Constance a heart attack every time they used it, but she couldn't manage to tell them no, especially when she saw all of her little ones playing together.

Beau's laugh was infectious, and Tate's love for them was so heartwarming. You pulled up to the house, looking at the large brick structure. You could see Tate's old bedroom window. It used to be covered from the inside with a big Sound Garden poster, making it as dark as he liked it. With a shaky breath you pulled the key from the ignition and made your way up to the front door, shoes clicking quietly on the cobblestone walkway.You knocked on the door, four times. You stood, feeling your knees shaking beneath you, the heat from the sun warming your back. You felt your heart jump when you heard the door open, looking up to see none other than your high school sweetheart. You meant to say something like "Hello," but your jaw hung open, the sun illuminating his golden locks, long and shaggy as ever.

"Hi Tate." You smiled up at him, his face was hard to read.

"(Y/N)..." He started, looking you up and down slowly before looking back up into your eyes. "I thought you moved to Arizona."

"I did, but I'm home for summer. No way in hell was I going to stay there for 130 degrees." His smile made you smile in response.

"Come in." He reached his hand out and you took it, shuddering when he instinctively brushed his thumb over yours.

"So hows college going?" He asked, you two sat at his kitchen table, he made you a cup of coffee, putting it over ice like he knew you liked."I mean, pretty bullshit honestly," You chuckled, "But necessary. I'm almost done now, might as well suck it up and keep going."

You two made small talk, everything feeling so easy and laid back. You two picked up right where you'd left off, you felt like old friends - sort of. An old friend you were wildly attracted to. He hadn't changed much, except he was wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top. He never wore anything but long sleeves when you two were younger, but his arms looked strong and his shoulders were broad so he could pull it off pretty damn well now.

"So hows that guy you're with?" He looked up through his blond curls and you almost choked on your drink at his boldness. You couldn't be too surprised honestly.

"Oh," You shrugged, desperately trying to make it clear that you were over him. "We sort of had a thing for a couple months. It never really went anywhere, and he wasn't exactly my type." You flashed a playful smile, and you saw that devilish smirk of Tate's crawl over his lips.

"And what is your type, exactly?" He said, leaning back, giving you a clear look at his torso, legs spread, only aiding in your mind wandering further than you cared to admit.

"I don't know, I like tall blondes." You teased, heart racing nervously for how confident you were acting. "Maybe had an emo phase in high school."He raised an eyebrow, still looking as devious as ever.

"Sounds like someone I know." He leaned forward, taking your hand in his. "So what I'm hearing is that you're completely single?" He questioned, making you stand up with him, his chest close to yours.

"I couldn't be more single if I tried." You giggled, feeling your face get hot when you feel his hands slip around your waist.

"I miss you, (Y/N)." His voice was quiet, lips ghosting over yours, immediately sending shivers down your spine.

"I miss you too, Tate." Your knees felt weak, "More than I even know how to explain."

With those words Tate finally pressed his lips against your own, large hands firmly holding your hips - he still made you feel safe. Within minutes the kiss had deepened into something fiery and passionate. Your hands were tangled in his hair, you two had made your way up the stairs, a trail of your clothing leading to his bedroom door, which he now had you pressed up against in nothing but your black panties. His lips worked furiously against yours, your hands were pinned on either side of your head. His lips moved to kiss down your neck, stopping where your shoulder connected, biting at it teasingly.

"Tate...I need you, please..." You whimpered, hands searching for something to grasp. You felt him smirk against your skin, lips moving back up your neck to your ear.

"I'm going to show you exactly who you belong to." He breathed against your ear, your knees immediately felt weak beneath him. He pulled back, and you were met with a familiar expression. His eyes were dark and he looked so possessive and dominant. He exuded power and control and something about him controlling you once again only aided the desperate wetness forming between your thighs. He finally released your wrists and they immediately tried to touch him, whimpering when he stepped out of your arms reach.

"You know better than to touch me without permission, angel." He said quietly, raising an eyebrow at you.Angel.That was his favorite pet name for you. He always said it fit you perfectly - that you were radiant and truly made him want to live life happy.

"Please, I need you. You're all I've been thinking about," You begged, clenching your thighs together, "please Sir." If he wanted to pull nicknames out of the past then you could too.

His cheeks were dusted red when you brought out the name, but it only excited him more.

"Go lay on the bed." He demanded, pulling you by your wrist over to his bed covered in a black duvet.

"Don't even think about touching me yet." He pushed you so you were flat on your back, his hands on the inside of your knees to spread your legs. His lips peppered your inner thighs with kisses, moving closer and closer to your core. You writhed under his hands that were wrapped around your thighs. You needed him more than you even knew how to explain. Finally, you let out a relaxed gasp when he kissed through your panties, almost immediately having your back arched.

”My angel needs me, hm?" He whispered teasingly, one finger moving the thin fabric to the side, slowly flicking his tongue against your clit, making you moan loudly.

"More...." You gasped breathlessly, "P-please..."

Your eyes were closed but you could almost feel his satisfied glare burning into your skin. He leaned in, gently swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His finger tips dug into your skin, your hands grasping at the thick duvet cover. He smirked against your hot skin before he buried his face between your thighs. He made shapes on your clit with his tongue, alternating between fast and slow. His right hand snaked over your thigh, his middle finger pressed against the wetness around your entrance before ever so slowly pushing it in, not stopping until he absolutely had to.

"Good girl," He praised quietly, adding in his ring finger. "So wet for me." He pumped his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace - your hands were desperate to tangle in his hair, but you wanted to follow his orders.

You loved being obedient for him.He leaned up from his spot between your thighs, lips glistening. He kept up the pace with his fingers though.

“Tell me princess, did you miss me all these years?" His voice was low and gravelly.

"Y-oh!" Suddenly he hit something inside you that made your legs shake.

"Yes sir, I missed you so much!" Your back was arched against the sheets and you. He knew what you liked, so he kept going, hitting that same spot over and over again.

"I-I'm gonna' cum, please can I?" You begged, feeling that coil tighten in your tummy that you haven't felt in so long.

"I think you deserve it, angel. Cum for me, all over my fingers like you used to."

His words sent you over the edge, damn near screaming as the coil snapped, your body was trembling beneath his touch, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. He helped you ride your orgasm out until the very end, only quickening his pace as you screamed for him, blond curls stuck to his forehead as he watched your body shake. Ever so slowly, he pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the empty feeling.

It wouldn't last long though. You watched as he slipped out of his boxers, tossing them to the side. You looked him up and down, although your vision was fuzzy from the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave you, seeing Tate like this made your heart race. He looked perfect, defined muscles, beautiful dark brown eyes - he really was as close to perfect as one could get. He leaned over you, pushing your legs up so they were over his shoulders, pressing against your chest. His nose was close to yours.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered, lining his hard cock up with your entrance. Slowly, he pushed himself into you, your body tensing at the familiar feeling. You both moaned in unison, your hands holding onto Tate's arms. Taking his time to do so, Tate began quickening his pace, thrusting into you, making you only want him harder and faster.

"I know you can fuck me harder than this." You teased, cocking an eyebrow at him. With your words, urging Tate to do what you said.

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to handle me anymore." He retorted - cocky as per usual. But he quickened his pace, hips snapping against yours roughly. His hand that previously rested next to your head moved to wrap around your throat, squeezing the sides the way he knew you loved.

"Fuck-" You gasped when his hand met your throat.

"Is this hard enough for you, princess?" He taunted, smacking your cheek lightly just to play with you.

"Yes sir..." You whimpered, looking up into his eyes. He was getting close and you could tell. He was breathing heavy and as dominant as he wanted to sound, his voice was shaking. His pace was fast, slamming deeply into you.

"I-I'm gonna cum again Tate!" You squealed, earning a tighter grip around your throat. He smirked, somehow going even faster than before.

"Greedy little girl," He hissed, "You want to cum again?"

You nodded desperately in response, knees beginning to tremble beneath him, your whole body starting to feel hot.

"Cum for m-oh fuck!" He hissed, suddenly overtaken with his own orgasm, covering your inner walls with his hot cum. At the same time, you felt your body convulsing under him, walls clenching around his length, only aiding in each of your orgasms. He collapsed on top of you, slowly pulling himself from inside you. Gently, he pressed a few kisses into your neck.

"Tate.." You whispered, fingers playing slowly with his curls. "I missed you so much." You kissed the side of his head, feeling him smile against your skin.

"I missed you too, (Y/N), I don't even know where to begin..." His voice was gravelly and quiet.

"Maybe Arizona isn't the place for me." You said quietly, not really meaning to say it aloud. He looked up at you, cheeks dusted pink.

"Or maybe Arizona is the place for me." He grinned, pressing his lips into yours firmly. You couldn't imagine going any more years without him.

#ahs #american horror story #ahs1 #murder house #ahs murder house #ahs evan peters #evan peters #evan peters1 #tate langdon #evan peters tate langdon #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #evan peters fan fiction #evan peters imagine #tate langdon imagine #tate langdon fan fiction

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faveficarchive · 5 years ago

Text

In Sorrento

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Francesca/NotMel

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: After Mel dies, Francesca is left to her own devices in Sorrento, and meets another American tourist. If you don’t know who Francesca is, introduce yourself by reading Venezia and Coup de Grace, I swear you won’t regret it.

You look at me as if you love me, but I know you do not.

In Sorrento, the first words of the book—her book—come back to haunt her. Not unlike the clouds that roll over the distant Vesuvius.

Francesca sips an Americano, watches another fat, happy cirrus cloud float ever closer to the volcano, and wonders if that was not what she was doing all along, in writing the book—obscuring the obvious, clouding over a dormant and distant empty wound.

In the hotel balcony overlooking the cliffs, Carlo, her publisher, rushes up the lobby steps with unexpected, joyous vigor, in his hands the book —fresh out of the battered brown envelope decorated with colorful rows of stamps, not unlike a weary wartime general arriving with news of impending victory. Greedily he had opened the package first and now, as he sits opposite her, he opens the book and almost immediately breaks its spine with the gentle reverence of a priest sacrificing a bull to Apis.

She knows about Apis now, had read those mythology books that she had inherited—or plundered, as some of the less tactless estate executors had implied. You said I could take as many books as I wanted. I wanted them all. I took everything. I took them because they meant everything to you and I thought if I owned them I would own you the way you owned me—but I was a possession you never intended to buy. I thought then I would mean something to you, more than a lengthy, comforting footnote. I have low expectations.

Carlo smirks in his wily old man fashion. "Ah, Francesca," he coos. "If I cannot make love to you, I will make love to your book." He is a book man to his bones and his attentions, more fickle than those of any woman he ridicules, now focus on the book: the splendid font that indelibly anchors her words with their preening serifs—he chose it himself, Bembo of course, that venerable type first created for a Venetian printer—the thickly luxurious paper sibilant and alive against his dry fingertips, like the dress of a beautiful woman that begs for removal. In the end he praises not her, but her words: "Even in English, it is perfect. That first sentence, always—there is an undertow to it, like in the sea. It seduces and warns all at once. It—" He stops, shakes his head, looks at her. His mocking lust is gone, and with solemn, fatherly pride he hands the book to her.

She is 32 years old. One year short of crucifixion, as Carlo had said recently.

The town does not smell of lemons, as he had had promised. Instead the scents of beer, money, tourists, escape, destination, the sea—real and imagined, pungent and ethereal—crosshatched the air's dense, humid weave. She is a tourist in her own country, a fair-haired northerner to be mistrusted, as foreign to them as an American; her accent, a Venetian's cold and calculating tongue, bewilders them. It does not stop them from looking at her, as both an affluent mark and an object of desire.

But whenever she goes on walks away from the town—following the gradual ascent of the main road that lifts into the hills, into a winding pilgrimage to the cliffs, the moneyed hotels, the remote villas—there, with the sun warm along her bare shoulders, she takes pleasure in the smell of the olives, silvery green and hard, easily within reach.

She thought that once the book was finished, printed, bound, and out into the world, it would be done. Here, in Sorrento, she wants to become another woman.

In Mykonos, you said, you became another woman. The sea made you wild, your hair was loose and rough from so much swimming, your body tighter. Your lover, who had fallen into complaisance, wanted you as much as she did when she first laid eyes upon you.

In the Piazza Tasso she sits, mimicking the life she normally leads: Sitting alone in a café with a book—this time her book—under a golden awning, surrounded by local men arguing, playing chess, reading newspapers, slurping soups and cappuccinos, trying, always trying, to claim her attention. Only the sun's memento-mori caress is different; after so many days her shoulders finally loosen under its blazing constancy. She tries to pretend that she is reading the book she wrote for the first time. In a manner, she is—this is the first time she has read it in English, and under the shimmering Sorrento sun.

It's when she looks up that she notices the woman, or at least, aspects of her: a lovely neck craning, a serious face parallel with her pages, tendrils of espresso-colored hair touching the edge of the book with an odd, proprietary intimacy.

Their eyes meet. The woman offers a broad, sheepish grin and the one word known to all tourists: "Scusi."

"It's okay," Francesca replies softly. In English.

"It's been a while since I've seen a book—well, anything, in English." She sits at the empty table next to Francesca.

"Perhaps it's been a while since you have spoken English?"

"That too." The woman laughs nervously before her face falls in comic shock. "God, do I sound that bad?"

This confession and its subsequent horror unleashes the floodgates; the cappuccino Francesca buys her no doubt aids and abets the English tide. Francesca discovers that the woman—American, of course—has been traveling the continent for nearly a month now and, having lost her traveling companion to an infatuation with a boy in Prague, alone for over a week.

"Maybe I need an infatuation of my own," she muses quietly, and gazes into the now-empty cup as if the rich black grounds and milky dregs serve the same oracle-like function as tea leaves.

"An infatuation?" A smile threatens to break Francesca's reserve; only momentarily she fights the persuasive pull of her facial muscles, before surrendering to the flush of amusement, of pleasure.

"Yeah. Sounds very quaint, very Henry James, doesn't it?" She pauses and looks at Francesca intently, with genuine curiosity. "Have you read any Henry James?" The question lacked the usual American imperviousness.

Which pleased Francesca. "Yes."

"I'm being practically Victorian. An affair, if you prefer." A blush darkens her tan. The tiny table she's sitting at is dominated not by food or drink but a frighteningly large canvas bag brimming with sunglasses and maps, sun lotion and a bottle of iced tea, a book and a sweater. Her tanned thighs press into the metal frame of the chair. She seems one of those impetuous types, the one who scrambles to jump on the bus at the last second and only then gazes at the map to realize oh shit, I'm heading the wrong way. She is curious about every little thing in this sad tourist town, even the dreary little museum that Francesca could not bear to enter, even on a boring rainy morning—in fact, so bountiful and infectious is her enthusiasm that Francesca is not entirely surprised that the woman has utterly, completely convinced her that they must see the museum immediately.

Fortunately, it is open. At least the guard decides to amuse them and opens the door.

On the third floor of the Museum Correale di Terranova —they had decided to work their way down from the top floor—they walk gingerly among porcelain and majolica, a dance of dullness to Francesca, who thinks of the grandmotherly collection of knick-knacks she had inherited from Sofia and that now sit in a box in her dusty Venetian flat, but the American woman scrutinizes nearly every piece with the solemnity of the museum-going tourist. On the second floor they make fun of the Rubens paintings and the woman tantalizes with crumbs of information: "Sometimes my ex would tell me I was Rubenesque—I was bigger then, I grant you, but I swear I wanted to kill him every goddamned time." And Francesca decides that perhaps the artist was trying—and failing spectacularly—to capture the beauty of someone not unlike the woman who was standing next to her.

On the ground floor they look at a death mask of Tasso the poet, and Francesca's skin goosebumps with delight when the woman's knuckles brush her forearm, even though ostensibly the caress was meant to direct Francesca's attention toward one of Tasso's handwritten manuscripts—predictably, her gaze falls on lines of provocation: And now he sees a woman's face arise / and now her breasts and nipples, and below / where modest eyes would be ashamed to go. / So would a goddess or a nymph arise / from the stage in the theater at night.

On the way out they look at archaeological artifacts, both Greek and Roman in origin, and Francesca confesses that she once loved someone who would have loved this—both the artifacts and the manuscripts, the past alive in things and words. This she confesses, and not that she has written an entire book centering around that certain someone. Not to mention her former occupation. Nor that said book has been banned by the Vatican—a sure guarantee of success that had thrilled Carlo. No, that would be skipping too far ahead in the plot.

"Someone?" The woman's lips pucker playfully, mocking this attempt at gender neutrality.

The game is on. It has taken Francesca a long time to adjust to this: Sex not as a business negotiation, not as a bargaining chip with someone—yes, someone, yes you, Melinda—with whom she wanted so much more, but sex as pleasure, pursuit, acquisition.

"A woman. Much older than I."

"Ah." In one agonizing syllable she leaves Francesca hanging as she walks away, her index finger performing evenly spaced arabesques along the metal edge of a vitrine case. But when Francesca catches up to her—with a perfectly formed, lighthearted retort at the ready to put the woman at ease, and in English so disarmingly smooth because she had spent months and years perfecting it to please someone incapable of love, to mirror her beloved's flawless Italian and flawless fucking—the woman's smile is, this time, quick and shy: "So we're on the same page then?"

"Oh, yes." Francesca pauses, disquieted at her lack of self-possession, evident in this breathless oh-yes. The book of disquiet. Which she had never finished. The book of breathlessness. This she was about to begin. She imagines the pages of her own book fluttering, marking the passage of time: A girl, a whore, a woman in love, a notorious writer. Now this—a tourist in her own country, wondering about the many shaded meanings glimpsed in the smiles of one American woman. What page was she on, really?

Outside, the disorienting sun burns away the musty aura of the museum. "I'll buy you a drink," the woman says, as she slips behind the mask of her sunglasses. "To thank you for playing tour guide. Or tour follower, as the case may be."

"And what else?"

"Dinner?"

Francesca presses her advantage. She feels blood beating through her veins. Or perhaps it is just the sun pounding down relentlessly on her bare head. "And what else?"

They stop meandering through the piazza.

An appraisal takes place behind the dark sunglasses—if Francesca learned nothing else from years of being a whore, she knew that calculated look of desire held in check. "You know, before I left for this trip, my friends who had been abroad warned me about how pushy and charming Italian men were."

"And my friends would assure you that, in comparison to them, I am as decorous as the mother of God."

"Why didn't you just say the madonna?"

"I did not want you to think of that terrible singer."

"Ah. Thanks."

They walk again, this time with a heightened sense of purpose.

There are no good trattorias in Sorrento; there is, however, enough wine to make one forget lumpy gnocchi and oily sauces. After that, after all the drinks that framed the flirtatious discourse in a bar that alternately blared disco music and a Manchester United game, Francesca pulls her into the dank, desolate bathroom and kisses her. Sorrento finally, begrudgingly unravels in their kiss, in the overpowering taste of limoncello—lemons sweet and strong, right there in this stranger's mouth, caught in the gossamer of alcohol fumes, the scent coexisting in the dark fine netting of her hair and the nape of her neck, in the tantalizing descent to her breasts.

Her hands fill themselves with flesh, every desperate motion dictated by the treacherous curves of hips and thighs. Desire again, she thinks. An undertow that seduces and warns.

The woman breaks the kiss. "Can we get out of here?"

Francesca laughs nervously, presses her flushed face against the woman's shoulder—as firmly unyielding and tempting as an underripe peach, so much so that she bites into it, then feels a burst of movement along her hands. "No," she murmurs into broken skin. "Yes."

"Indecisive, aren't you? If I wanted to do this in a bathroom stall, I never would have left Newark Airport."

"So who is waiting for you at this Newark Airport?"

She laughs. "No one."

"Why did you come here?"

"I don't know. The usual reasons—I needed a break from my life, I wanted to not be myself for a while. The usual reasons people run away on sudden vacations. I guess that's all a way of saying I don't know." Again, that beautiful grin. "But aren't you glad I did?"

In the dark of Francesca's hotel room the romantic view of the cliffs is a mirage, a blackened monolith only hinted at in distant, distinct moonlit etchings—like a nocturne that the artist abandoned in favor of the warming flames of absinthe. The perfect backstage for Tasso's theater at night. No nymph or goddess arises, however—just a woman, and for Francesca that is more than satisfactory.

Desperation, typically not a quality never worth seeking, takes on a different aspect in bed—that of distinct, heightened advantage: She fucks as if there's no tomorrow, as if daylight will not arrive, and welcomes every kiss and touch and fumbling entry, every thrust into her body that threatens to break her, but doesn't. It only makes her wetter, open and aching for that long-awaited moment when the woman presses her face between Francesca's legs, inhaling the salt of the sea, drawing her in and devouring her. In Sorrento, she becomes another woman.

In the morning Francesca awakens to find the woman still there, sitting naked and cross-legged upon the bed, nibbling at a thumbnail and reading her book. She greets Francesca with a sly ghost of a smile that, Francesca hopes, encompasses desire and affection, perhaps even expectation.

The ghosts will be there, always, in every woman. Francesca returns the smile.

"Tell me your name," she says.

End

#xena #xena warrior princess #mel/janice #mel/janice fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature #fanfiction #femslash

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takeabitetoremember · 6 years ago

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Stay With Me (Part 8)

Thinking she’s dreaming initially Mallory ignores it, until the knocking becomes louder, and the feeling of Michael slipping out of their bed awakens her. Sitting up, immediately her hand goes to heart. She can feel it. Something is wrong. Watching as Michael pulls on a pair of boxers, looking around for a t-shirt. Her breathing is heavy, heart racing as he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“Michael, I’m scared.”

“Shhhhhh, don’t be. Whoever it is, they probably have the wrong house anyway, no one ever comes up and knocks on our door anymore. I’ll be right back, I promise”, kissing her forehead reassuringly.

There’s something inside of Mallory that’s telling her that he won’t. That she needs to go. Feeling a sharp pain in her stomach, winching as she moves to get out of the bed, hearing Michael’s voice as she makes it to the foot of the bed, finding her gown. Slipping the soft white material over her petite frame. Slipping out into the hall quietly, not wanting to be heard, only wanting to hear what was transpiring between Michael and the people at the foot of the stairs. Listening intently, seeing Michael’s eyes, it all makes sense; grabbing onto the banister to steady herself, feeling as if the air had been taken from her hearing things like, “this is your destiny”, “you indeed are the son of Satan”, “come with us!” Making it to the top landing beside of Michael, holding her small belly, trembling, it’s clear the state of shock she’s in gripping the railing so tightly that her knuckles have turned a pale shade of winter.

“Mallory, I thought I told you to wait in the bedroom! I told you I’d be back!” Michael scolded her, his beautiful blue eyes turning the black color that so scared her earlier, only now, she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him.

“I….. I’m sorry, Michael. I… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know. I love you, Michael. God help my wretched soul, how I love you!” One hand holding onto the banister that she’s sliding down, landing on the step, sitting there, her head resting against railing. Her other hand holding onto the tiny bump in her belly, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to bring herself to turn her head, or even open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the people at the bottom of the steps. She doesn’t want to look at Michael right now. She doesn’t want any of this to be true. It can’t be. It just can’t be. A woman begins to speak, perhaps trying to make things better.

“Michael, is this your girlfrie-“

“This is my wife, Mrs. Mead. Her name is Mallory”, cutting the older woman off before she even has a chance to finish her sentence.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend you. Your wife is a lovely young woman, Michael. I couldn’t help but notice, are the two of you, expecting?”

Michael just looked at her puzzled, not knowing what she meant by expecting, and Mallory was too heartbroken to answer, only sobbing as she held her belly and the staircase, just wanting to wake up in their bed, and this whole thing be a nightmare.

“Ok, Michael, is your wife pregnant?” Miriam finally decided to inquire, after looking to both of them, realizing just how young and naïve they truly were, and then over to the High Priest who simply shakes his head.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, she is. I think she’s upset because she thinks if I go with you that I’ll never come back. I’m all she has, and she’s all I have.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Langdon. We will return your husband to you. We promise”, the words of the High Priest made her blood run cold. Quivering, she finally turned her head, showing her face, looking him in the eye, at that very moment she knew she’d never see her husband again.

“Come with us, Michael! Fulfill your destiny!” proclaimed Levey

The pains on got stronger, clutching her stomach, standing, grabbing onto Michael, turning him to her, pleading one last time. “Please Michael, I beg you, don’t leave me. I fear if you leave, this will be the last time I ever see you. I can’t lose you Michael. I will die without you.”

“Don’t worry, Mallory, I will be fine. I’ll come back to you, I promise you.”

Trying her hardest to be strong, but knowing in her heart, this is it. This is the last time she’ll ever see him. This is the last time she’ll ever see her husband.

“Just know, no matter what, Michael, know how much I love you. You promise me, that no matter what, you will ALWAYS know how much I love you. PROMISE ME.”

“I promise you, Mallory. I love you, too, my angel. I love you. I love our baby. I WILL come home to you.”

Grabbing onto him, breathing him in deeply, not wanting to forget what he smells like, what his heartbeat sounds like, what HE feels like. She can’t imagine not being able to be here in her safe place, in his arms, feeling him hold her, hearing him tell her he loves her. Her hands are shaking so badly she can barely hold onto his face as he lowers his lips to hers to kiss her. This is something she wants to remember the most. Oh God, she wants to remember how his lips feel against hers, how he tastes, how his fingers graze against her cheeks. Everything. Looking into his sweet, baby blue eyes as he begins to descend the stairs, it’s as if she’s standing at the Summit of Everest without supplemental oxygen and slowly dying, gasping needing that next breath of air that will never come. Dying. Dying. Right. There. Falling back down onto the steps, sobbing, screaming one final time.

“Please, Michael! PLEASE!!!!!!”

As the door shuts behind the Michael and the three dark figures that Mallory still can’t accept are from the Church of Satan, and that her husband is the Anti-Christ.

“No! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMMIT! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They’re WRONG!!!!!”

Sobbing into her hands, sitting on the steps as pains shoot into her belly, getting up, grabbing, weakly onto the railing, walking slowly back to their bedroom. Cramping pains hitting her, doubling her over as she walks, whimpering, starting to become afraid, wishing she wasn’t alone. Grabbing the doorknob to their room, panting, closing the door behind her, almost falling before reaching the bed.

“Michael Langdon, please. Please come home. I need you, I’m scared”, Mallory sniffled.

Curling into a ball on their bed, pulling her knees up, screaming loudly every time a new pain would hit, grabbing onto the sheets, tears forming in her soft hazel eyes.

“Please, Michael. Please….”

Michael was taken to an undisclosed location to participate in his first “Black Mass”, where he would communicate with his “father” for the first time and accept his fate. Little did he know what he was doing and getting ready to set into motion; had he known, he might’ve thought twice about walking out the door. He was stripped of his t-shirt, and given a long black cape, like the rest- Mrs. Mead, the High Priest Levey, and the other lady, he thinks her name was Samantha, but can’t remember for sure. All he knows is there is NO way he’s telling Mallory about what is happening in here when he sees a young woman about her age tied up on a table, in a white dress. For a just a moment, it goes through his mind, is this why Mrs. Mead was asking if Mallory was my girlfriend? Was she wanting Mallory tied up here? Were they going to hurt Mallory? Surely not. If I’m chosen like they say, then Mallory would be their royalty, too. I’m sure it’s because she’s pregnant. It probably just surprised them because we’re young.

Michael’s thoughts were interrupted as High Priest Levey began the Black Mass. He began speaking as he took the dagger cutting the fabric of the dress on the young woman, his hand moving up and down her body, cupping both breasts, stopping at her heart.

The pain Mallory is in has become unbearable. The contractions in her stomach feel like those she would have when she was having her period. Too young, and too naïve to understand what’s happening to her, only able to lay, screaming in pain, wishing Michael were there to comfort her.

Michael’s eyes open wide as Levey, kisses the young woman softly, then brings the dagger down forcefully, stabbing the young woman. Blood is squirting everywhere, there is a chalice being filled and passed, it is expected that he is to drink to be awakened. This is not all. He will not be fully awakened, and accept his destiny, to open his communication with his father until he partakes. Taking a deep breath, looking down at the heart that the High Priest has just removed from the young woman, he takes a bite, sealing the dark covenant. His eyes turning dark, blood running down his face, and now, blood running down her legs.

“Michael, Oh GOD, MICHAEL, PLEASE! PLEASE!” Sobbing, panting, feeling the blood, trembling, paralyzed with fear, looking down, her white gown completely red, their bed, soaked. Thinking she’s dying, the pain is unbearable, in her stomach, in her heart, Mallory doesn’t have the will to fight. Each time a new contraction comes, she pushes trying to stop the pain. Holding Michael’s pillow, crying into it, just wanting to smell him, the last comfort she has.

Looking in the cracked door, Moira sees the blood. She heard the conversation on the steps earlier. Shedding a tear herself, knowing what she has to do, that it’s what’s best for Mallory, despite what she’s going to want.

“What are you sniveling about you old bat?” lighting up a cigarette, showing absolutely no sympathy whatsoever as Constance blocked her way.

“Move you old cow. I’m taking care of matters for YOUR GRANDSON. You know, the one YOU ABANDONED, now MOVE! I have to call someone to come pick up this young woman before she bleeds to death.”

Blowing smoke at Moira as she walks by, laughing, shaking her head, “What? You think it’ll save this one for some reason? Why, didn’t Michael kill her? Did he just maim her and leave her for dead or something?”

That did it. She pushed Moira just a little too far this time.

“You self-centered old bitch. You blame everyone else for your short comings. You say you were put on this earth to raise monsters. Monsters indeed. YOU’RE the monster! They have no chance! Michael never laid a hand on Mallory that she didn’t want. He loved her very, VERY much. She’s having a miscarriage. They’re too young, Constance. And”, stopping herself before letting on that Constance is at least half right about Michael, which is the reason she’s looking to call the only living relatives that Mallory has left. “And I think Mallory needs to be with some of her family right now. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Remembering where she saw the box that Mallory had of her mother’s things. Mallory didn’t have many living relatives, very precious few. A Great-Aunt, Myrtle Snow. Moira felt it best to leave a few details about Michael out, but felt it imperative to mention that it was an emergency situation. There was no need, from the moment Cordelia Goode picked up the phone she could sense there was trouble. This was an urgent matter and required them arriving SOON.

Standing up atop the large building, looking out at the night, High Priest Levey pats Michael on the shoulder, “It’s raining ice. Hail. Congratulations! It’s all for you!” smiling proudly as he turns to his beloved Savior. Their joy is short lived as there is a loud explosion of thunder and lightning. The lightning lights up the night, starting a fire on a tree near the building, quickly burning the tree completely up and out. Levey’s eyes open wide. He’s never seen such a display like it. The lightning is striking so hard and so fast it looks almost as if it were daylight, starting fires here and there in its path.

Mallory.

“Mallory! Something’s wrong! I have to get back to Mallory!” Turning to rush inside in a panic, knowing Mallory is in pain. She’s subconsciously starting the fires.

“Relax, everything is fine, Michael! Tonight, is your night, you worry too much! It’s just a storm!”

Sitting up, taking a deep breath, thinking there’s a blood clot under her gown, pulling it up, screaming, sobbing. Her jaw trembling as she looks down. It’s almost as if life is taking place in slow motion. Things can’t be real. She can’t even feel the pain right now. Nothing is processing. Nothing. The tears aren’t even stinging anymore. The pain isn’t stabbing her heart any longer. When her small fingers reach down and pick up what she thought initially was a blood clot that she’d passed, but now. Now, there’s no denying exactly what it is. There’s no denying what happened. In her small hands is an even smaller fully formed, bloody, but beautiful, fetus. Their baby was most likely around 12 weeks, but because of both of their extraordinary genetics, the fetus was the size of a 17 week fetus. Mallory couldn’t stop staring at the tiny baby in her hands. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She couldn’t believe that in one short day she found out she was going to be a mother, and she was no longer a mother.

“A girl”, holding the tiny baby to her lips, kissing the tiny head softly, crying. Blood covering her lips. Sobbing, she held the tiny baby close to her heart, screaming, rocking back and forth.

“Michael! Oh, Michael! Where are you! I need you Michael!”

Mallory’s petite, bloody hands tremble against her chest as she holds her baby against her heart.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! We’re supposed to be happy! Our baby wasn’t supposed to die! What did I do wrong?”

Sobbing, she kissed the tiny baby’s head once more laying her at the foot of the bed. Wanting to wrap her in one of her mother’s beautiful handmade handkerchiefs, but too weak to move out of the bed on her own. It’s such cruel irony, both had the taste of blood on their lips tonight, one for an awakening, the other kissing a life the two of them created together good-bye. Mallory was right. He shouldn’t have left.

“Oh Delia, it’s worse than I realized”, the older redheaded witch said matter-of-factly to the Supreme as she opened the door to Michael and Mallory’s bedroom.

Gasping as she walked in behind Myrtle, “You poor dear!” seeing the huge amount of blood on the bed, and the fetus at the end of the bed, triggering something inside of the Supreme witch.

Trying her best to sit up, weak after losing so much blood, clinging to Michael’s pillow, “Who are you? I’ve never seen you two here, before? Am I hallucinating?”

Walking to the side of the bed, touching Mallory’s face gently, looking down at her maternally, “No my dear, we’re very real. I’m your Great-Aunt Myrtle Snow, I’m sure you remember your mother talking about me. The eccentric old witch as she referred to me endearingly.”

Trying her best to smile, Mallory was happy to see at least an ally in her corner, not someone who was ready to have her killed.

“I do remember her talking about you, Aunt Myrtle. I’m so sorry. There’s so much to tell. My husband. I. And. I lost our baby. Aunt Myrtle, I’m broken.”

“HUSBAND. HUSBAND! Oh, no, no, no. You’re much too young for a husband, and quite frankly a baby, Mallory.”

“Myrtle!”- glaring at the older witch, knowing she can be quite crass at times, and that even though Mallory is young, she probably does love this young man a lot, or at least she thinks she does, and having a miscarriage is devastating at any age.

“I’m sorry my dear, I’m just trying to look out for you. Being so young, it’s just difficult, Delia knows I come across as crass at times. We’re going to get you cleaned up and take care of you, I’m sorry about your loss, dear.”

Nodding in agreement, “Please, I want to bury my baby. Will you help me?”

Cordelia and Myrtle turn and look at one another, knowing this property has such horrible energy, but realizing they have little to no choice. “Of course, we’ll help you bury your baby girl. We’ll cast a spell so that no evil can harm her sweet soul, so that the light that you put into her will always stay.”

Smiling, not realizing what they mean, Mallory is satisfied with the answer, taking Cordelia’s hand as she leads her to the bath Moira has drawn for her.

Seeing the picture of Michael and Mallory together on the nightstand, Myrtle picks it up, looking at the baby-faced blue-eyed boy holding onto Mallory tightly, smiling so happily. Shaking her head. Moira walks through, looking at the picture, starting to cry, hurriedly beginning to leave.

“Not so fast. You’re the one who called us. I want you to pack all of Mallory’s things. She’s coming with us, regardless of whether or not she wants to leave her “husband””, lighting up a cigarette, looking down at the bed, at the blood, and over at the fetus, “how did all of this happen?”

“There’s not enough time. If I had all night long, there wouldn’t be enough time. Just know, Mallory was the best thing to ever happen to this house, to Michael. She was the only hope he ever had. She was his good. He knew love with her. I know you probably think I’m a crazy old woman, but he honestly loved her. I didn’t believe he was capable of love, none of us did, but he was, is, whatever. Mallory was his angel. Now, it’s just. I just need you to trust me. He went to fulfill his destiny. Mallory’s gift, it’s different than his. Protect her. I’ll have her things in boxes by the front door.”

“Dear God, you’d think this boy was the Anti-Christ by the way they’re talking he’s probably just some little warlock who thinks he’s really something special. Seen that how many times. No matter. We’ll take her with us. She’ll be a welcome addition at Robichaux’s. I’m sure she’ll grieve for him, they all do when they leave their boyfriends, be it a warlock or not. They realize they’ve made the right choice when they come to Robichaux.”

@neonlacrima

Taglist:

@sadiesexton

@langdonicotine

@nely-collins

@Kilcort

@Perfect-Ginger-Maniac

@waiting-to-be-lost-at-sea

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@bi-tiger

#millory #michael langdon #mallory #mallory langdon #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #michael and mallory #stay with me #ahs apocalypse #ahs #ahs mallory #ahs michael langdon

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zuwritesstuff · 6 years ago

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Dealers Choice

Warnings: This is a super angsty chapter and there is a lot in here including: various gruesome deaths not caused by natural things and mostly by machines and stuff steer clear, suicide, blood, dead bodies and stuff, vomit, major character death, and maybe more (if I forgot to tag something please tell me)

Word Count: 3k

A/N- If you can, please comment on how I can improve my writing!! And thank you for reading!!

Thomas retched at the sight of his former therapist.

“Doctor? Are you-oh god-” Thomas threw up, wiped his mouth and staggered over to his old friend. Doctor Picani, his therapist since Virgil, his source of constancy, lay on the floor, throat slit. The body slumped over on the floor, blood spilled over the body and around where Picani had died. Horrified, Thomas backed away and glanced up. “You weren’t supposed to know” adorned the wall, still dripping what he thought was dark red paint. Thomas stared at the words, not comprehending what they said. Thomas was also not comprehending anything a few seconds later, when he was shoved into the wall, slamming his head and blacking out.

When Thomas came to, he groaned and staggered to his feet. He rubbed eyes and tentatively looked up at what made him faint. He gagged at the sight of the blood on the wall, spelling out “You weren’t supposed to know. ” “I’m sorry, Thomas. You’ll be okay soon. ” ~ Virgil stared at himself in the mirror. His head throbbed, and he tried not focusing on the strange shadows behind him. The voices whispered in his head, loud and relentless. He stumbled over to his room, writing notes to the ones he loved the most. His little brother, Thomas, only a kid. His mom. His best friend, Patton. Roman. Virgil slipped on his favorite hoodie, the one Patton had bought for him over the summer, before he had moved. The voices were slowly getting louder. They needed stopping. Against the voices wishes, he managed to send Roman a single text. I’m sorry, Ro. I love you. V? Virgil, are you okay? Answer me, please. Pick up the phone virgil. I’m coming over, hold on. please. Virgil kicked the rocks around the train tracks. In the distance, a horn blared. The voices were slowly getting louder. They needed to stop. They will stop. W-why did they need to stop? Why was he here? He needed to go home, call Patton, hug Thomas, text Roman, w-why was he here? He- The voices were getting louder. They needed to stop. He tried remembering what he wrote to each of his loved ones. He told Thomas to never stop acting, keep watching the cartoons, maybe update him on it every once in a while. He told Patton to keep storytelling. He really was amazing at it. Maybe he’d be an author one day. That’d be amazing. And Ro...what did he tell Ro? Dear Roman, “Virgil?” Roman, god that beautiful, stupid bastard, was standing there, shivering in the cold. His mom and his brother were standing there too, his mom holding Thomas back. I’m sorry for leaving you, Princey. I promise, I didn’t think it would end up this way. “Virge, babe, get away from there!” He started walking towards him. The voices didn’t like this. Hey, don’t worry about me, though. Just take care of my mom and Thomas. Make sure they’re okay, alright? Roman ran faster. The train was coming. “Virge!! Get out of the way!” Virgil stared at him. Didn’t he know? The voices were getting louder. Maybe call Patton up. Mail him the note or something. Please, Ro. I don’t want him to think I wanted to leave him either. It was right there. Why was Roman still running towards him? I love you Roman. Thank you for making this past year the best. “Virge!” Love, Roman pushed him out of the way. He tried. Virgil. ~ “Stay with us kids- “ The lights flickered in and out. Lights? Were those lights? God what was- Virgil? “Y-you’re gonna be okay Virge, ” Roman said, muffled by the oxygen mask. Wait. Oxygen mask? He looked fine but- oh lord- was that blood? Was that blood? On himself? Holy shit holy shit holy shit- “Honey, we need you to calm down, please, calm down-” “Virgil? Is he-” “Ro…” “Virgil!!” Roman tried to get up, but the straps on the bed held him down. Straps? On the bed? What? What the hell- Was this an ambulance? What the FUCK? Roman tried to steady his breathing. Each breath was a little harder to take. He felt dizzy and couldn't exactly remember why he was here. Virgil was here, and there was Virgil’s mom and his little brother. They had all gone to…the train tracks? Why did they go to the train tracks? “Ro?” Roman heard Virgil’s voice, weak and small. He struggled towards him, causing a sharp pain in his side. He leaned back into bed, groaning, feeling himself start to slowly drift away. He turned his head towards Virgil, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Virgil’s arms twisted every which way, painfully. He saw tear tracks on Virgil’s face, sliding off the oxygen machine as the EMT’s tried to stop his bleeding. It must have hurt. Roman didn’t really feel much anymore. He just felt, numb, with an ache in his heart every time he looked at Virgil, silently crying, his mom, sobbing, and little Thomas, looking terrified. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought them. Oh well. Too late now. He tried reaching towards any of them, trying to get comfort in his last moments. His last moments? Was this it? He still had yet to perform at Broadway and propose to Virgil. What about his mom and dad? No, he had to keep fighting, for all of them. He had to. He tried his best to turn to Virgil again, the mask muffling his words. “You’re gonna be okay, Stormcloud. Promise…” He could feel himself drifting away further. The lights were getting blurrier, he wanted to sleep. So bad. Sleep would be nice but Virgil needed him. But before Roman could make a decision on if he should sleep or help Virgil, he heard whispering. The lights in the ambulance went out, with Virgil emitting a soft purple- no dark gray- no purple- back and forth, as if the colors were fighting for dominance. He looked down at his own hands. He was glowing bright red himself, and felt, strong. He didn’t think he was gonna die. Strange. His attention turned to Thomas. He, Virgil’s mother, and the EMT's looked, well, frozen in time, their faces stuck in a pose, looking terrified. Unlike the rest, Thomas was emitting a glow too. He was glowing a soft pearl white, pure and good. His eyes didn’t look terrified anymore, they were glowing the same color he was, just brighter, as was he ears and mouth. Roman felt like he was safe staring at Thomas, like he’d never be hurt. But Roman didn’t feel as safe anymore when he saw a man, pure light, standing behind Thomas, holding his shoulders, looking as if he was trying comforting him, albeit unsuccessfully. He tore his eyes away from Thomas and the man to look back at Virgil, who was now all gray. He saw a figure standing above him as well, a pure shadow. He heard Virgil whispering to the shadow. “Get…away…from….me…. ” “Oh Virgil, dear, I’ve been with you for a very long time, and I don’t plan to go anywhere, anytime soon.” “W-why?” Roman could hear Virgil’s voice getting softer and softer. He tried speaking, scream, do anything, but not a sound came out. “Why not? You’re perfect for my...plans..”The shadow shifted closer and closer.“ And now, you’re mine. ” The shadow placed his hands on Virgil’s face, and the dark gray surrounding Virgil started to travel slowly up his body into the shadow, creeping up like sentient fog, leaving behind nothing. Roman watched in terror as his boyfriend disappeared in front of his eyes. “S-STOP!!” Finally, Roman had managed to whisper-scream something. The red glow around him flared, and both figures turned towards him. When the black shadow turned towards him, he felt a blast of fear. He never wanted to talk, move, breathe again. There was nothing there, just a shadow, but the power he felt from it, radiating off in waves, was indescribable. He imagined it was like being in the presence of a dementor, or worse, but this wasn’t really the time for Harry Potter references. Especially since Virgil finally seemed to notice him. They locked eyes, and for a moment, Roman saw a flash of purple in the dark gray smog surrounding Virgil. “Ro- I’m sorry.” Virgil said weakly. “Keep fighting, V, please, ” Roman didn’t know what was going on, but he’d be damned if he didn’t help Virgil fight whatever the fuck that shadow was. Unfortunately, as Roman wondered what the was going on, the shadow monster seemed to read his thoughts and answered him. “Roman, I suppose you are? This is not the time for silly questions. Let go. ” The shadow turned back to Virgil, who was stirring, trying to get away from him." Let go, it would be easier. You will be happy. ” “Fuck off, shadow man.” “Ha. Creative. ” The shadow continued his job of consuming the gray surrounding Virgil. “If you would leave us, dear Roman, dear ‘Princey’, ” Roman glared at the shadow- no one called him that but Virgil, “ that would be most helpful. Virgil and I have important matters to attend to. ” At these words, Roman could feel himself start to slip away again. The red around him dimmed. “Virgil, please keep fighting, don’t st-” “Sleep.” A deep, new voice said. Roman saw a hand of pure light on his chest. He looked towards the face above him and saw a look of concern, but when he tried to look directly into the figure’s eyes, he saw nothing but light. He averted his own eyes, somehow knowing that looking straight into an obviously mystical beings eye was not ideal. He was so tired. So, so tired. He turned to Virgil, one last time. “I love you.” It was barely a whisper, but Roman knew Virgil heard him. Virgil tried to open his mouth to respond, but finally, the shadow had absorbed all the gray smoke around him. Knowing it was over, Roman looked to the roof of the ambulance, closed his eyes, and slept. ~ Patton tried not to think of why he was coming home. He thought of seeing his mom’s dog, Buttercup, more fondly known as But-but, as young Patton named him. He thought of eating the best damn ice-cream in the world, at Magenta’s Ice Cream Parlor, two blocks away from his house. He thought of seeing his best friends in the world, Virgil and Ro-. Shit. He thought about it. It had been around 3 days seen they had both died in a freak accident, or so he heard. He felt otherwise, since he had to hear about it from Virgil’s little brother, Thomas. That phone call had been, well, rough. It had gone something like this: “Hey Virge! You haven’t called in a bit, only texting, I was wondering-” “Hi Patton.” Thomas’s voice was shaky and weak over the phone. “Thomas? Are you okay? Where’s Virgil?” “You told me to call if Virgil got worse.” By getting worse, he was referring to Virgil’s mental health. Patton knew Thomas wanted to help, so before he left, he took Thomas aside and gave him a “job.” He didn’t expect Thomas to act on it, especially not like this. A man, maybe around his own age, sat next to Patton, startling him out of his thoughts. Patton managed a smile at the stranger. “Hi!” The man looked over, confused almost. “Hello.” “My name is Patton!! How are you?” Patton didn’t know why he was continuing the conversation. He just wanted to curl up in his own bed and sleep for ten days. “My name is Logan, and I am doing perfectly...adequate. You?” The man sat straight-backed and stiff, as if he didn’t make conversation with someone very often. “Oh, I could be doing better, I guess.” Patton smiled sadly. “I’m not very happy to go home, for once.” “Oh?” “My best friends died.” “Oh. My condolences." Logan looked like he was struggling to find the words to comfort him.“ I don’t...know what losing a friend feels like, but I sincerely hope you get through it. ” “Thank you! That’s very kind.” Patton sighed. "It’ll be rough, but it hasn’t really sunk in yet, I guess.” “Understandable. When my mother died, there was a time when I always expected her to walk through the door in her usual uniform. Obviously she never did, but it is only...human. ” He said human with almost disgust, as if being human was a flaw. “Being human is hard, but everyone deals with it. It’s the ‘dealer’s choice’ on how you live it.” Logan simply rolled his eyes at the slight pun while Patton grinned and finger-gunned at him. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad." Patton said, drumming his fingers on the arm rest and leaning forward. " It was subtle, and it had a good reference to an actual phrase!! One of my more better puns, if I do say so myself." “Well, I would hate to hear one of your worst puns.” Logan said, wincing a little at his own words. Patton huffed a sigh and sat back. “ You are no fun, Logan.” “I am aware.” Patton let the conversation die out. He put on his headphones, listening to music. He wasn’t really paying attention to the music; he just wanted background noise. But no amount of background noise could block out the loud bang he heard an hour into his flight. He and Logan jumped, along with the rest of the passengers, looking for the source of the noise. “OH MY GOD!!” A voice, a few seats ahead, screamed. The rest of the passengers scrambled to see what caused the person to scream. Logan and Patton got out of their seats, running towards the crowd. It felt like Patton’s heart was sinking into his stomach when he saw one of the engines on fire, almost hanging off the wing of the plane. He backed up into Logan, who caught him, looking terrified. Logan pulled both of them back to their seats as the flight attendants tried to get everyone calm. Patton fastened his seatbelt with trembling hands, looking over at Logan to see what was happening. “We are in ideal seats, close to the exit and in the back of a plane; seats in the back of the plane have the lowest mortality rate at 32%, which is of course, ideal-” “Logan.” Logan looked up at the sound of his name. “ We’re going to be okay.” Patton did not believe this at all; the fucking engine was hanging off, but he grabbed Logan’s hand and squeezed it. “ I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, alright?” Logan nodded, and sat straight, closing his eyes and squeezing back. Patton sat forward too, breathing deeply, trying to calm down. “Patton?” Patton looked over at Logan again, who was still sitting up, eyes closed. “Yes, Logan?” “I suggest the 4-7-8 method. Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, then breathe out for eight.” “Thank you.” Patton tried to do as he instructed, but as he did, he heard another loud bang. The other engine had exploded. Several people screamed, clutching their armrests and loved ones. Patton didn’t really know if he screamed, but he distinctly felt the plane get colder and saw it getting darker. The plane shuddered and tipped towards the ground. Patton heard nothing but screams and distinct whispering around him. The whispers, though he couldn’t make out what they said, raised the hair on the back of his neck. The air masks popped out of the ceiling, everyone too distressed to use them. Patton closed his eyes as the plane hit the ground. ~ Logan couldn’t feel a thing. From the neck down, he felt nothing. Paralysis. He tried thinking of the events leading up to this. A plane crash. Patton holding him as they hit the ground. Darkness. Whispers and shadows all around them, almost grabbing at him as the plane crash-landed. Interesting. He supposed it was some sort of trauma-induced hallucination, but now was not the time to think about that. Or maybe it was. It certainly didn’t feel like he had more time to think about it. Logan heard a soft groan of pain from somewhere on his left. Unfortunately, due to the fact that he was sure he was dying, he couldn’t look towards the sound, a sign someone else was alive. “Logan?” He heard Patton’s voice, weak and tired. Patton’s face appeared in his view. From the look of him, Patton wasn’t much better off. It must have taken most of his energy to crawl towards him, Logan thought, as he saw Patton collapse on top of him. He could almost see Patton’s life slowly start to seep away. “Logan...I don’t think I’m going to make it home…”He heard Patton’s choked up voice say. Logan usually didn’t like comforting people or rather wasn’t good at it, but he felt the indescribable urge to help Patton, to give him encouragement, like on the plane. Logan sharing on the plane was, to say the least, strange. He had almost never talked about his mom to any of his colleagues, or roommates, but he had told Patton. A complete stranger. Interesting. “Logan, you’re hurt bad right? That’s why you’re not talking.”Patton struggled to raise his head to look at him, and that same weird feeling to comfort Patton spread through Logan as he saw Patton’s tear streaked, grimy face. “ I wish I had some more optimism, for both of us...I’m sorry for not doing more…” Logan tried to convey that it simply wasn’t any fault of Patton’s that he was not optimistic during their time of death, that it was illogical of him to expect anything like optimism now through his eyes. Patton nodded a little, then lay back down on Logan’s chest. “I got it, Lo, or whatever nickname you’d like. It’s okay...it’ll be okay…” he heard Patton sigh softly. “ I think I’m just going to...take a little nap. Just for a little…” Logan knew the nap wouldn’t be little, but he supposed he could play along. He too, wanted to take a ‘little nap.’ He stared into the sky above them, obscured by smoke, trying to make out the stars he loved so much. Logan closed his eyes for the last time, knowing Patton was doing the same.

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myxtina · 7 years ago

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One Night Chapter 14

Warning: Explicit and Rough sex

It has been two months since Jared told me they were going on tour. LJ is now 6 months old. Things are busy with Jared trying to get everything taken care of before he leaves. He and the guys decide that was have a little going away party so he asks his mom if she will keep LJ for the night. At first I am not sure but in the end I agree.. What the hell am I gonna wear. I decide on a black mini dress.. I fix my hair and put on some makeup.. I am nervous I probably won’t know a bunch of people. Jared yells up and says come on people are starting to arrive. I walk down the stairs. “oh my God” Shannon says as he sees me.. Jared turns and a big smile comes across his face, he walks over to take my hand and I take it and walk in the living room. “You look beautiful” “Thanks”.

About a hour later the party is in full swing. I am bored.. I don’t know anyone and Jared is busy flirting with everything in a skirt. I wander outside and sit by the pool. Shannon comes out and sits beside me. We both smile. I am sure memories of our night in the pool come to mind. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” he says. “Thanks, you look great too.” “Not having any fun,” he asks “Not really, I don’t know anyone. I am not a big party person.” I say. We sit and watch the stars. “I miss you!” Shannon says suddenly. “I miss you too but we have to keep things the way they are.” I reply. “I know I am doing the best I can.” he says. I turn and smile at him and put my hand on his. We are both unaware Jared is watching from inside the house.

The party finally ends. I say goodbye and go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. I call Constance first to check on the baby.. He is fine. I make it up the stairs and walk into my room.. I flip on the light and Jared is sitting in the chair. “Jesus Jared, you scared the shit out of me. Go to bed.” I say. “Why so you can sneak out and see Shannon?” he asks. “What are you talking about?” I ask. “I saw you two out by the pool.” “We were just talking Jared, that’s it.” I say. I kick me shoes off.. I wish he would leave I am tired. Plus he is leaving tomorrow. He gets up and walk toward me. “Jared, go to bed.” He just keeps coming at me. I turn towards him and am about to ask him to leave when he grabs me by the throat. “I told you to stay the fuck away from Shannon and I meant it,” he hisses.. He kisses me hard. I start to push him away but I can’t break his grip.. He backs me up to the bed and pushes me down. I try to get back up but he smacks me back down. “Jared what are you doing, please leave” I cry. “Shut the fuck up.” he says. I can tell he is a little drunk and I need to get out before this goes to far.

He covers my body with his and says “I’m gonna make you mine for good.” Oh God. He starts pulling at my dress.. Ripping it to get it off.. I have started crying. “Please J stop.” He ignores me and starts kissing my neck working his way down. He tears off my bra and starts making his way down my chest. He grabs my breasts and squeezes hard.. He pinches my nipples and leave bite marks all over. I try to hit him to make him stop but he rips off his belt and ties my hands together. He keeps moving his way down. He pulls off his clothes. I know somehow I have to stop this.. I knee him in the stomach and for a moment he stops.. This is my chance.. I roll off the bed and try to make it downstairs. He tackles me in the hallway. “Where to fuck do you think your going you slut. Trying to get to my brother again? Your such a fucking whore.” I start screaming but there is no one there to hear me. He rips my panties off and moves between my legs. “Please Jared I am begging you, stop.” He looks at me and he doesn’t even look like himself.. With one thrust the buries himself in me. I scream from the pain. It hurts so bad. He keeps thrusting over and over.. I finally just go limp.. He keeps going until he cums. He lays there for a min. Then he gets up and walks to his room slamming his door behind him.

I lay there crying. What the fuck just happened. He raped me. Jealous over Shannon which there is nothing going on. I slowly tried getting up. I am in so much pain. I look down and there is some blood on the floor. I wipe it up with my panties and crawl to my room. Once there I lock the door. I go and lock the connecting door as well.. I am in shock. I go to the bathroom and get into the tub. I wash myself and put on clean clothes. The bleeding has stopped.. It wasn’t much. but I notice all the marks on my chest and neck.. I know i will be covered in bruises tomorrow. I climb in bed and pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep.. I wake up the next morning. I am scared to leave my room.. But I know Constance will be coming over soon to drop off LJ, I get dressed noticing all the marks its awful. I pull my hair up and go to the door. I unlock it and walk out. Jared’s door is open which means he is up. The house is silent. I go downstairs and there is a note in the kitchen. “We left early. See you when we get back.. J.” Really like nothing happened..

Constance brings the baby home. “How was the party?” She asks. “Ok” She looks at me and says “Is something wrong?” “No I am fine.” She stays a bit and then leaves. I change the baby and feed him and down he goes for a nap. I just sit and think what am I gonna do when Jared gets back? Well I have two months to figure it out. The first month is fine. LJ and I just doing our thing. Then I start to get sick. No matter what I can’t shake it. Jared calls and checks on the baby. I don’t really speak to him. Just answer his questions. They will be home in 2 weeks. I am starting to get nervous. How will we handle what happened the night before they left. Constance come over quite a bit. One day I ask her can she sit with the baby I need to run a errand. Sure she says. So I head out making a lame excuse about diapers and stuff.. I am really heading to the doctor. Once there they call me back and ask why I am there. I explain that I have be sick throwing up and tired. She asks is there a possibility I am pregnant. No I say but then I think oh shit, so I tell her maybe. I go and take the test. I sit in the doctors office waiting. She comes in and sits down. “Congrats, your pregnant.”

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thefragileblackdahlia · 5 years ago

Text

Pilot: Part three

Summary

Blaire’s outfits 1 | 2

Warning(s): Angst, Typical Supernatural Violence, Mild Profanity

A/N: There is an error some where. It should say ‘of three years’ Not six years. My math was off by so much. It’s somewhere in there so ya.

Word Count: 4,897

NOV 2ND, 2005

MOTEL (MORNING)

Blaire stood at the motel check-in desk, still filthy, with Dean by her side and Sam standing behind her. She possessed a small pout on her lips, upset at the fact that she will have to shampoo her hair again.

"A room, please." Dean asserted while dropping a credit card on the handwritten guest ledger.

They all watched as the clerk picked up the card and read it, but just glanced up at Dean then at the card again. "You guys having a reunion or something?"

Blaire stared at the clerk with dead eyes. She was ready to shower, and the dried mud did not feel well on her skin. "What do you mean?" She asked flatly.

"That other guy, Burt Aframian. 'Came in and bought out a room for the whole month." The clerk answered.

The boys looked at each other in unison then back at the clerk. "Yeah, Mind telling us the room number?" Sam slipped his hands in his pockets; for some reason, he always had his trusty lock pick with him, even at Stanford. He thumbed the pointed end.

The elderly clerk nodded. "Yeah, He should be in room 10, do you still want your room?"

"Yes." Dean decided and waited for the clerk to check them in.

Once everything was handled and they had a key, they all walked across the lot.

"Guess John planned on coming back," Blaire commented.

"That's even if he's alive." Sam mumbled, mostly to himself, but Bee heard it.

When they arrived at the door, Sam knelt to the ground while Bee and Dean stood watchmen. The tall male picked at the lock, eventually succeeding. Sam rose to his feet and slipped the pick back where it belonged.

Bee realized that he was done and walked inside, leaving Dean standing obliviously outside. "C'mon, Big boy." She quipped while yanking him inside but his jacket collar. A cloud of dirt particles filled the air.

The disheveled woman shut the door behind them and gazed intently at every surface. It was littered in salt circles and other things that ward off monsters. There are news clippings, maps, pictures, and notes pinned to the wall, as well as several books on the bedside table.

"Whoa," Sam gawked.

Dean glanced at the floor and intuitively stepped over the salt line. He reached over to the desk lamp and switched on the light. On top of a stack of books, was a half-eaten cheeseburger. He picked it up to examine, sniffing it but recoiling from the pungent odor.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least." Dean tossed the burger in the trash.

Sam squatted over the salt line, the dried dirt on her jeans, cracking. He ran his fingers through the salt but didn't break the line. "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in."

Blaire wandered over to the wall decorated in news clippings and notes. She turned when Dean's voice came from behind her.

"What have you got here?" Dean asked.

The 22-year-old woman brought up her hand and fingered the edge of the papers. "Centennial Highway victims." Bee drawled.

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, biting on the skin. "I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs- ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

While Dean talked, Sam examined the other wall, a specific note catching his eyes. 'Woman in White' was pinned above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide. Sam turned on the closest lamp to the wall. "Dad figured it out."

Dean and Blaire turned in unison, "What do you mean?" asked Dean.

"She's a woman in white..." Blaire murmured in deep thought. "It all makes sense now-"

"-those little fuckers." "You sly dogs." The two friends spoke at the same time, Bee had a look of disgust, and Dean had a sheepish smile.

"So, if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it." Dean clarified.

Blaire tore off her crusty flannel and tossed it in the trash. "She might have another weakness."

"Well, Dad would wanna make sure." Dean paused. "He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" He asked while crossing over to Sam.

"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." As Sam spoke, he tapped at the picture of Joseph Welch on the wall. The caption in the photo said he was thirty in 1981, so by this time, he should be sixty-four.

"If he's still alive." He added.

Blaire stepped over to the bathroom with her clothes and grinned. "Alright. Sam, you find the address and Dean, I call dibs on the shower first!" She hurried into the bathroom before Dean could stop her from closing the bathroom door.

Dean groaned and started for the door. It looks like he will have to shower in the other room.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam murmured.

The 26-year-old halted and glanced over his shoulder.

Sam stared at the floor, "What I said earlier, about Blaire...Mom and Dad, I'm sorry."

Dean held up his hand and put on his mask. "No chick flick moments." Even though he said that he felt like he really needed a hug and a shower.

"Alright, Jerk." Sam smiled.

"Bitch." Dean smiled and left the room.

Sam just laughed to himself and looked at all the things strewn about the room. He came across two particular photos that were stuck into the mirror frame.

The first photo was of John sitting on the hood of the impala next to a preteen in a baseball cap and a younger boy sitting on John's lap. The two children were presumably Sam and Dean.

Sam removed the photo from the mirror and held it, smiling sadly.

The second photo was of a preteen and a teen holding a huge bass fish, likely, Blaire and Dean; they went fishing together when he went to Bobby's. Bee laughed in the photo, looking straight ahead at the camera, but preteen Dean was gazing at the preteen with a proud smile.

The photo made him laugh. They looked so happy then- his smile faltered when he realized that they weren't smiling like that anymore.

Sam let out a heavy sigh while flopping down on the bed. From the shower, he could hear the water and a faint sob. It wasn't loud enough to where it may have been noticeable to anyone else, but he was a hunter. He assumed it was Blaire.

And he was right.

It had been so long since she spoke to Sammy or even looked at pictures of him. And when she saw anything of his, she shut down. How could someone move on so quickly? Maybe she needed more time, but clearly, he didn't.

It ate at her soul, crushing her under the weight of all the sadness to where if she stared too long into her reflection, she could see the pool of darkness expanding.

Even if she was beautiful, she hated herself. She blamed herself for her father's death, and she always pushed people away. She didn't mean to say those words to Sam that night, but they just came out, and by then, he was already walking away.

Blaire never bothered to message him or call, cause if he truly knew her, he would've known that what she said, she didn't mean it.

About 30 minutes later, Blaire finished in the shower.

Sam held his cell in his hand and dialed his voicemail and listened.

JESS: Hey, it's me, it's about 10:20 Saturday night...

Blaire emerged from the bathroom in her clean outfit. She wore a Guns 'n Roses cropped tank top with an oversized flannel (stolen from Dean), paired with butterfly embroidered bell-bottoms and black leather boots. Her hair was damp, the curls more prominent. The girl sported red gloss and bumblebee earrings that John had given her when she was 14.

"Hey." She murmured, tucking strands of hair behind her ear as she leaned against the wall.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Dean came in for his jacket.

"Hey, man. I'm starving. I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?" Dean mainly spoke to Sam; he knew Blaire was always looking for an excuse to eat. The hunter slipped one arm into the leather jacket.

"No," Sam replied.

Blaire smirked, "I'm definitely coming. I need more of their bacon!" She hopped over to the door and opened it slightly.

"Alright, Aframian's buying." Dean laughed, and the two disappeared out into the parking lot.

As Dean closed the door, he shrugged the rest of his leather jacket on and glanced over at Bee. He noticed her earrings. "I didn't know you still had those- Y'know I helped Dad pick those out."

"You tell me every time, fashionista." Blaire quipped and gave Dean a little pat on the butt.

"Frisky, I like it." Dean teased and draped his arm over his best friend's shoulder. He pulled her into his side.

They started to cross the lot when Dean noticed a police car, with the motel clerk chatting it up with Deputy Jaffe and Deputy Hein. It was almost as if on cue, the clerk pointed at the two of them.

Dean, being the faster one, turned away and speed-dialed Sam and warned him to take off.

"Dude, 5-0, take off."

SAM: What about you and Bee?

"They spotted us, Go find dad."

Blaire stood cover for Dean as he made the call, "There a problem, sir?" She drawled with her sweet southern belle charm.

Jaffe narrowed his eyes at her, "Where's your other partner?" He folded his arms over his chest.

"Other partner? Just me 'n him. Bonnie and Clyding it through the country." The African American woman stepped to the deputy, subtly challenging him.

(Reference to infamous outlaw couple Bonnie & Clyde)

Jaffe jerked his thumb toward the motel door labeled 10; Deputy Hein went in that direction. Dean fidgeted, but Blaire just stared daggers into the officer's eyes.

"So. Fake US Marshals, fake credit cards. Got anything that's real?" Jaffe questioned.

Dean shifted on his feet and wore a dorky grin. "My boobs." He sassed.

Several minutes later, Hein came back with no Sam but the order to arrest Dean. Jaffe slammed Blaire over the hood of the cop car just as Hein did the same to Dean.

"Fuck!" Blaire groaned while she gazed at Dean, who was also watching her, surprisingly.

"Bonnie & Clyde, huh?" Dean whispered to Blaire.

The officers read them their Miranda rights and shoved them into the back of the cop car.

SHERIFF’S OFFICE

NOON

Sheriff Pierce entered the interrogation room with a box of evidence from the motel. "So, You wanna give us your real names?" He asked while walking around to the opposite end of the table where Dean sat.

The Sheriff sat the box down.

"I told you, Ted Nugent and Shemane Deziel" Dean motioned to Blaire when he said Shemane. The reference caught the woman's attention. She didn't mind it- it would have been more believable for her to be his spouse than a sibling; people wouldn't question it.

(Reference to Rockstar Ted Nugent and his wife)

Blaire remained silent; she knew that she had a short fuse, and it was already lit. She had her eyes down on her anti-possession charm bracelet that Bobby gifted her for her 22nd birthday.

Pierce planted both hands on the evidence box and turned up his nose, "I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here." He turned his head to the woman of color and smiled. "Look, I don't know what he's got on you, but you seem like a smart girl- Don't lose your future because of a dumb nobody."

Dean furrowed his brows. "Hey- A sexy, dumb nobody." He simpered.

Blaire's eyes now met with the Sheriff's. "And you seem like a nice Sheriff, really, but it don't matter what kind of trouble he's in, I'll be right there with him." The huntress smirked.

"We'll be sexy 'n dumb nobodies together." She drawled with a genial expression.

"And you thought I was holding her against her will-" The 26-year-old hunter gazed at Bee with a tender smile. "But she just loves me that much- So are we talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble, or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble? "

Sheriff Pierce sighed. "Y'all got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall- Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, y'all are officially suspects."

Blaire directed her attention to Dean, who was having the time of his life rebelling. "Yeah, that makes total sense 'cause when the first one went missing in '82 I was three, and she wasn't even born yet," Dean replied.

"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing." Pierce dug into the box and lifted a brown leather-covered journal. "So tell me, Dean & Blaire." He tossed the journal onto the table. "This his?"

Dean and Blaire gawked at the journal with an inflexible expression. On the outside, they were calm and collected, but on the inside, they panicked. John never left anywhere without his journal, and so if he left it- he was either dead, or it was on purpose.

Bee subtly placed her hand on Dean's knee and squeezed it. The male hunter kept his gaze on the journal as his fingers just grazed hers; Dean thumbed her fingertips.

Blaire knew how much John meant to Dean, finding him meant everything.

The Sheriff sat on the edge of the table and began flipping through the journal. It is filled with many newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures. "I thought those might be your names. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out- I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy. "

Dean leaned forward to take a closer look at the journal.

"But, I found this too." Pierce added and delved through almost all the pages until he neared the end. There it was 'DEAN & BLAIRE 35-111' in black sharpie, and circled. "Now. Y'all are stayin' right here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means."

They weren't sure how much time had passed, but now the sun was setting, and Blaire grew worried.

The huntress lastly leaned forward and stared down at the page, then looked up at the white older man. "That's our shared locker combo, from highschool- Y'know how high schoolers are." She murmured.

Although it wasn't their actual locker combination, Blaire and Dean did share lockers in high school but only once.

"Yeah, right, why would he write down your combination?" Sheriff queried.

Dean drew his hand away from Bee's and rested both elbows on the table. "You'd have to ask him that."

"Are you seriously gonna keep askin'? It's obvious we're not gonna break- so handcuff us and go away."Blaire snapped, rising from her seat.

Dean also rose, placing a light hand on the dark-skinned woman's waist. "Simmer down, Mathilda." He pulled her back and chose to switch seats before Blaire tore the sheriff's head, figuratively and literally.

(Reference to Leon: The Professional)

Before Pierce could get out a response, a deputy came barging into the room. "We just got a 911. Shots fired over at Whiteford Road."

"You have to use the bathroom?" Pierce asked.

Dean pushed his best friend down in the chair he was sitting in, and then took her seat. "No, we don't."

"Good." The white man replied and retrieved two pairs of cuffs. He then cuffed Dean and Blaire to the table before he left.

Once they were left to their own devices, Bee's male counterpart spotted a paperclip in the journal. Dean plucked it from the page and held it in the light. "Idiots." He uttered while picking the lock on his cuffs.

"Hurry- he put them too tight on my wrist." Blaire huffed as she wiggled her fingers on the cuffed hand. She looked to Dean, who was now standing and towering over her.

Dean grinned, "I don't know- handcuffs are starting to look good on you."

"Yeah? How about I wrap them around your neck." Blaire sneered and yanked at the chain.

Dean furrowed his brows and just went to pick the locks on her cuffs. Once they were open Blaire gave him two middle fingers to the face and then rummaged through the evidence box for her pocket knife and pistol.

"Alright, They're gone." The male hunter whispered and opened the door.

The two make their escape down the fire escape, Blaire carrying John's journal in her arms.

STREET

PHONEBOOTH

"Dean, We'll find Johnny- okay?" Blaire murmured from behind Dean.

They were speed-walking down the street and came across a phone booth. Their phones were confiscated, and they didn't have enough time to steal the phones back but Blaire retrieved her pistol and silver pocket knife.

The sandy brown hair hunter jogged over to the phone booth, not ignoring Bee's comment but just thinking of what to say.

"We better- 'cause I don't know what'll happen if we don't." Dean huffed.

"Dean!" Bee shouted from a distance before jogging to the phone booth. She placed her hand on the frame of the door, panting hard.

It was hard enough for her to deal with the anniversary of her mom's death coming up, but now that John was missing and Sam going back to Stanford after the hunt- it wore Blaire down. She tried her best to keep it together for Dean, but also for herself. They were all together again and could have each other's back, but Sam didn't want this.

The only family Blaire has left were Bobby and the boys, god forbid she loses them too.

Dean picked up the phone and slipped a quarter into the slot. He began dialing Sam's number. While the phone rang, he looked back at Blaire. He had a small tinge of sadness in his eyes. It was hard to distinguish, but she obviously knew it was bothering him.

The 26-year old ran his tongue over his bottom lip and parted them, "Don't look at me like that." He huffed.

"Look at you like what?" The dark skin woman forced herself into the booth; her eyes still focused on Dean's. She rested her head on the plexiglass window as she was still catching her breath.

Dean clutched the phone in his hand but hadn't realized Sam picked up and was listening. "With those eyes- they're the- the sad puppy eyes. I can't resist those." He told them.

"It's just- We'll find him, okay? And when Sammy leaves... I'll still be here- you and I." Blaire whispered and put on her best, 'trying not to cry' smile. As much as she wanted to cry and hug, she couldn't afford it.

The huntress nodded to the phone and raised a brow, silently asking if Sam had answered and was listening.

Dean just tightened his grip on the telephone handle. He didn't know what to say in moments like these. It wasn't fair that Blaire could read him like that; he guessed it was only fair because he could also read her like a book. He opted not to make the moment sappy as he realized they were on a timed schedule.

"Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal." Dean said into the phone.

Blaire shuffled closer to the male in hopes of hearing what Sam had to say. She heard a faint 'You're welcome.'

The telephone booth's small structure didn't allow for much space, so their bodies were close.

Dean leaned against the plexiglass and looked down at Bee as he talked to Sam. "Listen, we gotta talk."

SAM: Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop.

Blaire snatched the phone and scrunched up her nose at Dean, who had a surprised look on his face. "Sammy- would you shut up for a second?" She snapped.

SAM: I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.

"That's what he was trying to tell you! He's gone. John left Jericho." Blaire murmured.

SAM: What? How do you know?

Dean swiped the phone away as well as the journal. "We've got his journal..." He glanced down at the hunter's diary.

SAM: He doesn't go anywhere without that thing...

"Yeah, well, he did this time." The black woman said loud enough for Sam to hear.

SAM: What's it say?

"Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going," Dean replied.

SAM: Coordinates. Where to?

Blaire grabbed the phone and held it to her ear. "We're not sure yet, but we'll check it out."

SAM: I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Guys, what the hell is going on?

Blaire's face contorted as she heard the screech of the brakes and Sam's hard breathing. "Sammy? Sam!" She gripped the phone so tight that it could probably snap under the force.

A faint 'Take me home' was heard.

The line was dead.

Dean stood straight, snatching the phone from his companion. " C'mon!" He shouted and slammed the phone back down on the receiver before seizing hold of Blaire's wrist. "We gotta go to Constance's house."

While Blaire and Dean made their way to the abandoned house, Sam struggled with Constance.

ABANDONED HOUSE

Dean and Blaire arrived on the scene to find the impala parked in front of the house. The windows were frosted over, clueing them that Constance had Sam. Blaire, from a distance, could see the spirit straddling Sam.

All she saw was red.

"She's on him!" Blaire roared as she fiercely marched toward the impala with her arm outstretched, her black Remington 1911 R1 9mm pistol in hand. She fired twice into the window, only startling Constance.

Bee's eye twitched as she studied the position they were in, it prompted her to keep firing until Constance disappeared.

Sam managed to sit up and gather himself before shifting gears, "I'm taking you home." He groaned as he slammed his foot on the gas, sending Baby crashing into the front of the house.

"SAM!" Dean shouted.

Blaire panicked internally. Her eyes darted between Dean and the giant fucking hole in the house. Once her mind caught up with what was happening, she ran to Sam's side, followed by Dean.

"Sammy! Baby- You okay?!" The huntress called out subconsciously. She didn't mean to call him baby; it just slipped out. The only person who seemed to have caught it was Dean.

Sam groaned and shifted his body in the seat. "I think..."

Dean rushed over to the passenger window and leaned through the window. "Can you move?"

"Yeah- Help me?" The tall hunter grumbled and held out a hand for Dean to pull. Dean opened the car door, met him halfway then locked hands. He began tugging and heaving his brother from the wreckage.

In the background, Constance lifted a large framed photograph of Constance and her two children.

"Promise me that you're okay?" Blaire leaped onto Sam, pulling him into a tight, tender hug. Her arms wrapped around Sam's torso, squeezing him to death. Sam set his hands on her head and just gave her forehead a small kiss; his version of 'I am okay.'

Bee let out a heavy sigh and removed herself from Sam just as Dean closed the car door.

It caught Constance's attention.

Blaire's breathing hitched when she saw the spirit toss the photo down and glare at Sam and Dean. All of a sudden, a bureau (dresser) was sent forward, pinning the brothers against the impala.

Constance then appeared before Bee and dug her nails into the huntress's chest. A cry erupted from Blaire's throat as the pain was unbearable, her heart began pumping furiously.

"NO!" The brothers cried in chorus.

Dean wriggled underneath the dresser, trying to break free. He couldn't lose Blaire, not when he lost his mom on this day. It wasn't fair. "Leave her alone!" The green-eyed hunter growled as he saw Constance's fingers dig deeper into Blaire's chest.

The lights began flickering, which startled the vengeful spirit and ultimately saved Blaire's life. Bee fell to the floor, gasping for air once she was released. Water began rushing down the staircase, pouring over the sides; At the top were Constance's two children, holding hands.

"You've come home to us, Mommy." They spoke in unison. The woman in white looked at them, clearly distraught when they appeared behind her and embraced her tightly. Constance wailed, her image flickering just before she burst into flames and was dragged down into hell.

Her spirit left a puddle of water on the floor.

This released the hold over the bureau, allowing the boys to shove it out of their way. Immediately, Dean ran over to check on Bee, who was left on the floor, panting and bleeding only slightly.

"Is she okay?" Sam murmured while gazing at the puddle, left on the floor.

Blaire opened her eyes with a tired smile plastered on her lips. "Prince Charming..." She greeted Dean.

"Yeah, she's good." Sam answered for himself with a small laugh. He attempted to regain his posture as he watched Dean aid his former girlfriend.

In that small moment, her doe brown eyes met his emerald orbs, and she could have sworn she felt a slight pang in her heart. She assumed it was just leftover adrenaline from almost getting her heart ripped out. Dean lifted from the dirty floor and set her on her feet.

Bee dusted off her clothes."So this is where she drowned those poor kids..." The huntress breathed through the pain.

"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them." Sam breathed.

Dean smirked. "You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy." The older brother purposely slapped Sam on his injured chest and walked away to inspect the car.

Sam laughed through the pain, "Yeah, I wish I could say the same for Bee. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" He turned to Blare.

"Don't look at me like that- She was about to tear your heart out," Blaire replied while stepping over the debris to Baby.

"I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?" Dean paused and whirled around to look at his brother. "I'll kill you."

Samuel burst into laughter and just shook his head.

The triad of hunters climbed into the car with Dean driving, Sam shotgun, and Blaire in the back, listening to music.

HIGHWAY

BABY

The impala tore down the road, the right headlight busted. Inside, Sam had a map spread over his lap, as well as his father's journal and a flashlight tucked between his chin and shoulder. Blaire was listening to music on her 5th Generation iPod, earbuds shoved into her ears. Dean, of course, was driving, focused hard on the road.

"Okay, here's where Dad went." Sam murmured as he traced his finger over the ruler. "It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

Dean glanced at Sam and nodded. "Sounds charming. How far?"

"About 600 miles." Sam affirmed and held the flashlight in his right hand.

The older Winchester glanced at Blaire in the rearview mirror to see her licking her lips and singing along to whatever she was listening to at the moment.

"Hey, if we shag ass, we could make it by morning." Dean already knew the error in that statement when it left his mouth.

Blaire couldn't hear what was being said, but she could sense the atmosphere shifting. She secretly lowered her music and pretended to sing ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears.

"Dean, I, um..." Sam started but didn't finish. He looked to his brother then the map.

Dean kept his eyes on the rearview mirror as he spoke, "You're not going..." He glanced at Sam with furrowed brows.

"The interview's in 10 hours. I gotta be there, Dean." Sam asserted.

Blaire shifted in the backseat and laid her head against the window. She watched the trees pass. She almost forgot about his interview and would have been happy if he did too. Why did he have to care about being 'safe' when the hunting life taught him how to fight the monsters under his bed.

It irked Blaire that he cared so little about finding John and about saving people. He was selfish.

Tears pricked her eyes but did not fall.

Dean nodded, a bit disappointed in his brother, but respected his wishes. He kept his attention on the road with a stoic expression. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever..." The jaded hunter glanced at Sam. "I'll take you home." Dean paused and peeked over his shoulder.

"Look like it's just you and me, Sweetheart." The 26-year-old laughed through the hurt.

Sam turned off the flashlight and put away the items sprawled over his lap.

Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel and put more pressure on the gas pedal. He just wanted to get on his way and out of Sam's hair.

All he wanted was to have his whole family together because, to him, he was alone- even Bee had someone to go home to, but he did not. John was missing, and Sam wanted to get married and be a lawyer.

Even if Blaire promised to stay with Dean forever, he didn't believe her; He couldn't afford that false hope.

FINAL PART

SERIES REWRITE MASTERLIST

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