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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years ago

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Always

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Draco finds himself on thin ice with his father, he still can’t seem to keep from you.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: angst, secret relationship, poor parental relationship, stress/anxiety about the future, fluff, kissing

A/N: Flash back is in italics. This is an alternate version of my fic here !

The divination classroom. It has always been amongst your favorites. It was far more contrasting to the others, consisting simply of stone walls and arched ceilings, wooden desks and frosted windows. The room of divination was full of mismatched tapestries draping in ruffles from the walls in bursting colors, equally so in the various sizes cushions and chairs with rugs to match. A handful of intricately patterned ceiling fixtures hung down, tassels dangling from them. It was warm and it was welcoming in comparison to the cold and darker rooms.

“Why is it that we’re coming here?” Draco asks with a sigh, trailing behind you as you ascend the last few steps of the winding spiral staircase.

You turn to him with a grin and a raised brow, a look he soon returned as he grasped your hand in his own. “I think we could do with a change of scenery after all. I’m growing rather tired of the astronomy tower, love.”

“What’s wrong with the astronomy tower?” He scoffs in faux offense, his brows furrowing as you tugged him along with you into the vacant room as he looks over his shoulder once more.

“It’s far too cold and cloudy to go up there tonight. Besides, this is one of my favorite rooms in the whole castle if you must know. You will survive just this once, Draco,” you jest lightheartedly, releasing his hand to skip ahead of him as he groaned at your sudden absence and he had no choice but to follow you. Though he felt he’d follow you anywhere, really.

“And if I don’t?” He calls after you just to be difficult, pinching a piece of red velvet fabric between his fingers before his eyes roam back to you.

You turn on your heel and purse your lips at him, narrowing your gaze as you fight your smile. You shake your head as he holds your stare just the same, his head tilting and eyes squinting as he challenged you and you readily gave up on suppressing your grin for a moment longer.

“You didn’t have to join me if this is not to your taste, you know,” you say, and he rolls his eyes as he tugs you close to him by a gentle grip on your hand. “You’re more than welcome to leave, but I have a feeling you’d miss me too much if you did.”

He silenced your very logical words with a kiss, your laughter dwindling as you relaxed against him. His kiss was soft and tender as he hummed against your lips, his hand coming to brush your hair behind your ear as his lips moved from your own to sweep across your cheek. They linger just under your jaw before pressing chastely under your ear, his nose brushing over your skin.

“Must you always pick on me, darling?” He murmurs, his breath tickling against the shell of your ear.

Your soft laughter starts up again at his words, pulling his attention back to your gaze as he pulls back to look at you. You rest your hands on his chest, your fingers splaying across the black fabric of his button up and smoothing over his matching tie. “Yes, I think I must.”

With that, you turned away from him and left his loose embrace much to his dismay, twirling once in the center of the room with open arms. He watched as you smiled contently, your eyes falling closed as you tip your head back and bask in the peace that came with nightfall. In the enchantment of the room. For it was the time where you could love one another as freely as you’d like, for as many hours as the moon remained in the deep navy sky. He wanted desperately to love you in the light of day, without fear of prying eyes and listening ears. But you knew why things were the way they were.

He watched the way the moonlight danced across your skin, glowing against your effortless beauty as it shines in your hair. It left him wondering how someone so perfect could love someone so flawed. He found himself to be an anchor tied to you at times, his mistakes and current standing in the wizarding world something he felt kept you from thriving the way he knew you would, the way you deserved. You already were, far more than he could say for himself.

You radiate warmth and kindness, something he so desperately craved and found he could not keep himself from. To him, you were the embodiment of sunshine and he felt he was quite the opposite, rather bringing storms and rain. Yet still, you chose to love him in spite of it. He felt guilty, really. For having a father who made you feel like your relationship was in jeopardy without ever having the displeasure of meeting the man. For not being able to love you as fully and openly as he so desired.

“Are you going to join me or are you going to stare all night?” You quip, breaking him from his pestering thoughts.

His gaze flickered from the vacant spot you once stood in to where you sat on purple velvet cushioned stool. You smiled as the crystal sphere flowed before you and a grin of his own tugged at the corner of his mouth. He took a seat on the small crimson stool right next to you, finding himself a bit too tall for such a small seating arrangement but he decided against complaining.

The sphere before you contained a fog-like haze that swirled around much like the clouds just beyond the windows.

“Just what are we doing?” He asks, an amused smirk on his lips as he raised a brow.

“You’ve claimed yourself to be the best at telling the future what was it, four years ago? Surely you must be an expert on such a thing now, Dray,” you say, laughing at his scrunched nose and the way he gripped your stool and tugged you closer with one swift pull. “Tell me, what will our future be in five years’ time?”

He chuckles, shaking his head fondly as he looked from the crystal to you. “That’s quite simple, I don’t need some silly crystal to tell me that.”

You raise your brow in amused curiosity. “Tell you what?”

He looks at you attentively, his smirk softening to an adoring smile. “That I’ll love you as long as you’ll have me, and even more.”

You nearly rolled your eyes at his sappy words, but you found them too sentimental and the look on his face far too endearing to do so. That and you couldn’t ignore the heat in your cheeks from such a declaration. But you also didn’t have it in you to miss an opportunity to tease him.

“I love you, very much I do. But I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t know how to use that thing, Love,” You jest, and he rolls his eyes as he fights his smile.

“I’m convinced you love to torment me,” he frowns, unable to sustain it with the way you’re giggling at him.

Despite the lighthearted moment, he finds he can’t enjoy it fully with the worry weighing heavy on his mind. Your question was merely playful, but it had been one that frequented his thoughts far more than he cared to ever admit, more than he ever will admit. In a perfect world, he would have felt confident with the idea of loving you for the rest of his life. Would have felt rather excited for your future together because he loved you entirely too much for his own good. But it was hard to indulge in thinking of such dreams when there were things in particular pressing down on his shoulders.

That one night in particular, to be specific, he would never forget that.

Draco stood at the end of the vacant corridor, palms pressed flat to the cold surface of the window sill as he peered through the latticed glass. The commotion from the ball had been more than enough with just the thirty minutes he’d spent in the large ballroom housed at the opposite end of the long hallway. Even with the distance from the boisterous event it was still just as nauseating—his ears ringing with the clinking of glass and goblets, with the shrill laughter seeping into the space he wished would alleviate his tension. But alas, it did not.

The dusty air in the Manor had not done him any bit of good, not even a shred. His mind was far busier than any overly lavish event his parents could throw, racing from one thought to the next in an endless loop. He grew rather tired of pretending to be interested in any of the meaningless conversations he was subjected to, tired of standing along the same gray wall in the shadows in hopes they’d leave him alone. He could do that perfectly well now that the only company was himself.

The moonlight had trickled in through the windows in broken beams, illuminating every fleck of dust that had been floating around him, casting him in a small pool of light. He knew staying in there a moment longer simply wouldn’t be feasible, he’d go mad. Besides, he was far too distracted with more important matters, so much so he hadn’t wanted it to draw attention to himself. He had been far too distracted by you.

As he looked out over the garden it was inevitable that that had been where his mind would shift to. To each and every night you spent hand in hand within it, or the more than numerous kisses you shared tucked away behind decades old oak trees and crumbling statues. It reminds him of the way your hair glimmers in that very moonlight and just how your eyes sparkle. It reminds him how just how much he wanted to be with you in that very moment; he always found he’d rather be with you.

Fancy ballroom events had never held his interest very much, and the more they occurred the less that interest remained. Especially with the way thing seemed to be spiraling as his seventh year continues to break apart. The attendees only ever wanted to talk to him because he was the Malfoy heir, not because they cared to converse with him and how he was doing, but because they wanted to talk about he who he refuses to give the satisfaction of naming. He didn’t want to talk about things most undesirable, there was more to him than slytherin title, than to be a Malfoy. There was more to him than what he could use his social standing for. He knew that, you knew that.

He wanted so desperately to leave the bleak and endless maze of that manor. To part from that grand window and to be somewhere else, anywhere, with you. He wanted to—

“Draco,” a voice sounded behind him. A voice he’d rather not hear. His father. He squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for conversation. “Have you grown bored?”

The tone he held was not one of curiosity, he genuinely did not care less about whether or not he had been bored. He did not care about very much when it came to his son, his only child. For no reasons other than selfish ones, anyway.

Draco laughed bitterly to himself, his back still turned to his father. “Yeah, you could say that.”

It was quiet, save for the lingering notes of the piano and endless chatter that filtered out into the corridor. The silence from his father was near painful, and he’d be lying if he said his heart hadn’t begun to pound more vigorously against his chest. The absence in conversation was starting to make him nervous with each passing second, and he was beginning to think he’d left altogether. No, it would not be that easy.

“You seem rather distracted, Draco,” he states after a few agonizing moments, and his heart squeezes in his chest at the familiar sense of knowing woven around each word. He swallows thickly as he fixes his stare down on the windowsill. “Is something on your mind? Or someone, perhaps.”

He wants desperately to take a deep breath as panic settles thickly within him, but that would be far too obvious an indication that his assumptions were, in fact, correct. His mind races a mile a minute, however, and he finds himself scrambling to think of an answer.

“No, there is not, father. I’m just not in the mood for discussing luxuries with any of your friends,” he responds, tone sharp and defensive.

He hears a humorless chuckle sound closer behind him, a sound accompanied by the click of his walking stick. Lucius had his suspicions of you, ever since he’d noticed his son’s newfound distraction, newfound stubbornness to follow his rules. It had only further been confirmed by the smile his son seemed to be caught wearing when he thinks no one is watching. He knew it and he hated it.

Draco felt paralyzed in his spot, unable to form an excuse to leave this very situation. He was tense and increasingly bothered by the threatening presence behind him. He was unsure if there would be repercussions of his displeased counter at his question, hadn’t known just what to expect. Hadn’t known until he felt the hand of his father grab firmly to the back of his neck, cold and calloused fingers pressing to his skin just inches from his shoulders. He flinched at the sudden and startling action, breath hitching in his throat as he brows furrow in a wince.

“Listen closely, my dear son,” he muttered venomously in his ear. “I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but that girl of yours, the one distracting you from your orders—I will not tolerate it.”

He gulped at his father’s words, and he was quite sure he could hear the rhythmic and incessant pounding of his heart in the close proximity. His hands had begun to shake as they gripped tighter on the ledge of the windowsill. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The grip on his neck tightens a fraction. “You reek of her perfume, do not tell me you do not know what I’m talking about,” he says through gritted teeth. “You have me mistaken for a fool, Draco. Deal with it, or I will.”

His threatening words are accompanied by a brief shake to emphasize them, jolting him slightly before his harsh grip is released and his footsteps diminish. He was left to stand there alone once more, angry and afraid as his nostrils flare with his sharp inhale and his jaw tensed, eyes lining with tears. His lip quivered under the pressure to suppress it, knuckles turning white under his tightening fists. He knew of you.

“Draco?” The mere softness of your tone pulls him from his distracted trance, that and the way your hand settled on his cheek. “Are you alright?”

His hand comes to rest over your own as he looks at you and leans into your touch without second thought, his blue gaze flickering between your own. He simply nods, his thumb brushing gingerly over your skin as he smiles softly, assuringly. “I’m fine, darling.”

Your returning smile makes his heart flutter within his chest, though he knows that you knew him far better to believe that. But you don’t push it.

When you start speaking he doesn’t entirely know what you were saying in that very moment, for he was much more focused on the way your lips moved with every word, every syllable. On the way your lashes splay against the tops of your flushed cheeks each and every time you look down at that wondrous crystal ball. Or the way your hand pulled from his cheek to rest over his own, playing absentmindedly with the silver slytherin ring worn on his finger. He didn’t particularly like that piece of jewelry, but he only wore it for that habit of yours.

You were so enamoring in everything you had done and he’s sure that will remain true, so utterly spellbinding he feels as though he never stood a chance. You were far more enchanting than the very magic the two of you had known your whole lives, and he knew that to be factual.

“Remember when you—”

His lips had pressed on yours before you could finish your sentence, his hand slipping from under yours to rest warmly upon your cheek. The soft bout of laughter puffed against his lips was enough to let loose a flurry of butterflies within him, a feeling only you have ever caused even with just a mere glance in his direction. The tension in his body dissipated the more he kissed you, the worry dissolving from his mind in that very moment.

When he parted from you he’d thought better of it as he kissed you once, twice, three more times. His lips were pink and kiss swollen, chunks of messy platinum dipping down in his eyes as he gazed at you adoringly. You kissed him again, fleeting and sweet, and it left him smiling softly as his fingertips brushed over his lips. The action made your cheeks stain a deeper scarlet as you looked away momentarily, but you couldn’t help but to return your gaze to him.

“What was that all about?” You ask in playful amusement, still breathless and blissfully awestruck from the burst of affection.

He laughs at that, because you too were delightful and dizzying, and he can’t seem to hide that fact. He dips down and does so again, this time a mere featherlight kiss, his eyes fluttering closed as he relishes in the soft intimacy passing him by. One he does not want to end.

“Just because,” he whispers.

You reach up and smooth the worry creasing between dark brows, your fingers brushing under the hair falling over his forehead and tracing down his cheek. You smiled at the seemingly silverness of his hair in the moonlit glow, the pale blue of his eyes something else entirely.

You rest your forehead on his, noses bumping and laughter mingling before fading into soft smiles. “I love you, always.”

His smile widens a fraction at your words, sincere and true. It makes his heart pound in his chest and his cheeks stain the softest shade of pink as his lips ghost over yours, brushing together with every word. “I love you, always.”

He might not have paid too much mind to that crystal ball for fear of the outcome he felt couldn’t possibly be what he’d dreamt of. He might not have allowed himself to ponder too long on what awaits him for the future for himself, for himself with you. For if he had, he just might’ve seen that life hadn’t intended to be quite as cruel to him as he’d been thinking. Maybe if he gave it a chance he’d see his fate hadn’t been so terrible in the end. But for now, for right now he was content with setting those thoughts aside in favor of kissing you in the moonlight behind vibrant and mismatched curtains. He was content with disregarding his father’s absurd wishes, they did not matter.

He loved you now and he loved you always.

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @anchoeritic @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years ago

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B2:S - Chapter 4

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be Viren being villainous, Rayla, Claudia, Soren, and Callum, and tons of culture clash themey stuff

and a tw: animal death, Claudia why

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

Viren's scenes in Book Two: Sky are all amazing because they're full of worldbuilding and character building details. I love to study the word choices used from his perspective. They're so tasty. Like how he forced a servant, and also Soren, to carry his messages to the rookery, so that he never had to go himself. I'm really curious why Viren is forcing a servant, whose job is literally to serve, here. He really only has to ask. Maybe he was mean about it on purpose, or maybe he picked a servant who was afraid of birds just to flex on them. Whatever the reason for the word choice, Viren doesn't seem to like servants' jobs, it seems, especially when they take him somewhere with poop on the floor. It makes it all the more ironic that he sweeps Runaan's cell clean himself, then, humbling himself before he finally figures out the mirror.

Viren's secretive, right down to his very carefully chosen words to those around him, but his true thoughts shine through even more clearly in the book than in the show. He knows he's been sneaking and hiding stuff, and he knows that some of those actions would be called treachery. Stealing the king's seal to forge royal documents is up there on the treacherous list, but it's apparently not there alone. Ah, Viren, such a villainous delight. What have you gotten up to?

The way he thinks of and treats Crow Master is ageist and classist, but certain lines also hint that Viren has spent a lot of time memorizing the finer points of proper courtesy, and he expects others to have done the same. There are many reasons someone might put forth such effort: a commoner trying to better himself to be noticed by a kind prince is a nice version. A sociopath learning to fake caring about rich people so he can blend in with them is less nice. Superconveniently, the skills a young, earnest Viren might use to feel worthy of Harrow's attention will serve him just as well when dark magic ravages his empathy and he has to lie to everyone about how dead he is inside in order to keep his position of power. Until he's not lying anymore and he straight up threatens poor Crow Master with death unless he sends illegal mail for him. There's the Viren we know and uhhhhhh

Rayla and the blue rose! It's so fun to see inside her head here. She acted swiftly in the last chapter to save herself from Claudia's sleep spell, but now that she has to lie there, that thorn really hurts! She wishes she maybe had a different plan instead of playing asleep.

I hope Rayla only calls Claudia's voice "awful" because of association. I love Claudia's raspy voice! It's so neat! Rayla immediately recognizes it as Claudia's, from the castle and identifies her as a dark mage, with a clanky-metal warrior beside her. She gets mad at Soren for apparently calling killing a sport, even though that's not what he said at all. Soren's using an unfamiliar, maybe old-fashioned term, and Rayla's taking it very literally. It's like Viren and Runaan are arguing through them. A fun little example of culture clash.

Also digging the fact that Rayla knows what sleeping breathing looks like, as opposed to awake breathing, for the purposes of faking someone out. Did she just. Perch in a tree over Runaan and Ethari as they napped after a picnic and watched them sleep, or did Runaan help her sneak around the Silvergrove to spy on sleeping elves for training purposes? Also, raise your hand if you've faked sleep breathing to fool someone. that's not just me right

Rayla's sass is a constant delight. Whenever she's up against an enemy, she is outwardly fearless and full of witty taunts and comments, and I love her so much. where could she have learned this from I also love that she can't help but flex on Soren about her technique. It seems that her attitude is part "never show fear" and part "humans are liars."

Claudia and Soren were trying to kill Rayla to save the princes from her. But Rayla was also intent on killing both of them right back. And she wasn't ever gonna tell Callum and Ez about that. Woah. First Harrow, now this. That whole "death and secrets" thing really sank in with her, didn't it? Crack voice in the back of my brain: Ethari does know Runaan stabs people, right, he does know that?

Interesting change of detail from show to book: in the show, Claudia overheats Rayla's swords with some green splattery goo from a little glass jar. In the book, uhhh. She grabs a live bird and squishes it to cast the spell. Eew. Really making a point of dark magic's inherent violence today, I see. Got it.

"Rayla, pipe down." Callum still has a ways to go on how to win friends and influence people here. Everyone's shouting, he's interrupted to save Rayla's life (or so he thinks), and when Rayla shouts that his friends tried to kill her, he tells her--and no one else--to pipe down. Followed soon by "but a 'good' elf." Ahgod. He doesn't think he's taking sides, but he's got two humans versus one elf, and he's a human himself, and his underlying biases are showing. He's 14, and he's willing to learn, though--and he really does learn and grow over time. But this version of this scene was just. So. Painfully. Awkward.

I feel like this version was part of a larger theme I'm seeing throughout the first half of the book, emphasizing that Callum comes from years of having a crush on Claudia, and it takes many scenes with Claudia and with Rayla to shift through several gears with each of them in order to facilitate the possibility of breaking with Claudia and then also of falling for Rayla, in a way that feels organic within the structure of the story being told.

Also Callum super has a type and it's Girls Who Will Commit Murder. I don't make the rules.

Rayla's defense just attacks Callum's word choice: "What do you mean, 'but a good elf'? Do you know any bad elves?" And I just. Rayla, honey. You're not in any better of a spot than Callum right now. Your mentor literally stabs people to death. You're both literally assassins. Some humans could accept most elves, but they might draw the line at assassins.

But this tiny clash in the midst of this war, this single exchange of words, is such a great microcosm, the war made personal. It's early enough in their adventure and their growth that they're still sounding a lot like their parents. And that includes Claudia! She demands to know how an elf can be good, and Callum allows that it's possible for good elves to exist, but he has to be the one to say it, not the actual elf behind him. And the actual elf behind him insists that her kind are all good, thank you very much, and implying otherwise skirts very close to "humans are liars."

It's quite a tangle, but having the main characters tangled up like this shows us that as they untangle themselves in their own personal situations, they're learning things about human and elven hearts, about relationships and family, and those things are universal truths which they can use to help them understand other people's troubles, as well as the larger issues involved in the war they're trying to stop.

Callum assessing--and then reassessing--his confidence level. It's adorable, and it serves to show that his first scrambling attempt to make peace, in which he messed up a little but at least no one died--won't be his last. He's not really sure how this is gonna go. Everything is new. But he's dedicated to peace, and he's not giving up. He did just run in between Soren and his target while Soren was holding a sword.

He keeps doing that. Standing in front of people who have their weapons raised in his direction. And he does it with a ridiculous amount of chill. Is this Sarai's influence on him? Considering that Harrow has kept his distance, maybe so! I'd love that.

This chapter ends with some fun relationship drama when Callum gets butterflies in his stomach at being around Claudia again. She tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and he forgets all about telling her about smashing her primal stone. He instantly worries that Rayla saw her gesture, which of course she did. Callum's nervousness and Rayla's glare feel to me like they're supposed to fit into a tactical box instead of a romantic box, but I can see how it could be interpreted the other way. Callum just intervened in a fight that Rayla completely intended to end by secretly killing Claudia and Soren, so in Rayla's mind, she's probably convinced that Callum intervened to save his girlfriend's life, while he's sure that he just saved Rayla's. She's probably angry because Claudia's gesture is making her think that Callum only seemed to be trying to save Rayla when his true intention was to save Claudia all along.

Dun dun dunnnnnnn.

#b2:s #book two: sky spoilers #book two: sky #tdp spoilers #tw: animal death #soren #tdp claudia #rayla #callum #runaan #ethari #viren #sarai

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

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To Marry a Vigilante: Part 13

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 13

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Marinette wasn’t sure what to expect from school after her reveal. Their plan was to make it public that she was ‘dating’ Damian Wayne, but not her identity as the MDC. That plan failed when she panicked and tweeted about it. By now, pretty much everyone knew about it. Especially after Jagged Stone went forward and confirmed it. She loved the rockstar, but he was like a wild six-years-old when left without supervision. It was impossible to reverse it.

The other problem that was making her very anxious was the new Hawkmoth. Her class was already called the Akuma Class not without reason. Now, they would be probably split into different groups, which could serve to make her suffer more. Not to mention how much Lila would be making her life a nightmare now.

She dressed in the standard Gotham Academy uniform and waited for Chloé to finally arrive. The blonde’s arrival was foreshadowed by the sound of a loud rant.

“...they can’t expect me to wear these rags!? The purple will totally clash with my lipstick! And the black and white? What is it, the Seventeenth century?” She was already dressed, but clearly unamused by what she was forced to wear.

“Hi, Chlo.” She greeted her best human friend.

“Mari-bear! How can you stand by this fashion disaster?!”

“I don’t mind. We must wear it only at school.”

“Ugh! I need to pack spare clothes then!”

“Or you could… you know, stay in the uniform?” The bluenette smiled. “I mean from what Damian told me, it’s pretty common to see groups of students still dressed in their uniforms after school.”

“These rags?!” Chloé shouted, slightly agitated

“I’ll make you an MDC original uniform once I get my hands on specifications. Deal?” Mari giggled at her friend’s antics. She was supposed to be the one criticizing fashion here.

“Fine. But it’s ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! After classes, you and I are going shopping for some better make-up for me and actual make-up for you.”

“Sure! We can also visit the Botanic Gardens again. Just the two of us?” The girl suggested.

“Perfect. Won’t Lover-boy have a problem?”

“Nah. Damian won’t mind. We’re not bound by the hip, you know?”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Chloé smiled.

“You��!” Marinette giggled. “I heard you’ve been spending whole days in the gym with my cousin. What’s that about? I thought you would be more interested in pestering Tim about detective stuff.”

“I decided to start exercising. Cass is a great trainer for your information,” she huffed, but the smile on her face let Mari know it was just Chloé being Chloé. “Besides, have you seen your mother? She is nearing fifty and looks drop-dead gorgeous. My mother would kill for that body at her age.”

“Suuuree.” The bluenette giggled. “Let’s go. Alfred will drop us at school.”

In the entrance hall, they were met by Damian, who wore his own uniform. Sabine, Tom, and Bruce were there to see them out. After the standard round of goodbyes that awaited children when they were supposed to start a new school (Sabine filling the mother role for Chloé), Bruce looked critically at Damian.

“You know that you can only bring the sword on Tuesdays and Thursdays when you actually have practice?”

“Tt. I’ll need it today.”

“Damian…” He glared at the boy, only to be met by an equally fierce gaze.

“Fine. But I’m keeping the dusters.” He bargained. “That’s not negotiable.”

“You know the rules.”

“Tt. With a madman after my wife, I reserve my right to having means of self-defense.”

“Fine. But only if Akuma shows up and the two of you can’t transform. I hope I don’t need to remind you that Gotham is not Paris? People are much more observant here.” He warned them.

“Don’t worry Mr. Wayne.” Chloé dismissed him. “I’ll make sure those two are behaving.”

“I already feel better.” He deadpanned.

“Hush! They are smart kids and can deal with their problems. Right, sweetie?”

“I… I hope?” Marinette was not exactly convinced but tried to smile.

“You’ll do great.” Her father reassured her.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She put on her sunglasses. The thin black frame surrounded the twin large tinted glasses that hid a large part of her face. Nobody would know it was Kaalki in disguise. She would need the glasses to not be bothered by the press. At least she hoped they would help.

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They arrived with half an hour safety cushion, which made them one of the first on-site. Damian led them to the Principal’s office first to get their schedules. Mr. Hammer was already waiting for them. He wore formal clothes with a green vest over a white shirt, yellow-brown trousers, and to finish it he had a dark-green cape with a white collar made of fur.

“Ah. Mr. Wayne with his girlfriend,” He spoke the word with utter loathing, which was pretty strange. Marinette never met him before. “I seem to remember to have expelled you last semester”

“Tt. You also expelled me the previous one. Four times. And the semester before. Two times.” He didn’t bother to hide the grin. “Except the paperwork never left your office.” He pointed at the large stack of papers on one of the shelves, with a golden plaquette reading ‘Damian Wayne’.

“Hm… Indeed.”

Damian stopped himself from interrupting him to educate him on how to talk with and about Marinette.

“Um… Professor Hammer?” speaking of the angel. “Thank you for accepting my class for the exchange program.”

“Yes. Your school was kind enough to send the records of all the students. Yours including.”

“Great. Is there anything…”

“I didn’t finish.” He snapped at her. “You have a very interesting file, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He dropped a rather thick folder on his desk. “Class president for three years, engaging in various charities, supporting drama club, brilliant gymnast and martial artist.... thief, bully, conflict child.” He added in an angry tone. “I don’t know about France, but here we often call such girls H.B.I.C., which is an acronym for…”

“Tt. I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to refer to my Angel as such. She is the victim of theft, bullying, and ostracization by her class. If you read the files, you know that each person in that class holds significant sway, and the headmaster of that school is easily swayed. I’ve spent a semester at Françoise Dupont and that establishment is in simple words… lacking.” Damian almost spat the last word. He wanted to tell the headmaster more, but Hammer was ignoring him.

“In Gotham Academy, we pride ourselves as a prestigious institute that helps students develop their full potential. I don’t care how it worked in your previous school, but I expect you to behave. If you start conflicts with the students, I will be forced to expel you, as per the exchange program regulations that your parents signed. And this time, the papers will leave my office.” He glared at Damian, who in response grinned. “The school is surrounded by a high wall and a river, so you don’t have to worry about paparazzi. If such is caught on the premise, he will be dealt with harshly.”

“What about students taking photos?”

“I’m sure you can deal with them.” It was Hammer’s turn to grin.

“But… But…! That’s unfair! And enabling!”

“Life is not fair. If it was, I would be living in a castle somewhere in the stormy peaks of Scotland. Instead, I’m here.” He handed both of them their schedules and ushered them out. Chloé was waiting outside.

“So? How did it go?”

“He doesn’t particularly seem to like me. It might’ve been because I’m dating a boy he expelled six times last year.” She glared at his husband.

“Tt. He just dislikes me because in the first year I accidentally detonated the head of his statue. And then the next year I detonated the replacement.” He shrugged.

“How do you even accidentally detonate the statue’s head?” Chloé asked.

“Chemistry homework?” Damian suggested

“Archery practice?” Marinette supplied.

“Science class gone wrong?” He continued

“Secret weapon cache activating by itself?” She added.

“All of the above.” Damian finished.

“Okay. Honey, are you sure you want him? We can still return him to the store and find one that is less rabid?” The blonde joked.

“Tt. Over my dead body.” He growled and grasped Marinette’s hand.

“Calm down, Damiboo,” she grinned at the name, “nobody will be separating you two. But for now, we need to go to the chapel for the welcome party.”

“Tt. Call me that again and I’ll…” He started, but then Marinette’s glare shut him up.

The girls walked away and Damian almost rethought his stance when the blonde dared to whisper “Whipped” when she was passing him. Marinette didn’t notice, already too focused on describing the meeting with the headmaster.

-----

“...furthermore, the North Hall remains off-limit to all students. You will have your rooms assigned before the lunch break.” Hammerhead finally finished his long and boring speech. The girls were lucky enough to have a peaceful if uninteresting welcome ceremony. Sabine sat next to them, which served as a very strong deterrent from any idiots trying something stupid, like taunting her or bullying. Caline was sweating each time she looked at the other chaperone. Sabine didn’t bother with niceties and could (and would) totally destroy her at moment’s notice.

“Hi. I’m Erica Layton. I’m the school president and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to our great school!” A cheerful blonde walked onto the stage.

She wore a standard GA uniform, but Marinette recognized it as tailor-made, with high-quality materials. Marinette immediately took to dislike her. She had an aura similar to Lila. Falsehood and malevolence. Her smile was precarious and she swept the students with her gaze. She zeroed on Marinette for a second too long and the bluenette could feel the headache coming. She tried to remember what Damian told her about the school president, but the position was supposed to be held by a girl named Boyle.

“I hope you’ll fondly remember your time at our school. There are many clubs that you can join. If there is one that you wish to start, you’ll need a group of at least five students and signed permission from one of the teachers. You can find more information on our website. Each of you will be assigned a dorm according to the survey you filled…”

“Excuse me!” Kim, who just received a whisper from Lila, stood up. “From what we were told, we were supposed to stay with host families. What gives?”

“Oh! I’m sorry nobody informed you before. Sadly, we didn’t get enough volunteers, so the plans had to change.”

“But… but… Marinette is staying with the Waynes!” Alya protested before sending the girl in question a hateful gaze. Sabine glared back and the bespectacled girl shivered and quickly turned back to the stage.

The woman stood up and addressed the class herself. “Marinette is staying with me and I’m staying with my niece and her guardian. I hope that will clear any and all confusion.” Her glare told them that the conversation was over.

“Yes…” Erica awkwardly started again. “Let’s continue.”

Marinette made sure to note everything the school president spoke about. She was certain her class had more important gossip to focus on and later would have no idea about anything. She would just have Chloé send them the picture later.

After the event was over, Marinette and Chloé stayed back to photo the notes. Sabine made sure that all other Parisians left them alone, urging them to run to classes. The two left maybe two minutes later, walking calmly to their new classes. The girls would have all the same classes and there was hope that none of the other students from Françoise Dupont would pick the same.

When walking through the corridor, Chloé finally brought up Alya’s reaction to her mother. The two laughed at how scared she was of Sabine.

Out of the blue, a hand pulled Marinette to the side and the doors closed behind them in complete silence. She managed to give a weak squeak before that, but her best friend didn’t notice. It would be a moment before Chloé realized her best friend disappeared. By then, the doors had been already locked and she would not differentiate them from other locked doors in the corridor.

“So… You’re supposed to be the famed girlfriend of Damian Wayne?” Marinette heard once her head finally stopped spinning. She was sitting on a chair with ropes tying her down. Five girls stood there, surrounding her like vultures.

“Huh? Yeah. Damian and I…”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” The middle one, blonde stopped her. Marinette recognized her. It was Erica!

“Yeah! You think you can just swoop here and try to steal Erica’s man?” One of the companions asked indignantly.

“Damian was not dating anyone when he came to Paris.” The french girl confidently defended her right.

“Of course he wasn’t. He is the Ice Prince of Gotham Academy.” Erica dismissed her. “But I had the first claim to him.”

“I don’t exactly follow…” Marinette, for all her shrewd tactical mind and lessons from Damian, was still mostly clueless of how rich, bratty teenagers worked. Chloé was supposed to be a unique case, not a rule.

“Sorry. We started on the wrong foot.” The lead blonde changed her strategy. “Erica Layton.” She extended her hand. Marinette shrugged, took a deep breath, and tightened her muscles. The rope they used to tie her snapped and she stood up to take her hand. Other girls stared at her with a weird expression.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Her handshake might’ve been a bit too strong, she did it on purpose.

“Listen, Dupain-Cheng. There is a social hierarchy in this school. I just so happened to be on top. We can be friends and peacefully resolve our differences...”

“I’m sure we can be at least neutral to…”

“I didn’t finish.” Erica seethed. “Of course, friends don’t steal other friends’ men. So, if you’ll break up with Damian, I can get you to the top of the food chain. You will be safe from that Lila girl and untouchable by anyone. It would be a shame if something happened to your online store after all. Or if your social media suddenly ended under attack by bad reviews.”

Marinette stopped smiling halfway through that speech. By the end, she was openly scowling. She broke the handshake and glared at the blonde on the opposite side. Her mother taught her the glare. It was the ‘you’re in over your head’ glare.

Only one of the girls had the decency to shiver. Others seemed too stupid and too convinced of their own superiority to take Marinette seriously.

“Let’s make it clear.” The girl started with a very cold voice. “You want me to break up with Damian, just so you can try, and fail, to get him for yourself? And if I don’t comply, you threaten my online shop and my social media? All for protection from Rossi and her lapdogs?” She allowed herself a laugh. “That’s a good one.”

“You little bitch!” Erica shouted. “Do you have any idea who I am? I am at the top of the food chain here. I rule this school. I’m the Gotham Academy’s golden princess!”

“And I’m above the food chain.” She quoted Damian. It took all her willpower, acting skills, courage, and boiled-down anger to continue. “You might be the princess, but I’m the queen here. And you have nothing that you can take from me.”

“Everyone has some dirty secrets. When I’m done with you, you’ll be too afraid to even show up at school!” Erica shouted. Marinette’s cool gaze swept over the room.

The bluenette didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she walked over to the locked doors and grabbed the doorknob. At first, it was locked and didn’t want to budge, but with a stronger twist the old mechanism gave over, and the doors opened.

Outside, Chloé was already on the phone with someone.

“...Nevermind. I found her.” She hung up and turned to her best friend. “Maribear! Where have you been?”

“I just met the Rossi of this school. She thought she could offer me friendship in exchange for Damian. Like that would ever work.” She gave a cold giggle. When they turned the corner Chloé found the nearest bathroom and dragged Marinette there. Once they were safe from any prying eyes, shel broke into sobs in the blonde’s arms.

----------------

Masterlist // Next

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toweroftickles · 4 years ago

Text

ZELINK FIC - TICKLES THROUGH TIME

This is for @dyingtoleeya who suggested that I write about my “first ship ever.” That sent me on quite a nostalgia trip! Lol I’m a 90s kid, so most of my influences come from there. I didn’t expect to crank this fic out so fast, but something about it just inspired me. Hope you guys like it. :)

The fall of Ganondorf had seen the kingdom of Hyrule, though still shattered and broken, return to hope. The Hylian peoples had come together to rebuild, to settle into their old lives after seven long years. But for Link, and for Zelda, they had finally earned their rest.

It was a late night in the castle garden. Torches gleamed against white stone walls. The small stream that had once been present before the King of Thieves’ reign was dammed, but its mouth still bubbled peacefully through slabs of fallen rock. The stained glass windows, though broken, still cast their colorful lights into a swirling dance of shapes on the nighttime grass. Fireflies fluttered around. One landed squarely on the princess’ nose, and she giggled before returning to rest her head on the Hero of Time’s shoulder. They said not a word to each other, only breathed in the cool air, and listened for the sounds of a land returning to life. But finally, the princess spoke.

“So many years I dreamed I’d see you again,” she whispered, not looking directly at Link. “It’s funny...we only knew each other so briefly, but whenever I lost hope, I could always see you clearly in my mind. Waiting for you to wake up...was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Link silently brushed Zelda’s long hair behind her ear and gently stroked her cheek. They smiled at one another, and Zelda couldn’t help but reminisce.

“You probably remember better than I do...when I used to sneak out to see you?”

Young Link and Zelda relaxed on the beach of Lake Hylia. As Zelda watched the swirling Guay chase Navi overhead, Link waded barefoot into the water and flung a rock with all his might.

Twice...three times...six whole skips! The Goron Bracelet definitely helped. Link grinned, pumping his fist triumphantly. Zelda laughed and clapped for him, and he returned to the grass beside her.

“This is so much fun,” Zelda sighed as the wind blew her headdress around. “I wish I’d been able to have a whole childhood like this.”

Link smiled happily at her and retrieved a small sandwich from his hammerspace pouch.

“Hey, Link...why are you always so quiet?”

Link stopped to think about the question. He’d barely spoken a word to the princess since that fateful day they met in her garden. He supposed, he was just never sure what to say to her. Navi usually did the talking for him.

“It’s because he liiiikes you!” the annoying fairy chimed in. Link’s eyes bugged out in horror and he instinctively smacked Navi through the air. Zelda giggled.

“No! I don’t!” Link stammered - perhaps the first full sentence he had said in her presence. “It...I’m....uh...”

“It’s ok,” Zelda said with a reassuring smile. “Come on, what are you hiding? Tell me!”

Almost on instinct the young princess reached out with her hand and playfully grabbed Link’s side. A huge grin appeared on the Kokiri boy’s face.

“Heehee-Hee! *gasp* Heh-Heh Ha!” Link giggled and pulled away from her. Zelda was delighted by his reaction...she smiled uncontrollably and kept squeezing at his tummy with both hands.

“Come on, say something!” she laughed. Link fell back onto his side in the grass, and Zelda followed on her knees. Her fingers grabbed and poked and tickled, and Link couldn’t stop laughing. With a mischievous twinkle in her light, Navi darted inside Link’s tunic and fluttered her wings against the boy’s ribs and belly. Link squirmed and tried to cover his stomach with his arms, but it was no use.

“Haha-Haha Haha-Haha Haaaa, Ha! *gasp* Haha-Haha Ha!” Link giggled and gasped for breath. Zelda’s own reactions weren’t much different. She could barely utter her command “Say something!” through her own gleeful excitement.

Then, suddenly, Zelda stopped poking Link’s stomach and turned around. He could breathe, at least for a moment. With both hands she grabbed Link’s right foot and stood up, lifting his leg off the ground while the rest of him stayed flat. She looked back at him, smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, and wiggled all ten of her fingers along the bottom of his foot.

“Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! *gasp* Aha-Ha! Ah Ha-Ha Ha-Ha! Uggghhhhyeeehh, Heheh! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!” The poor boy laughed loudly and rolled around on his back, trying to pull his foot away from Zelda’s devious little fingers. Navi’s buzzing magical energy still tickled his tummy.

“Do you give up?” Zelda teased him.

She didn’t wait for an answer. After another moment of giggling, Link felt his bare foot drop back into the grass. Navi flew out of his tunic, laughing to herself. It was over. As the young boy attempted to suck air back into himself, he pondered what had just happened...it had been surprisingly fun. At least...when she did it. Zelda dropped to her knees again and looked down at his exhausted face, and both smiled. But Link’s energy was all wound up, and as if loaded on a spring, he reached up with both hands and tickled Zelda’s armpits.

“AHH!” she squealed excitedly. Her arms instinctively snapped back like a pistol shrimp’s, drawn tightly to her purple top as she jumped back. Link’s fingers dropped lower and started to dance on her sides.

“AHH Haha-Ha! Haha-Ha! *gasp* Ha-Ha! N-ho, no faihair!” Zelda squirmed around and pretended to be resistant, but in truth she was having far too much fun. Link bounced up into action and dove on Zelda. With a surprised yelp she fell back across the knoll, and before they knew it, the two kids were rolling down the grassy hill toward the sand, Zelda laughing and squirming in Link’s grip. He held her close to him and tickled her belly and sides nonstop as they rolled.

“Whoooaa-OOOO-ooooooh, Heehee! AH Haha-Haha! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! Th-hat tickles!” she cried out.

Within moments the two had collapsed in the sand, both grinning rapturously and unable to stop giggling. The rolling and wind had tossed Zelda’s habit-like headdress aside, and its fabric stood out colorfully near the top of the hill. She had such short hair for a girl, Link thought. But he also couldn’t stop thinking about how cute she looked. He blushed and tried to hide his expression from her, but she was laying on her side, eyes shut and breathing out her last few giggles. Then Link noticed something else had gone missing from the princess’ possession when they rolled down into the sand - one of her slippers.

He had to act quick, before she noticed! The youth grabbed a nearby piece of straw...dropped from the local scarecrow...and he grabbed her ankle. In his right hand he held her right leg still, sole-up, against the sand, and he began to wiggle the piece of straw right in the middle of her foot.

“HAA, Ha-Ha Ha Ha! Haha-Haha! L-hihink, stop it!” Zelda slapped her palms into the earth. She flailed and desperately pulled her leg. But the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings - she was happy. She was playing with a real friend. For one of the few times in her life, she was having fun.

Link tossed the straw aside and stopped tickling. Zelda’s toes still wiggled involuntarily, and she curled into a ball while the squeaks subsided.

“*inhale*...*exhale*....Heheh! I’m sorry. Are we even now?”

Link was lying down beside her, smiling just as much as she was.

“I talk...when I feel like it.”

The two burst into laughter all over again and reclined. Navi, who had been intentionally avoiding the rough-and-tumble tickle roll, finally sauntered down to the sandbank. She knew, looking at Link and Zelda, that the two had a future. The lake’s calming breeze blew their hair around, and sand dusted up against their cheeks.

Soon, Link would be off to Jabu-Jabu. But he wanted to enjoy his time with the princess, just a moment longer.

“Remember when I lost the slingshot game ? I almost cried, but then you won me a Bombchu,” the adult Zelda murmured dreamily.

Link couldn’t help but grin. These events seemed so recent to him, but for Zelda they may as well have been lifetimes ago. He put his arm around her shoulder and she watched the lights flicker on the ground.

“Hey...are you still ticklish?” Zelda asked him, trying to contain her excited smile. Before he could answer, she darted a hand in and jabbed all five fingers into his abs.

In truth, despite his recent physical adulthood, Link had lost his entire 11-17 growth period...his body was matured but lacked the experience and resilience that came with living through puberty. His immune system was still weak, he had basically no callouses, and he was still very childishly ticklish.

“GYAAHHH!” he yelled out, twisting away from Zelda’s fingers. The princess giggled and kept poking all over his stomach, and Link couldn’t avoid the chuckles building in his throat for long.

Seizing an opportune moment, he reached in with his leather gauntlets and launched his own tickle assault on the now-grown princess’ tummy. To his delight, it worked.

“AH! Hmhm-Hmhm Heheh-Heheh Heh! Hm-Hm Hm!” Zelda giggled through her sealed lips and pulled her arms in tight. Almost instantly she was in the grass, flat on her back, her sides quivering beneath Link’s strumming, spidery fingers.

Suddenly, he stopped. Zelda breathed. For the first time in seven years, she was at peace. She looked up at Link, smiling above her, and in her eyes bounced a light show of firefly acrobats, around Link’s head like a halo. Link had never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. He stroked her cheek and tussled her hair again.

There is rarely a single, isolated moment in a relationship where a boy looks at a girl and realizes for the first time, “I love you.” And there was no such moment for Link or Zelda either.

But this one came pretty close.

#tickle blog #tickling #ticklish #tickle #tickling community #ticklish feet #foot tickling #headcanon #tickle fic #tickle fight #tickling headcanons #loz zelda #zelda fandom #link ocarina #ocarina of time #zelink #legend of zelda #tummy tickling

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aforrestofstuff · 5 years ago

Note

Okay! I have a burning question for you, my dude. Music is my life, and I wanna know what kind of music the OPM casts listen to. Thanks, my guy!

I had a feeling this would be inevitable lol. I don’t really know a whole lot about music or genres or anything like that so I’m just gonna give you a rundown of each character individually and some song recs along with that just to smooth things out a little. Thanks for your ask, by the way! ❤️ Now my playlists will be put to good use.

A Brief Rundown of the Major OPM Characters’ Music Tastes:

Blast: hc that he doesn’t even have ears since he never fucking LISTENS

Terrible Tornado: Stuff that makes her feel powerful. Loud vocals and good instrumentals. Also, she’s a little angsty since she’s saltier than the gotdamn Pacific almost all of the time. (Recs: Florence and the Machine - How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, Susanne Sundfør - Delirious, Florence and the Machine - What Kind of Man, Kali Uchis - Dead to Me, Let’s Eat Grandma - Falling Into Me)

Fubuki: some of that real classy shit. Slow songs that are nice to just have a cup of tea with. Nothing too meaty or fast-paced, she enjoys taking a moment to breathe every once and a while since life gets pretty hectic when you’re managing a gang of some 30 hooligans. (Recs: Wes - Midnight Low, any song from Lana Del Rey’s entire discography lol, Florence and the Machine - Grace, The Marìas - I Don’t Know You, Yellow House - Ain’t Gonna Call, Feng Suave - Toking, Dozing)

Silverfang: Stuff from his time. I hc that he was a bit of a party animal back in his prime so he’s gotta have those grooves. Disco to the extremo. Also, another hc: Garou absolutely hates his music. He would play it during training and Garou would contemplate homicide. (Recs: Frankie Valli - Grease, The Edgar Winter Group - Free Ride, KC and the Sunshine Band - I’m Your Boogie Man, Matthew Wilder - Break My Stride, The Main Ingredient - Everybody Plays the Fool, Andrea True Connection - More, More, More)

Bomb: save as Silverfang, although I hc that Bomb was a little more of a nerd growing up. Still, he never missed out on a good party. (Additional Recs: KC and the Sunshine Band - Get Down Tonight, The Trammps - Disco Inferno, Tierra - Together, Cornelius Bros and Sister Rose - Too Late to Turn Back Now)

Atomic Samurai: Old shit. Shit older than Silverfang. He’s really not that old, but his soul is fucking ancient and he’s got that classic “grrr music these days sucks” kind of shithead attitude. (Recs: Jim Croce - Time in a Bottle, Dion - Runaround Sue, The Carpenters - The End of the World, The Band - The Weight)

Child Emperor: Upbeat synth. Stuff to listen to while he’s working on his machines and whatnot. Probably has meaty beats to keep him in tune with what he’s doing, like working around a clock. Probably some groovy citypop in there too. (Recs: Taeko Ohnuki - 4:00 AM, Junko Ohashi - Telephone Number, Tatsuro Yamashita - Magic Ways, Hiroyuki Sawano - NEXUS, Superfly - Kakusei, Mariya Takeuchi - Plastic Love)

Metal Knight: Intrumentals that Disney villains listen to. Deep, dark shit that makes you feel sad. He probably feeds off of negative emotion. What a toolbag. (Recs: Lucas King - Sociopath, Abel Korzeniowski- Table for Two, Max Richter - Never Goodbye, Max Richter - She Remembers, Evelyn Stein - Quiet Resource, Mac Quayle - Adagio in G Minor)

King: video game soundtracks, obviously. Might be some electro funk in there too, as a treat. (Recs: Metal Gear Solid 3 OST - Snake Eater, Mick Gordon - Rip and Tear, Xenoblade Chronicles OST - Main Theme, Persona 5 OST - Last Surprise, Daft Punk - Verdis Quo, Toby Fox - Hopes and Dreams, Disasterpeace - Prologue, iamthekidyouknowwhatimean - Run, Darren Korb - Old Friends)

Zombieman: Dad Music. Old rock that makes you wanna rail some lines of white thunder and dance on top of a car. He’d be reluctant to try out new stuff but does so nevertheless. Just a little bit of weird alternative here and there. (Recs: Poison - Unskinny Bop, Mötley Crüe - Dr. Feelgood, Black Sabbath - War Pigs, Def Leppard - Animal, CRX - Walls, MGMT - Little Dark Age, Pink Floyd - Money, Queens of the Stone Age - Villains of Circumstance)

Drive Knight: Dark synth, obviously. Need I say more? (Recs: El Tigr3 - She Swallowed Burning Coals, Trevor Something - Enjoy the Silence, Greg Drombrowski - Devour, GUNSHIP - Woken Furies, GUNSHIP - Thrasher, Carpenter Brut - Invasion A.D., Kavinsky - Nightcall)

Pig God: this guy probably just listens to ASMR of people eating food lol.

Superalloy Darkshine: Upbeat stuff that’s good for exercise; loving those new jams along with some of the old. He’s got a pretty groovy style. (Diane Ross - Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, Saint Motel - Puzzle Pieces, CRUISR - All Over, Barry White - Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up, Sade - Kiss of Life)

Watchdog Man: 10 hour loop of wolves howling on a summer night.

Flashy Flash: classical. Some nice instrumentals to listen to while training. Stuff that preferably doesn’t have any or very little lyrics so it’s not too busy on his ears while he’s fantasizing about killing someone. (Recs: Vaughn Williams - The Lark Ascending, Debussy - Rêverie, Grieg - Peace of the Woods, André Laplante - Une Barque sur L’Ocean)

Metal Bat: Modern alternative. A little bit harder than say, Mumen and Kama, but not as hard as Zombieman or Death Gatling. He’s that middle ground where he’s still got some real bangers, but Zenko can listen as well. He’ll play this stuff loudly as he’s doing chores and working out, no headphones ever. It gets pretty annoying. (Recs: Foals - Exits, The Blue Stones - Black Holes, Solid Ground, CRX - Broken Bones, Jungle - Happy Man, The Strokes - Reptilia, We Are Trees - Girlfriend)

Genos: synth. But not just any synth, some heavy, fast-paced synth that’s just like him: speedy, relentless, and powerful. He listens to shit that’ll make you wanna get up and start killing Terminators. Probably. There’s some other synths in the mix too because we love a three-dimensional king. (Recs: Carpenter Brut - Division Ruine, The Protomen - I Still Believe, Carpenter Brut - Leather Teeth, Gunship - Tech Noir, TWRP - Phantom Racer, Le Castle Vania - Red Circle)

Tanktop Master: Dad music but the type of dad music that makes you think your dad was a sappy nerd back in the day. Long tracks that are good for workouts. (Tears for Fears - Woman in Chains, Pink Floyd - Us and Them, Duran Duran - Ordinary World, Billy Idol - Eyes without a Face, A Flock of Seagulls - I Ran, The Alan Parsons Project - Eye in the Sky, Tears for Fears - Sowing the Seeds of Love)

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Pop. Dance music. He doesn’t really get to listen to a lot of music in prison, so he holds on to whatever he can and savors every second of it. (Coldplay - Talk, Bruno Mars - Runaway Baby, Lady Gaga - Bad Romance, Flo Milli - Beef Flomix, Doja Cat - Say So)

Mumen Rider: Hes a lighthearted, soft boy. Likes some fluffy indie tunes. It helps to motivate him when working out or doing hero stuff. He might need to cry every once in a while though, so there’s some sad songs in the mix too. (Recs: Varsity - The Dogs Only Listen to Him, The The - This is the Day, Amarante - Don’t Look Back, Alvvays - Saved by a Waif, The Monkees - As We Go Along, Acid Ghost - Hide my Face, Mogwai - Take Me Somewhere Nice)

Sonic: same as Flash. He’s a little more hip with the times however, so he’s got some more groovy, electronic instrumentals to listen to in addition to some elegant stuff and isn’t opposed to having a little bit of lyrics sprinkled in there as well. In fact, he’s not opposed to uppity pop either. He thinks dancing is frivolous but he secretly does it when he thinks nobody is looking. (Additional Recs: Odesza - Bloom, Pretty Lights - One Day They’ll Know [Odesza Remix], BØRNS - Electric Love, Hembree - Culture, The Cinematic Orchestra - Arrival of the Birds)

Garou: same as Metal Bat. Bang let him have a little MP3 player during his time at the dojo and has since collected a few songs on there. They’re very near and dear to his heart since it’s one of the few good things that came from his absolute disaster of a childhood. (Additional Recs: Foals - Inhaler, CRX - Slow Down, Deep Sea Arcade - Close to Me, Gorillaz - Empire Ants, The Fratellis - Chelsea Dagger, Glass Animals - Take A Slice)

Death Gatling: Shit your old Vietnam-vet grandpa would blast on the back of his F150. He gives me self-righteous asshole vibes, if I’m honest. Like, don’t get me wrong, I like Death Gatling, but he seems like the type of trailer park-dwelling sewer rat to carry a revolver into a Walmart for “self defense” and that’s probably the type of music he listens to, too. (Recs: Megadeth - Trust, Megadeth - Angry Again, Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fortunate Son, Glen Campbell - Southern Nights, Mötley Crüe - Kickstart My Heart, Quiet Riot - Cum on Feel the Noize)

One-Shotter: I hard hc that he had an emo phase he never quite grew out of. He doesn’t quite listen to emo anymore but he’s still into that alternative shit. Homeboy also likes some slow tunes every once and a while because he’s an emotional dude who’s not afraid of a good cry. (Recs: Anything from Blink-182, Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?, MGMT - When You Die, Mazzy Star - Fade Into You, Cigarettes After Sex - Dreaming of You, Yon Ort - Other Matter)

Lightning Max: Same as Genos but without the terminator-killing. Fast-paced stuff because he’s a fast lightning dude. A little more upbeat because he’s not as much as an edgelord as Genos, however. (Additional Recs: Carpenter Brut - Hang’em All, The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize, Worn Tin - Sensitivity, B.E.R. - The Night Begins to Shine, Martin Hall - Different Kind of Love)

Stinger: he’s all about that FUNK! Stuff that gets him moving! Stuff that makes him wanna dance! (Recs: Daft Punk - Doin’ it Right, TWRP - Body Image, Wild Cherry - Play that Funky Music, Chemise - She Can’t Love You, Saga - Wind Him Up, Saga - On the Loose, TWRP - All Night Forever)

Okamaitachi: they give me electro vibes! New, modern shit that’s good to dance to or to just sit down and have a listen! Also, some shit that’ll probably play in a coming-of-age teen movie or something. They don’t really vibe with heavy music and that’s alright, babey! Keeping it light and bouncy. (Recs: Tei Shi - Bassically, Varsity - Must Be Nice, Class Actress - Weekend, CHVRCHES - Richard Pryor, Alvvays - Marry Me, Archie, Sobs - Telltale Signs, Goth Babe - Sometimes, ALASKALASKA - Meateater)

Iaian: Nice, low tunes that are good for meditation and to be used for background noise during training sessions. He never really sits down to listen to music, it’s always in the background of something else he’s doing so he prefers to have some soft beats that don’t really interfere with his senses. Tunes so quiet, he sometimes uses them as lullabies; especially since the trauma of losing his arm has since made it hard to sleep. (Recs: Boy Scouts - Saddest Boy, Susanne Sundfør - Mantra, Vashiti Bunyan - If I Were the Same but Different, Starman Jr. - Blue Fairy, Patrick Watson - Je te Laisserai des Mots, Sibylle Baier - I Lost Something in the Hills)

Bushidrill: same as Atomic Samurai just without the shitty attitude. He’s happy to listen to some newer stuff, he just doesn’t like it and that’s okay, baby! Probably some classy shit your wise old grandpa would listen to. (Recs: Dean Martin - Volare, Dion - The Wanderer, Peppino Gagliardi - Che Vuole Questra Musica Stasera, anything from Luis Miguel lol, Franco Micalizzi - Sadness Theme)

Amai Mask: probably just listens to his own music like a putz. If not, he’s listening to the sound equivalent of glittering diamonds. He’s probably got this shit playing at the end of a long day while he’s chilling in a hot bath or something. (Recs: Fergie - Glamorous, Rita Ora - Hot Right Now, Lana Del Rey - Freak, Lana Del Rey - Art Deco, Tame Impala - Feels Like We Only Go Backwards)

Saitama: He doesn’t listen to music much anymore, sadly. He did, however, have a killer motivational mix to get him through his vigorous training prior to becoming a hero. (Recs: Paul Engemann - Push it to the Limit, Journey - Don’t Stop Believin’, College & Electric Youth - A Real Hero, Joe Esposito - You’re the Best Around, Survivor - Eye of the Tiger, The Bee Gees - Nights on Broadway)

Here’s the playlist with all of these songs in order (mostly):

It’s on YouTube because I’m allergic to Spotify. I’ve got a doctor’s note. Also, all of my other playlists are on my little profile thingy so if you want to listen to my pile then go right ahead.

Thanks for your ask, my dude! ❤️ this took up ALL of my energy lol but it was fun.

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aquilaofarkham · 4 years ago

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title: end of sanctuary rating: M (violence, gore, disturbing elements, psychological horror, discussions of trauma) chapter count: ongoing summary: Trevor and Sypha enter Alucard’s dream world in order to help him confront, examine, and heal from his trauma while also reevaluating their own personal demons. Cover art by @kamek 💖

additional links: donations for RAINN donations for the Institute on Violence, Abuse, and Trauma

READ CHAPTERS ONE & TWO

I NEED A MIRACLE AND NOT SOMEONE’S CHARITY

The candelabras are made from human arms. Nails chipped, fingers discoloured and pale as they keep their iron grip on brass made to look like gold. Dim candle light flickers against darkness, dripping hot wax along the skin, burning it. They hold on without wavering, do their duty and light the way for their passenger in the corridor.

Yet with every slow step forward, closer along the individual halos of fire, the candles move away from him before they’re snuffed out by an unseen and unfelt wind. There’s nothing behind him, he is alone; so he believes. So would anyone believe, surrounded by the dark and the quiet.

He walks on, further and further, paying no attention to each broken shard of glass littering the hard floor. They cut deep into the soles of his bare feet. Smears of fresh blood follow him, wetting the cold stone beneath, but he doesn’t stumble nor slip. He knows it should be painful, realizes that he should stop, and notices how the candelabras continue to inch ever so subtly away from his presence before extinguishing themselves while his back is against them.

There is nothing on his placid face, nothing in his amber eyes. No indicative expression of what he feels within and outside. Where there should be agony, there is only apathy. Where there should be fear, apprehension, there is only a complacent incentive to put one mangled and bloody foot in front of the other.

A thin white nightgown hangs off his body, not nearly long enough to cover his legs, leaving him both guarded and exposed. Another vulnerability he doesn’t care to rectify just as he doesn’t care for the voice speaking to him in one of those darker corners of the mind. It warns him in a whimpered tone: “there is something behind you”.

It’s uncertain whether this “something” has only just appeared or if it’s been following him since the first candles went out. But he can feel it closing in, lapping up the blood he’s left behind as an offering while he approaches the very last candelabra. It begins to turn away, the light repelled by his mere existence, and he stops. Come to the end of his meaningless journey.

His unseen stalker remains silent, even when he can feel its hot breath as it caresses the back of his neck. He hears a sound akin to the wings of a creature much larger than himself stretching themselves out, preparing for flight. Weary eyes fixate on the last trembling candle flames, holding onto their last seconds of life.

Still, he does not turn around. Barely a flinch even as the nightgown is carefully pulled down, displaying broad shoulders and the top of his chest. His long hair that matches the gold of his disinterested eyes tickles the newly bared skin like feathers. Both parts of his body are caged by precise scars not yet fully healed.

Cold leathery skin presses down upon his shoulders, rough against soft. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hand reach around from behind. Massive, clawed, and inescapable. Using a single deft nail, it gifts him a choker made of ruby red drops that slide down his neck before outlining the curves and crevices of his chest. With the blood comes a revelation that brings neither peace nor panic, only acceptance:

I am with myself.

–

Alucard listens to the distant voices of Trevor and Sypha talking, huddled into his blankets, his cheek pressed firmly against his pillow. They didn’t necessarily wake him because in order for one to be “woken up”, they have to be in the deep throes of sleep and dreams to begin with. Alucard was never asleep; not for very long. And his vision was far from a dream, yet he wouldn’t consider it a nightmare either. More like a personal realization; something he already seems aware of and his mind is only giving him a helpful reminder.

The kitchen is five levels down from the guest bedchambers, but he can still hear them, if only as low indistinct mumbles. He can hear certain things more than ever before. Rats scuttling about within the castle walls searching for their next crumb of discarded food or an old grandfather clock ticking the seconds away before ringing out three deep chimes to signal midnight. Out of all his hereditary gifts most humans will never achieve, Alucard used to feel displeasure with this one the least. Then it had to grow more attuned, long past when he needed it most. Overstayed its welcome and now it’s useless.

He can’t even make out the words spoken between Trevor and Sypha.

“How long do you think he’s had those?”

The two travelers both feel as though they’re staring at themselves in a mirror crafted by a rather creative toddler. If not that, then a very doting grandmother or toymaker. A pair of dolls placed side by side on a kitchen counter, fashioned out of simple cloths stuffed with wool, buttons for eyes, and spoons in place of limbs. One is dressed in blue to match its eyes with orange fabric atop its head shaped meant to resemble short curls. The other sits next to an empty wine bottle in simple beige with two tiny red straps across its body and brown yarn for its own hair.

“I suppose not very long.” Sypha replies, bent down in order to get a much closer look at their little imposters. It’s the details of each doll; Trevor’s scar along one eye, a thin piece of string attached to his hip, and the high collar of Sypha’s robe. Alucard made these with care and attention, like he remembered every inch of them. Each individual thread, each stitch a reflection of themselves through the eyes of someone who desired their company.

Neither one is entirely sure whether to be charmed or concerned.

Sypha picks up her twin and taps at one of the button eyes with a fingernail. “I think they’re cute. Well made, too.”

Trevor finds it difficult to share her amusement. He knows what an unhealthy coping skill looks like; he could write an entire book on the subject. “Finding a hobby to keep yourself entertained for a couple months is all well and good but don’t you think this meant something else for him? Like a cry for help?”

Sypha holds the doll awkwardly before setting it back down in silent agreement. The worry was there before but perhaps she didn’t want to admit it. After all that’s happened, she needs some respite; to see something and not contemplate its’ darker connotations. Then Trevor had to go and validate her initial unspoken concerns about Alucard. The dolls are not the first sign; they knew something was amiss when they walked down the battered halls of the castle, stepping over untouched broken glass and rubble.

They knew even sooner when those bodies came into view. Both are gone now, removed days ago with haste out of disgust and before other wandering outsiders began to suspect anything, but the blood is still there. Sunken deep into the earth, staining the grass then drying up. Sypha can’t look down, no matter how many times she steps outside.

“There’s so much he will not tell us…” Her thought, voiced by a hushed tone is interrupted by a mere glance at the clock. “Look. The day is half gone and we still haven’t seen him at all.” A sense of responsibility and a desire to help surges through her, the same sort that’s always been a vital part of Sypha’s lifeblood. “We should cook him something. That might open him up to talking.”

Trevor nods. “I’ll go get him. I can only take so many “I’m fines” before I grab him by the shoulders and shake out whatever’s torturing him.”

Sypha expected such a plan. The way that Trevor cares, considers, and perhaps even loves is rougher than how others do it. It may have worked for him all those years alone with no one else to offer comfort, but it might not work now; not for Alucard. “Please don’t do that.”

It takes little time for Trevor to traverse the castle from its kitchen to its hall of bedrooms; during their first day back, he asked Alucard if he had any maps to spare. Perhaps too subtle of a joke as the dhampir merely shrugged it off and showed them to their own chambers. Before either one could say another word, another joined expression of relief to see him again, Alucard was gone. Glided out through the door as though he were a passing phantom.

Trevor stops at one of the doors and raps his knuckles against the carved door. Of course there’s no answer, but he’s lucky enough to have it already ajar. Alucard won’t care if he slips in; he doesn’t seem to care about much these days.

“Hey. You awake?” A human-shaped lump covered in blankets stirs atop the bed with its simple, humble canopy; sturdy and made entirely of wood. Nothing like the extravagant transparent silk curtains of Trevor and Sypha’s bed. A head of golden hair pokes out but doesn’t turn around. No, you’re right, Trevor thinks. It was a stupid question. Alucard’s complicated relationship with sleep runs deep.

“Sypha and I are making breakfast… though I guess it’s lunch now.”

No need to finish his query; Alucard can answer it. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something. You can’t fool me, I know that half-vampires can still eat human food.”

“I will eat later.”

First strike then second soon after without a moment’s hesitation. Trevor already knows there will be more if they continue like this but he won’t resort to ripping off the covers and carrying Alucard over his shoulder. Sypha wouldn’t approve of that. Even worse, he’d be choking on his own blood before reaching the door, torn out by a certain pair of fangs.

Trevor wants to remain alive. More importantly, he wants Alucard’s demeanor to be a bit brighter. Straightforwardness won’t work, but a different method might. If not, it will at least give Alucard some irresistible blackmail to use against him. Retracing his way through the castle, Trevor makes a mad dash back down into the kitchen. Alucard listens, one ear against his pillow, the other exposed. More voices, more words he cannot understand, followed by a series of quick footsteps coming closer, rising in volume until they stop. Something tiptoes towards his bed. What is it now?

“Alucard… Aluuuucaaaard.”

His sleep-deprived eyes open just a touch wider. It sounds like Trevor’s voice, only with a slightly higher pitch and an imitation of Sypha’s Iberian accent which straddles the line between charming and good enough reason for her to box his ears.

“Please get out of bed. If you don’t come down, I will be sooooooo upset.” Alucard contemplates burying his head underneath the pillow until he feels another presence on the bed; small, light, and flimsy like a doll.

The doll. Panic quickly seeps in, turning Alucard’s body rigid. They found the dolls. He knew it was going to happen but he needed more time to prepare his admittedly troubling explanation. It would have been better if Trevor and Sypha never found them at all; he should have locked the stupid things away and not keep them in plain sight. For this situation, Alucard blames no one but himself.

“We have food, Alucard! Delicious, scrumptious food.”

Still, it is amusing to hear the rugged Belmont carry on in this manner. “I know that’s you, Trevor.”

“I’m not Trevor! I’m Sypha Belnades, the smartest and most powerful Speaker in the entire world! And if you don’t get out of bed, I’ll burn off all your hair with my fire magic.”

Alucard stifles a chuckle at the similarities between Trevor’s impression of Sypha and his own. They both must know her too well. “For some reason I don’t think you’re the real Sypha Belnades.”

“But I am!”

“Really? Then why do you feel much, much smaller and why does your voice sound like that?”

“I was cursed! By… by a witch! That bitch turned me into this. Now I’m trapped in this pitiful body. But if you have lunch with us, the spell will be broken!” This time Alucard doesn’t try to hold back his laughter. Trevor is clearly having too much fun with his little acting production. But when Alucard, despite his brightening mood, remains in bed with his back turned to him, he nuzzles the doll against the dhampir’s cheek.

“Alright, that’s enough of you.”

“Pleeeeeeease, Alucard?” Trevor moves “Sypha” all along his blanketed body as if attempting to tickle him. Alucard feebly waves his free arm, trying to resist but he feels the doll everywhere; on every inch of him. Moving over the scars.

“Enough, Trevor…”

“Pleeeeease do it for meeeeee?”

Alucard flips over and swiftly grabs Trevor’s wrist. “I said that’s enough!”

The two men finally see each other eye to eye, surprised against panic-stricken, as Trevor’s hold on the Sypha doll wavers. A tense moment passes before Alucard loosens his grip as well, realizing how tightly his fingers dig into the skin. Had his nails been sharpened, they might have gone straight through and down to the bone. His intense gaze relaxes and he lets go.

“I… I will be down shortly.”

Trevor nods then leaves. In a way, his ridiculous plan worked yet he doesn’t feel successful or proud. He doesn’t even stay long enough to hear a regret-filled “sorry” shyly muster its way out of Alucard.

–

Dracula’s modern inventions are a marvel—and a nuisance.

Trevor and Sypha endlessly fiddle with the kitchen’s large contraption. A beast of burning wood logs crafted from metal and copper that’s been seemingly neutered by their shared incompetence. They could wait for Alucard instead of fumbling around until both of them reach their limits of agitation. But the idea was to surprise him with a fully prepared meal the moment he walks through the door. Light a few candles, pour three glasses of finely aged wine; just as Alucard would do for himself.

Now they’ve wasted too much time wrestling with basic cooking mechanisms, pining for the days when they could create their own version of hearty gourmet food using only a simple campfire. Even Trevor found himself scrounging about in the cellar, stepping over broken glass, all for a decent bottle.

“I’m using my magic,” Sypha finally announces.

“Don’t do that.”

“I am. I have had enough of this stupid thing.”

“You’ll burn the whole bloody castle down if you do.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Her reply causes Trevor to stop and think. Just as she whispered exclamations of awe and wonder after first setting her eyes upon the Belmont Hold, Sypha was mesmerized by the castle’s sheer size, the depths of its architecture, and the intricacies of its numerous machinations. Part of her regretted the use of the word “grotesque” before she crushed the castle’s heart in her own hands thus transforming the engine room into an irreparable mess.

She felt so young back then. Now she sees Dracula’s castle for what it truly is and what it may be destined to remain as; a place that causes pain. A place that hurts anything caught within its walls.

Trevor searches every corner of the room before settling on a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and some strips of dry meat hanging from hooks. “He’ll be down soon, let’s just put together something quick.”

He pulls Sypha away and brings her to the nearest countertop just as she contemplates melting the oven down into a steaming puddle. She glares at the butcher’s knife placed into her hand then at the three food items in front of her. Seems too simple given the other ingredients surrounding them, but their time was cut short to begin with.

In the midst of their frantic slicing, pouring, and preparing, they pause to hear delicate footsteps making their way down the corridor. Alucard appears in the doorway, shoulders slouched and the dark circles under his eyes visible even from a distance. He doesn’t announce himself, though his silence does nothing to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. Taking his seat at the table, Sypha joins him along with Trevor, his hands full of three plates. He places them down unceremoniously.

“There. A meal fit for a prince.”

The two wait in anticipation while Alucard sits motionless. He examines the plate’s contents, his so-called “prince’s meal”: layers of stacked goat cheese and bacon sandwiched between two decently sliced pieces of sourdough bread with a thin twig of rosemary placed on top as a last minute garnish. Not a single vegetable or fruit in sight. Then Trevor and Sypha see something from Alucard that’s been missing for almost the length of an entire week following their return: a smirk. Subdued, but plain to see on his placid face.

“Did you make these, Trevor?”

“We both did, but it was Trevor’s idea,” Sypha answers in his stead. Alucard presses his lips tighter together, an honest attempt to keep whatever’s behind them locked away—a laugh perhaps? Hard to believe as it may seem.

“What?” Trevor demands. “What is it about my cooking that makes you giggle like a young nun who’s seen something naughty?”

“There is nothing wrong with your taste in food this time… shockingly so. I’m just remarking on how… humble this all looks. I expected nothing less from you both. Thank you.”

While Alucard takes his first few bites, Trevor and Sypha look to each other with uncertain expressions. He was always genuine in the small ways he showed his gratitude towards them, and they hear that very same gratitude in his voice. But only a sliver of it; the rest felt clinical. Still, they got him out of bed. They got him to eat. That’s more success they’ve accomplished in less than an hour than they’ve had for days. What they need right now, what they all need, are small victories.

The silence they eat in is comfortable, almost peaceful. Trevor and Sypha both know it won’t last. The enjoyment they feel with each bite of juicy meat, strong cheese, and soft bread comes with a sense of guilt. They know the difficult topic of Alucard’s refusal to tell them anything will have to be brought up now. If not, the wound will only meet the same end that all others left untreated do: left to fester and rot until there’s no hope of talking to him.

Alucard seems oblivious to their eternal conflict; maybe it’s for the best. Once half of his sandwich is finished, he raises the glass of white wine and downs every last drop in one bold gulp. Trevor turns to his own glass, barely half empty.

“Show off.” He mumbles under his breath, though not quiet enough as it catches Alucard’s attention.

“Oh? Have I bested you in that particular skill set?”

“Don’t push your luck. I’m still ahead of you in experience. A good couple of years in fact.”

“Remember, there is just as much inhuman blood running through these veins as there is human. I have more of a tolerance when it comes to certain vices.”

“Give me something stronger than whatever I used to find in my aunt Delilah’s liquor cabinet and I’ll show you how to take certain vices with tolerance.”

It always happens like this between them, again and again, over and over no matter the circumstance or situation. One man must compare himself to the other, measuring up his own long list of successes and failures. Sypha suddenly loses interest in her food. This conversation could go in many different directions—merely thinking about the probabilities brings her no ease.

“Well, you’ve never been one to refuse a challenge. Let’s test that famous Belmont tolerance, shall we?”

Before Sypha can interject, Trevor does instead, pushing her further into silence. His expression turns grim as he lowers the wine glass. “I’ll pass on that challenge.”

“Showing restraint? I didn’t think you knew the word.”

“No, I just don’t want to give you an excuse to keep drowning yourself in something that hasn’t been resolved yet.”

Sypha is an excellent judge of character; she considers it to be a gift the same way she regards her prowess in the mystic arts. Simple, quiet observations of how a person carries themselves, how they move the slightest inch, and how they react to certain provocations tell her more than words can. When she sees Alucard’s eyes narrow while his fingers curl in on themselves, Sypha braces herself despite being the only one who predicted this. This will not end the way she wanted it to.

Trevor doesn’t notice those sorts of things quick enough, not like her. If he did, he would have swallowed that tactless statement before it had the chance to escape. Wash it down with the very same white wine he so candidly belittled.

“You think I’m drowning myself. How so?”

“Look at yourself, Alucard.”

“I do. Every day, in the mirror. It’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”

His words sting, laced with venom but Trevor and Sypha understand what he means. Their eyes are drawn to his wrists and that window of skin exposed by his shirt’s plunging neckline. He tries so hard to hide those new scars—the ones he still hasn’t explained—but more often than not, they catch glimpses of tender flesh turned raw and inflamed. They abhor the thought of him carrying more, yet haunted by the idea that their worries are not unfounded.

If only he would talk to them. Truly and deeply talk to them. Not in this way.

“I also do not enjoy being spoken down to like a troubled infant incapable of making their own decisions.”

“I’m not talking down to you and I’m not trying to tell you what and what not to do.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Sympathize, that’s all. And maybe help. I’ve been down that same road before and it’s not pretty.”

“I never asked for your help. I never gave you permission to coddle me, nor did I ever ask you to come back.”

“But you clearly wanted us to if those two dolls are any indication.”

“Those were not yours to see.”

“You left them out in the open! How could we not fucking see them?”

While voices and tensions rise with every heated exchange, Sypha breaks her vow of reluctant silence. “You cannot keep us in the dark like this forever, Alucard.” Both men turn towards her as all the words she left unspoken for days stumble out less like a steady stream and more like an untempered vomit. “Trevor is right; we just want to help. We want to understand what’s wrong and how we can all fix this. But you need to talk with us. What happened while we were gone? Who were those two outside the castle and why on earth did you display them like—”

A sudden loud clatter causes Sypha and Trevor to jump. Alucard holds his plate whiteknuckled while the rest of him shivers in quiet anger. He dropped it upon the table not hard enough to shatter but enough to crack. His half-eaten sandwich has fallen apart.

“I’m not hungry.” The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as Alucard pushes it back. He takes his leave without another word; not a bitter thank you or something far harsher. In a display of utter defeat, Trevor pushes away his own plate and rubs his face. A way of saying, “that was a fucking disaster”. And it all seemed to be going so well.

Sypha doesn’t want to give in so easily. She follows Alucard out of the kitchen, her voice echoing off the castle’s stone archways and walls that dwarf them both. Nothing more than mice amongst giants.

“Alucard, please.” She calls out, still a fair distance away from him but catching up quickly. “We can fix this, just let us help you.”

“You can’t fix anything. Not even I could.”

Sypha knows she should be more careful with her choice of words but fears that if she hesitates for the slightest moment, she will lose him. He’ll retreat back into his room or another place deeper within the castle unbeknownst to her and Trevor, locking himself away in self-inflicted isolation, shutting out all daylight and human interaction.

“And you can’t keep punishing yourself like this either.” She’s close now; close enough to hold him. Close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to be alone.”

“Alucard…” Sypha keeps her touch light and gentle. For him, it’s just another weight, another burden that’s been forced upon him. A sense of bodily contact he did not ask for. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Alucard feels her fingertips graze over a scar curving around his shoulder. He spins around and slaps Sypha’s hand away, his lips drawn back into a snarl, revealing fangs that have grown longer and sharper.

She takes a step back, then another until the divide between them is larger than it should ever be. There was no cry of shock or pain even as Sypha stares at Alucard with wide, possibly terrified eyes. He’s never seen her like this; not when their entire world was at stake. She holds the hand that was struck and then he sees it: three fresh claw marks. Alucard glances down at his own hand, though he already knows what he will find.

The rageful lines gracing his face soften while his eyes turn not just sad, but horrified. “Sypha, I…”

“What happened?” Trevor catches up to them, drawing Sypha into his arms. With the utmost care coupled with panic he takes her wounded hand and repeats the question, furiously shouting it in Alucard’s direction who stumbles with his answer.

“I—I didn’t mean—I won’t hurt—”

“What the hell did you do?”

Alucard forces out an apology, but is barely heard by either Trevor or Sypha. Again they fail to hear him when it matters most. They say nothing else, waiting for an admission they might never receive and stare at him as though they no longer recognize their friend. Friend. Alucard cannot breathe, cannot speak, yet his mind screams. Thoughts that plagued him for months which he tried burying now fully resurrected. Was he ever really their friend? Did they ever think of him that way? What must they think of him now?

Do they see him? Or do they see his father?

Trevor and Sypha’s poor attempts to make him stay fall on deaf ears. Alucard is gone from their sight, unable to hear their pleas. They’ll not see him again before the night comes.

–

“I’m not mad at him. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

They don’t return to the kitchen. Instead, they traverse the ruined castle hallways until they reach what was once the foundation of Dracula’s genius and intellect. A laboratory filled with knowledge of a future not yet realized by humanity; or maybe a past that was deemed too heretical, too blasphemous by modern European institutions and so it fell into the hands of a monster. Knowledge that might thrive in the hands of someone else but now lies amongst broken machines, like every other room surrounding it. Still, there are smaller forms of medicine which Trevor uses to heal Sypha’s mild injuries. He rubs the cream over her hand, soothing the angry red scratch marks left behind by Alucard’s outburst.

“Well, there might be some bruising. Thankfully he didn’t draw any blood.”

“Would you have gone after him with your whip if he did?”

Trevor leaves the question as is; hovering in an awkward silence while he mentally searches for a change in conversation. Not because he doesn’t have a reply, but because he doesn’t want to face the conclusion he’s come to.

“Why doesn’t he use any of the medicine here? Continue his mother’s work, you know?”

“Maybe he’s just being cautious especially after what happened to her. Human beings are not ready for that sort of new knowledge yet.”

“And he spent more effort cleaning up my family ruins than he did with his own home.”

“You did give it to him as a gift.”

“But now that I really think about it, he never even liked the hold or its contents. It was a piss poor excuse for a gift.”

“Then why did you do that for him?”

He closes the lid on the jar of cream and places it back on the nearest shelf. Really, giving away his childhood home was done purely on impulse (as are most of Trevor’s decisions). But there was another motive, one he didn’t want to admit to at the time else a certain someone would endlessly mock him.

“He said he wanted to make the castle his grave and… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him wallow in guilt and self-pity anymore so I thought I’d give him something to live for. A project he could dedicate all his time to and take his mind off things. I didn’t think he’d actually take it to heart like that.”

Sypha gives him a tired smile. “What you did was selfless and good, Trevor Belmont. Give yourself more credit than that.”

He tries, yet all that transpires is an exasperated sigh. “I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.”

“Don’t you want to, though? Don’t you want to help with whatever is troubling him?”

“Sypha, I don’t think it’s that easy. You remember those bodies.”

“I try not to.” Nevertheless, she still wants to rationalize Alucard’s current actions which means those two corpses along with his new scars will have to be explained. Her stomach churns at the thought. It couldn’t have been as simple as the shallow excuse of attacking the castle then attacking him.

“I hate feeling so useless.”

Trevor gently brushes a stray curl of strawberry hair from her face. His smallest gestures of affection are the ones she loves the most. “I know you do. You always want to help others and save the day. That’s what makes you so wonderful.”

“Or naive.” Sypha almost misses the time when she was far more optimistic, when her view of the world was a touch brighter, but past comforts do not fix present miseries no matter how fondly we dwell upon them—actions do. “We can’t lose another friend.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Trevor pulls her in close and kisses her head. “We’ll give it more time. Try again tomorrow.”

–

It’s not another dream but if it were, Alucard would hardly be able to tell the difference. He saunters down the hall, past each flickering candelabra, stopping momentarily to take a closer look. No soft flesh, no pulsing veins of blood, only painted brass. One piece of evidence to suggest that this is not a dream. Alucard needs that reassurance while he wanders dazed and disoriented, like walking through a thick mist.

The thin nightgown clings to his uncomfortably sweat drenched back, chest, and limbs. He’s taken to wearing the longer kinds, ones that reach down to his ankles. Hardly suitable for humid summer nights but he finds it better this way. Alucard continues on his aimless nighttime trek until he stops at a certain closed door. It’s not the first; there are many rooms within the castle which he finds no use for so they remain locked away from prying eyes. This one, however, is special to him.

After his father’s death, Alucard thought revisiting his old childhood bedroom would be too painful. A single glance would conjure up memories best left untampered with. Since then he’s looked inside and even walked among its contents, frozen in time. He’s turned these brief visits into sporadic personal rituals, ways of grounding himself—or punishing, it depends on which feels more appropriate. He never touches or changes anything, not the singed carpet, not the crumbled up bed sheets stained with blood, and certainly not the ring.

Alucard raises a hand to push open the door before pulling back. Not tonight, he tells himself. He carries onward, quickening his pace past another closed door that will stay bolted tight until either his bones disintegrate into dust or the castle does, whichever happens first.

Moonlight streams in through the tall kitchen windows, lighting the room in a nightly blue hue. Not strong enough to reach the ever-present shadows that hide in darker corners. That’s where Alucard left the dolls on their shelf, in plain fucking sight as Trevor said. It rings truer now that Alucard stands before them, staring down at the culmination of his little “hobby” long and hard.

Why did he make them with such love and care? With so much attention to their unique, individual finite details? It would have been easier to find two potatoes, a few buttons, some burlap, and be done with them. If there’s shame in the way he looks at the dolls now, then what must have been the purpose of starting this project?

Alucard knows that the real Trevor and Sypha are safe in their bed. He felt their presence during his walk; skin upon skin, hands resting along the curves of each other’s bodies. Neither one sleeps peacefully, discontented by earlier events. Because of him. He knows this for certain.

Alucard picks up the Trevor doll first, running a thumb over the plush stomach before sharpening his nail. It tears into the fabric, spilling out the toy’s soft insides. Tufts of white wool float gently float down like snowflakes as they clutter the black and white floor, soon joined by a head torn from its body in an emotional fit. Once he’s finished with Trevor, he does the same to Sypha, ripping her into pieces. Everything, the dolls, their destruction and the manner in which they are torn up, it all seems so childish. When Alucard is faced with the mess he created, he’s filled with a confusing sense of regret over his impulsive actions and the frustration that he should have destroyed those dolls a long time ago.

Exhausted, head pounding, and chest aching, he joins what used to be Trevor and Sypha on the floor. Sitting uncomfortably, worsening his ruined posture, staring into nothing. “This is all so stupid.”

–

The large platform sways momentarily, dangling in midair before it begins to lower Sypha down the derelict tower that leads far beneath the Belmont manor. This is the first time she’s seen Trevor’s family hold in daylight; even in ruins, everything is brighter. Remnants of a once grand legacy that’s been holding on by its fingernails through sheer stubbornness and determination thanks to its last surviving son. She can now see the portrait of his founding ancestor without the obstruction of darkness.

Leon Belmont, fabled vampire killer and the first to hunt down Dracula—in appearance, there are no similarities between him and Trevor. Blond curly hair like a Renaissance cherub, noble demeanour, a true knight of old. That’s what the painting tells Sypha. She knows even less about Leon than Trevor does. Perhaps she’ll discover something in their family archives, something more scandalous than a spellbook involving vampire cocks and other unmentionables both human and inhuman. Though it’s certainly not her original intention; Sypha didn’t have any set goal or purpose in mind when she decided to seek out the Belmont archives.

Only that it feels better than being inside the castle. Anywhere feels better than that incubator of sadness, death, and loneliness. Trevor may have questioned it but it’s no wonder Alucard put all of his effort into one family home instead of his own.

Upon arriving at the bottommost level, Sypha steps through the heavy door and nearly repeats her trick of igniting the entire hold in fire light. Until she notices that every torch has been replaced by the same bulbs of glass found beneath Gresit’s catacombs. There has to be a switch somewhere; always some sort of mechanism or device when it comes to the Tepes family and their inventions. She eventually finds a lever and pulls it down. A gentle humming sound fills the chamber and after a couple flickers, the bulbs illuminate bookshelves, cabinets, and other menagerie all kept in perfect condition.

“Incredible…” Sypha thought she was used to the archives. Questions dance in her mind as she descends the staircase. Is the electricity that Alucard installed the same as what she can conduct with her magic? She’ll have to ask him.

Sypha isn’t looking for anything in particular. Simply being present around books interspersed between trinkets of no doubt dubious origins is enough for her. Meandering down each aisle, taking in the various titles containing any variation of “vampire”, “demon”, “mysticism”, and “grimoire”. They merge together until one happens to stand out: The Dream World: Mind Spells, Astral Projection, & Psychological Magick. It almost makes Sypha guffaw. Trevor still insists that the Belmonts were not magicians and never dealt in the more unsavoury aspects of the art, yet the contrary keeps rising to the surface. Sypha knows magic better than anybody and there’s plenty of it running through Trevor’s veins. If he ever picks up a spell and tries reading it, then he might realize.

Sypha holds the weighty tome, carefully skimming over each worn out page lest they crumble under her fingertips. An entire account of how someone could slip their own consciousness into another’s as if stepping into a friend’s home and rearranging its contents. All of which made possible through the simple act of sleeping.

I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.

Don’t you want to, though?

Sypha shuts the book without a second thought, feeling shock and a small bit of shame. She deals in elemental magic, manipulating the earth’s natural creations—never human bodies. It’s too dangerous and there are too many risks; something, or someone, could break. Shatter beyond reparation. Some minds are more delicate than others.

But if she did the necessary research, as all good scholars of magic should, she won’t have to jump to such dire conclusions. Her predetermined fears might be dispelled; there might be hope. So, Sypha does the one thing that will always bring her comfort—she reads.

–

YOU SEE YOURSELF AS THEY SEE YOU

The water is always coldest in the morning. Before Alucard fills his two buckets with it, he dips a couple fingertips into the running stream, creating a slight shock that helps keep him alert. At the moment, the castle is empty and for good reason. Sypha is in the Belmont Hold; she always seemed more at home down there. The last time Alucard saw Trevor, he was following her outside and presumably to the archives as well. Still inseparable, those two. Meanwhile he’s here in the woods, away from castles and manors and underground chambers that have held on for generations. This place keeps him both sheltered and vulnerable.

This is a menial task, one of many that fill the days. Yet like all the others, it slipped Alucard’s mind until it reared its head and practically dragged him out of bed. It wasn’t always this way; not so long ago, the task of completing daily chores went differently. Collecting water, gathering ingredients for future meals, he treated them all as though they were part of a religion, a cycle that never stopped turning. Alucard’s mind once thanked him for it. Small distractions were blessings in the guise of simple tasks to keep himself afloat.

Alucard has tried to uphold this new religion. Though his attempts may not be so obvious to others. Occasionally, he’ll see the Belmont tower in the corner of his eye, no longer the crumbling pile of stones stacked atop of each other it used to be. He’ll feel the urge to pick up where he left off with its reconstruction. His palms are getting a bit soft, maybe it’s time to give them a few blisters and splinters again.

Then there’s the one constant thing keeping Alucard from dusting off his tools, the immediate feeling that bars him from other forms of distraction: guilt. The same way he still “lives” within the castle despite its torment, he needs the reminders of what happened and everything he did. Distraction leads to remorse, then comes self-punishment, and finally discipline. This is Alucard’s new cycle, routine, and religion.

This recent excursion may seem like a step forward, but he’s certain it will be followed by many, many steps back.

He doesn’t return with any sense of urgency once the buckets are full. Instead, something in the water catches Alucard’s attention: a grey stone with a near perfect egg shape. He reaches down and pulls it out, wiping the mud and sand off its rough surface.

“Papa, it’s just a dirty old rock. What’s so special about it?”

“Watch closely, my little bat…” Using a single claw sharper than any hunter’s blade, the vampire cuts a perfect line along the stone. It cracks open, revealing colours that only exist in the younger vampire’s imagination. His gasps of wonder bring a smile to his father’s face.

“Do you know what we call a natural phenomenon like this one, little bat?”

“Hm. A geode,” Alucard mumbles to himself. Rocks that look unappealing on the outside but once they’ve been smashed open, they transform into treasure chests of jewels and crystals. He remembers now; Dracula used to bring him to the rivers and mountains surrounding the castle so that he could show his son the smallest of nature’s gifts. Without much deeper thought, Alucard drops the geode into his pocket before picking up the two heavy buckets. Sypha might enjoy such a trinket; perhaps it will bring her some much needed distraction. A paltry way of apologizing for the day before.

Alucard prepares for the trek back to the castle, but not before getting a good long look over his shoulder, then again once he’s started walking.

–

Trevor stares into the fountain, watching as momentary gusts of wind move dead leaves amongst twigs, animal droppings, and other debris littering the cracked stone. Otherwise empty and dried up just like the rest of what used to be the Belmont courtyard. Funny, it’s always the smaller, frivolous things about a broken home that are left to the very end when more important things demand attention and repair. That’s what Alucard did and only now does Trevor truly see the extent of his efforts not just to the Hold but the entire manor itself. Give it a few more weeks of hard honest labour and the building could almost be liveable again.

Why? It’s a question he’s been asking himself since their less than joyous reunion. Trevor remembers what Alucard said on their first night down in the Hold, hearing every word while he himself fawned over a piece of metal and chain. He must have thought the Belmont couldn’t hear. “Museum”, “dedicated”, and “extermination” coupled with other unsavoury terms as the dhampir looked over a casket of fanged skulls—one of which was smaller than the others. Much smaller.

Then why do so much for a family that hunted his kind for generations? Like so much else concerning Alucard, the answer may always elude Trevor. Yet the only reaction stronger than his confusion is his own form of guilt. Trevor would say there hasn’t come a chance to show his full appreciation for Alucard’s work, but it’s just another lie and excuse.

He’s tired. Tired of staking his life on the constant movement from one road to the next, tired of putting walls between himself and others when there shouldn’t be any. During that brief, shallow time when he and Sypha settled down, Trevor felt a subtle sense of peace which had been lost to him for years—it scared him. But now that the manor is no longer a forgotten ruin, Trevor looks upon the structure not with sadness or pain, but hope. Life could return to its many rooms and corridors.

If only Alucard hadn’t halted his reconstruction progress. Still, the manor sits there waiting for the necessary work to be picked up again. He could talk to Alucard, offer a helping hand, rough up his palms a little. It doesn’t have to be a one man endeavour.

Trevor forgoes the thought before it has an opportunity to solidify itself. All of it might be fruitless; there’s no point in having such a conversation if it only ends with more arguing, more yelling, and more of them storming off in opposite directions. More of yesterday’s events.

His flimsy attention span refocuses at the sound of Sypha calling out his name. He turns around and is greeted with an unsteady pile of books where her face should be. “Bit of light reading, eh?”

Sypha peeks out from behind the stack. “If you had come down with me, I wouldn’t be lugging all of these back up,” she says with a strained grunt.

“What’s the urgency?”

“I wanted you to see these.” She places the books down by their feet and begins handing them one by one into Trevor’s hands. He takes them, barely getting anything more than a few seconds to read their titles. What he manages to see doesn’t cultivate much optimism. Dreamology makes him believe that Sypha is simply having nightmares while Thought Manipulation Through Magic fills him with a creeping sense of dread. Those are only two amongst a dozen more.

“… What?” She asks, stopping once she notices Trevor’s usual silent cynicism. He holds up Cognitive Astral Projection.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on making me your actual braindead manservant.”

She snatches the book away. “This is serious!”

“Hm. These say otherwise. Or are you getting bored of skewering beasties with ice pikes before scorching their arses off and want to try something a bit more subtle.”

“Just listen to me.” Sypha takes a breath to settle herself. “Remember what you said about not understanding what goes on inside Alucard’s head?”

“Vaguely.” But Trevor does remember, clearer than his most sober thoughts. And he already realizes Sypha’s plan before she can spell it out for him. His eyes turn dire while the palms of his hands suddenly feel cold. “Sypha…”

“No, listen, I have looked through all of these and look there are spells one can cast to, to, to project yourself into another’s mind.” She speaks faster than her thoughts. Trevor can’t even get his own opinion out while she excitedly stammers on.

“Sypha.”

“A-and it happens when both participants are asleep, you see, which means we can access Alucard’s mind through his dreams while we are both conscious yet also unconscious at the same time—”

“Sypha!”

“What?” She exclaims. “This is our chance to help him. If he cannot tell us outright then we have to see for ourselves. Otherwise we’ll never truly understand what happened. He can heal and we can all finally move on from this.”

“Maybe. Or maybe something goes wrong and none of us ever wakes up again. Maybe we end up putting another crack in that brain of his whether we meant to or not. Maybe we break him completely.”

“Nothing will go wrong as long as we follow the directions.”

“Have you ever cast a spell like this before?”

“No, but the very scholars who wrote these books were once beginners starting out for the first time in their lives.”

“Yes, and then they practiced and studied for decades before sitting down to write the entire fucking codex on mind manipulation.” While Trevor waves one of the books in her face, Sypha matches the rising volume in his voice.

“You are just afraid.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! But you can’t abandon him like this just because you don’t want to attempt the only option we have. Do not go back to the man you once were, Trevor.”

Teeth grind together, hard enough to crack and shatter. He stares Sypha down with fury in his eyes; not for her, never for her, only for what she said. “I don’t want to do this because I am so fucking sick of magic. Sick of enchantments, incantations, and all that other occult bullshit. All it ever does is hurt others and make the world darker than it already is.”

Sypha holds her ground, expression placid and immoveable. “Is that what you think of my magic?”

A simple question that breaks Trevor’s hardened demeanour. He knows his answer— her magic is terrifying in beautiful ways and she might be the only morally decent practitioner in the world—but he doesn’t say it like that. “You… Sypha, you know I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He tries placing a hand on her shoulder before it’s shrugged off. Calmly but with the right amount of force, she pushes a book against his chest. Trevor manages to guess two words from her intense gaze: read it.

Sypha steps back, about to take her leave, before giving him a valuable piece of information that’s long taken root in his mind. All he needs to do is accept it. “The Belmonts were capable of magic. As are you.”

Trevor opens his mouth when she’s too far away to hear or acknowledge.

–

When Alucard returns to the castle, he’s faced with a choice: slink back into bed and wallow in a false sense of security or take a bath before Sypha starts confusing him for Trevor. The first sounds more tempting but he’s been mobile all morning, it would be a shame to erase that progress. He could have an alright day. There haven’t been any great or even good days, only the alright ones. The slow and dull kind, which Alucard takes happily. Anything would be better than yesterday.

With no windows to the outside world, the castle’s main powder room is darker than the others. It’s only source of light comes from sweet smelling candles scattered throughout, kept firmly in their places by years of hardened wax like pearl-coloured tears. The walls are dyed in that same sort of red that reminds Alucard of red wine or freshly spilled blood. Drenched in soft candlelight, the room is more a boudoir than a bathhouse (in some parts of the world there’s little difference between the two).

He turns a few heavy knobs at the head of the large brass tub and once the pipes clear their throats, buried deep behind walls and underneath the floorboards, clear steaming water begins to spurt out. Alucard checks the temperature; it burns to the touch which he prefers. He removes his boots yet hesitates with the rest. A single passing glance at himself in the ornate vanity mirror, one glimpse at all the pieces of bare skin despite being fully clothed, and his reluctance seems rational. Even alone, he doesn’t want to see the rest of him.

Alucard sits before the vanity, listening while the tub fills itself to the brim. His eyes glaze over each cosmetic alongside his geode. He settles on a small bottle of herbal oil made from lavender and lemon balm leaves which he gently applies to his wrists. Smells divine, hurts like absolute hell. Liquid seeps into the raw, tender skin and he lets out a hiss. The necessary pain subsides; Alucard’s breaths turn deep and slow. He hates looking up into the mirror only to be faced with his overly familiar weary eyes surrounded by dark circles. It’s unavoidable.

Something on the table begins to shake. For a moment, Alucard thinks it’s because of his own trembling hand gripping the mahogany wood until he notices the river stone. It moves from side to side, teetering then tottering, like a child’s spinning top about to fall. He stares not in fear but with caution as the stone cracks, louder than anything that size should sound. An egg ready to hatch.

Alucard expects to be greeted by a newborn chick when the rock turned egg finally cracks right open. What clumsily rolls out instead is still trapped within its embryonic sack, not strong enough to break through. He assists by making a tear with his nail as a viscous substance pours out along with its inhabitant. There’s hair, two arms, two legs, and a pair of wings weighed down by the fluid. Unsure and a little nervous, he helps clean whatever just emerged, allowing its delicate, transparent wings to fully unfold.

The creature stumbles like a freshly birthed calf getting used to its own legs before using Alucard’s fingers for support. At last, he sees the long caramel hair that envelopes its entire body, not much larger than his outstretched hand. He sees the pointed ears and the earthy green tinge that covers the very ends of each limb.

Despite what humans of sound mind and reasonable logic may proclaim, vampires and night creatures exist in this world. They may very well rule it. Why shouldn’t the smaller, daintier beings of fantasy exist as well?

Softly and with the utmost care, Alucard cups the fairy in both hands and lifts her off the vanity. “Now where did you come from?” A silly question, admittedly.

Her eyes, which seem too big for her tiny face to hold, finally open. She stares up at Alucard, blinking rapidly, before her lips curl back, revealing a smile of pristine yet razor teeth. Wings flutter like a hummingbird’s and following a few delighted inhuman chirps, she’s encircling Alucard, unable to decide where she should land first. A second on his shoulder, then another atop his head. Eventually, she discovers the incomparable joy of hiding herself within the smooth locks of his hair.

“Well, aren’t we an excitable little one.” Alucard manages to pluck her free but the fairy isn’t finished with her thorough examination of her chosen imprint. She comes across his marred wrists and lets out a softened chirp of concern. He mutters the same excuse he gave to Trevor and Sypha: it’s nothing. The fairy can’t hear, or she just doesn’t listen. Determined to use every ounce of her miniscule strength, she begins pecking at the wrist, planting kiss after kiss upon his scarred flesh.

“Oh no, please don’t trouble yourself with that.” There are accounts of fairies who carry certain healing abilities, but this one is still a babe. The only world she knows is Alucard. Better she learns how to crawl before she walks. But the fairy couldn’t care less about any of that. This golden-haired giant could end up being the only world she ever knows or will ever know, and she would be overjoyed. Flying upwards, she holds his face in both arms and nuzzles against his cheek.

It’s a surprising development, but Dracula’s castle will continue to play homestead to all things strange and odd. This fairy may just be oddly wonderful.

–

Trevor’s body has always despised him for many reasons, rebelling against itself. He can’t remember what he looked like without his battle scars (if there was ever a time when he didn’t have them), some bones have been broken then rearranged so often they float around amongst muscle and blood utterly ruined. He once considered keeping a log of every time he stumbled into a back alley to cleanse his battered insides through vomiting. One column labeled “drinking”, the other “fighting”. Some nights would require both to be marked up.

Those are understandable reasons. Trevor never thought reading would elicit the same visceral reactions. His head pounds away, the backs of his eyes sting like mad, and there’s an unseen weight pressing down on his chest. It’s been hours since he made Dracula’s disarrayed library his own, surrounding himself with books and half opened scrolls like some hermit monk or scholar holed up in his study. There must be a curse on this room; whoever enters to read its contents and is not the castle’s lord or of undead blood shall be stricken down with nausea, tiredness, and frustration.

Trevor ignores how his mind pulses and aches with every written word. Sypha’s talk of dreams and mind spells is the cause of all this. He’s managed to retain a fair amount of knowledge, though whether or not any of it will be helpful he cannot say for certain. There’s one story concerning an unnamed alchemist of the 10th century who performed dream spells on himself; perhaps he still had some higher morals to not use other bodies for his tests. With these incantations, his mind created absolute paradises where he would live for decades while only a few hours passed in the realm of reality.

The effects on his physical body were apparent; the first time he cast the spell, he aged thirty years in the span of five hours. During his second sleep, he died in the dream world a peaceful old man with no regrets or unfinished business. When whatever colleagues he had left found him, he was a half-rotting corpse in his bed.

Accounts like these—factual or mere ghost stories—don’t encourage much optimism. Which is why Trevor keeps reading, keeps searching in case it’s not enough. His nose buried so deeply in knowledge previously unknown to him. He doesn’t notice that Sypha has found him, not until she lays a hand on his shoulder, startling them both. Trevor drops his most recent find while she lets out an exclaimed gasp and holds her chest.

“Christ…” He says breathlessly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up like that. This is the very last place I expected to find you.”

“I’m full of surprises.” As Trevor gathers up his resources, Sypha observes their contents; the very same she herself had been researching all morning long. Dream lore and mental magic, everything he denounced not too long ago.

Trevor makes a note of her silence. “I looked through that first book you gave me. Started thinking… which is never a good sign with me, and wanted to do some reading myself.”

Full of surprises, indeed. “Trevor, I’m shocked.”

“Hope it’s the pleasant sort. But you should know that I did all of this for you… and for him. Mostly for you.”

Sypha is used to Trevor’s deflections. She thought by now he would readily accept his growing ability to care deeply for others when his outward appearance suggests otherwise. There is always much to rebuild. “These are his books… does that not disturb you?”

“Hm, not really.” Sypha almost chides his nonchalant response, thinking back to how violently he reacted to the prospect of Alucard being his father before their silly duel was put to rest. “Dracula may have been a monster but he was a genius. There’s not much difference between what’s down there and what’s up here. Suppose one has to know their enemy.”

Genius. Trevor Belmont of the House of Belmont is either mad or drunk. Sypha assumes that if his family were alive, he would have been flogged for speaking their own form of blasphemy. The same might have happened anyway had they known about his partnership with the son of their centuries old adversary.

“So… you’ve thought about it?”

Trevor takes a breath, eyes downcast. “You wanted me to read, so I did. To be honest, a lot of this is just fear mongering, which is why I kept at it. There are things worth learning and knowing about. I’m not exactly jumping with enthusiasm over your proposal, but you could say I’m more open to it than I was. We just need to find the right spell.”

“I think I have. It was in one of the books from your family’s library.”

“What do we do?”

“There are a lot of steps involved, but the most important element is that we all have to be asleep. In order for our collective consciousness to enter another’s mind, that person has to be in an even deeper sleep. All but dead to the world.”

Trevor suddenly turns grim and angry. “I’m not fucking drugging Alucard.”

Sypha reacts in an offended manner. “Of course we won’t! Why on earth would you ever assume that?!”

“Sorry… some of the things I read about this didn’t give me the best mindset. Does it involve any other unsavory acts like blood sacrifices or ritualistic masochism?”

“No, nothing like that. We just need to prick our temples hard enough to draw blood and burn something that belongs to each of us.”

“What’s the purpose of the fire?”

“As long as the items keep burning, we remain inside the dream world. When it runs out, that’s when we wake up.”

“And the blood?”

“Supposedly to help open up our minds. The chapter explains everything in detail. But we need Alucard’s consent first.”

Trevor bites at his thumbnail, something he hasn’t done since the age of thirteen. “It won’t be easy convincing him.”

“If we fail, we fail. It’s his choice.” Though there’s a part within Sypha, deeper and more persistent than she’s willing to admit, that wants their plan to succeed. Not for her sake and not for her ego.

“Right. Let’s go find him.”

They stand up to leave but only walk so far down the corridor before they turn round a corner and nearly crash into Alucard.

“Fuck’s sake, enough with all the sneaking around.” Trevor grumbles once his heartbeat settles.

“I heard voices coming from the library and wondered if it was you two.”

“Course it was us, who else could it have b—” He squints, peering closer at Alucard. “Is something on your shoulder?” It could be an effect of reading too much, but Trevor knows he hasn’t gone insane—yet. He sees the wings, the miniscule head and the even smaller face staring back at him with suspicion.

“Oh, this. Well, I… I found her in the river and—”

“She’s precious!” Sypha interrupts, bending down to get a clearer look at Alucard’s new companion the same way a child looks in fascination at a brand new doll. “I know about these creatures… she’s a pixie, correct?”

Trevor and Sypha hear a series of quick jingles and chirps but Alucard hears something entirely different. “She prefers to be called a fairy.”

“You can understand that thing?”

More jingles, more chirps followed by a distinct growl from the fairy. “She also doesn’t like being called a thing by giant hairy oafs who smell terrible.”

Trevor would almost feel insulted if he wasn’t already accustomed to far harsher and disgusting terms throughout his adult life. So Alucard’s new friend doesn’t like him. Fine, he never liked fairies to begin with. Too many bedtime stories warning him about those who steal babies and gather in hordes to eat the flesh clean off a human’s body.

“Sypha and I need to discuss something with you.”

Alucard’s muscles seize up; he feels the fairy grow more restless, impatient with these two strangers barging into her life and what they might do to her keeper. He calms her with a light pat on her head. Don’t let what happened the day before happen again. Listen to them. Hear what they have to say then react.

“Go on.”

Trevor glances at Sypha and lets her speak for both of them. “We were thinking about what you said the other day, and you’re right. We can’t fix you. It was ignorant of us to believe we could especially after being gone for so long. But we still want to help in whatever ways possible. Talking about causes you too much pain, we understand that. So maybe if you showed us…”

She pauses, examining Alucard’s demeanour. Still face and even stiller breath. Sypha carries on with extreme care. “We read about a type of magic that focuses on dreams and projecting oneself into another’s mind. If you would allow us, Trevor and I could relive your memories and feel whatever it is you’re feeling through dreaming.”

“What she’s trying to say is—FUCK!” Trevor lets loose an entire chorus of expletives as the fairy swarms about trying to lay another bite somewhere she can reach. In between her efforts, she moves to Sypha and pulls her hair, chirping frantically. They flail their arms, ducking and avoiding the little menace as best they can while Alucard looks on. He doesn’t take any pleasure in watching this chaos, yet is in no rush to stop it. Eventually, the fairy tires of her own antics and hides behind his neck, hissing in their direction.

“If it does that again, I’m pickling it inside a jar full of ale.” Trevor threatens, wiping away the small amount of blood drawn from her many bites.

“How much did you read about dream magic?”

Sypha smooths out her curls and straightens her robe. “A lot. We found books from both the Belmont library and your father’s.”

“Were you aware that you can easily die while in someone else’s consciousness?”

“… Yes, we did read about it.”

Alucard nods, clear that he’s holding something back. He hides it behind an uncomfortable stance and glare. “And when you do, your soul wanders aimlessly between worlds. No heaven, no hell, not even limbo. The only afterlife is emptiness. You’re waiting for peace or punishment or anything you actually can feel, but it never comes. Never to be reunited with your loved ones no matter where they are.”

The final statement instills slight panic within Trevor and Sypha. They know the truth as it’s been sitting with them, a festering wound that demands attention. Neither of them have told Alucard but the way he speaks leads them to believe he somehow knows. The one parent seems obvious, necessary even, but both? Another revelation to weigh heavily upon him. The two brace themselves for his venom and the further erosion of his trust for them. They’ve accepted it; maybe they both deserve his vitriol.

“I will consider it.” Alucard walks away with the fairy still glaring daggers into Trevor and Sypha, plotting their inevitable demise.

It’s not what they were expecting, far from his first reaction to their outstretched hands offering support and help (or rather forcing). Though it does not surprise them. I will consider it, I will think about it, all of it means the same outcome. A gentle, polite method of saying no without pushing someone away.

They have failed, but Sypha was truthful. It is his choice.

–

Night arrives quicker at Dracula’s castle. It rushes across the sky and fills each hallway with rushed excitement. The earlier conversation feels like nothing more than a hazy memory, one that warns him of bad tidings whenever it rears itself, now pushed back in favour of things Alucard wants to think about willingly. He sits on his bed holding a white and gold porcelain box while the fairy balances herself on his thighs waiting patiently. He had to do a bit of searching in order to find the illusive box. There was an image tucked away in his distant memories; something his mother always carried with her during the later hours of the day. He thought it was only his mind conjuring up a false recollection but he found it by chance.

Dracula was an inventor as much as he was a conqueror, a recluse, and a legend to keep hell-fearing morals in their place. Yet in the eyes of a child and mother, his grander discoveries paled in comparison to his smaller, more intimate ones. They appreciated and gazed in wonder at the various devices that kept the castle alive like a ticking clock tower but individual items like a music box carry far more heart than gears or electric lights. With a few turns of a small winding key on the side, a soft metallic melody begins to play. The fairy’s ears perk up as do her wings, twitching rhythmically as she stares in elation.

“You enjoy music, don’t you?” He chuckles. She has another surprise in store for Alucard when her mouth opens and lyrics tumble out in perfect tune with the music box. Her high-pitched voice sounds sweeter than honey in the sunlight, but Alucard is most endeared by her skills as a little musician. Less than a minute of listening to a song she’s never heard, and already the words come more naturally to her than to a seasoned court bard.

He closes the box thus silencing its music and the fairy returns to her happy chirps. It is in these moments when he wishes he could match her cheerful presence. All he can do is return her displays of affection with a tired smile, reopen the box, and fashion a bed just for her. She squeaks in delight, immediately flying in to make herself comfortable before curling up, ready to enter a peaceful sleep after an exciting first day alive.

Alucard snuffs out the room candles and settles himself under the covers. While he dreads tonight’s sleep like all the ones that came before and will come after, he feels somewhat pleased that today has joined his list of “alright” days.

Eyes close and he hears the screams. He doesn’t recognize them as screams but instead as distraught squeals similar to that of an animal caught beneath a predator’s claws. Alucard sits upright and turns to the fairy who thrashes about in her makeshift bed, eyes shut tight as sobs wrack her body. The box clatters against the table with every movement.

“What’s wrong? Here, let me help…” He goes to cup her in his hands but her fearful eyes open, tinged red with tears. She backs away even further when Alucard tries again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.” His fingertips brush along her head; he feels how she trembles at the mere sight of him. She’s terrified of a presence she once loved unconditionally.

It takes a moment, but the fairy holds Alucard’s fingers and hugs them against her chest. There remains a hesitance in every action. It’s clear that members of her kind display certain talents that moral minds could never hope to achieve. They’re naturally attuned to the art of music, the mythic science of healing, and the magic of dreams. What did she see within Alucard’s?

He keeps the question to himself out of respect for her sanity; his own as well. Placing the fairy back into the box, she’s not as quick to sleep as she was before and neither is he. She’s too occupied with watching him close, still shaking, while Sypha and Trevor’s proposition crawls its way back into Alucard’s thoughts. It will keep him awake for the rest of the night.

He did say he would consider it.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #updates will be made periodically #ask to tag #silent hill was a HUGE inspiration for this so read with care <3 #end of sanctuary

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kmomof4 · 4 years ago

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Going Home Ch2 of Somewhere Out There 3A Canon Divergence

I’ve wanted to continue this canon divergence for a while and I’m so thrilled to be sharing it with you all now! This fic wouldn’t have been possible without the INVALUABLE eyes, insight, questions, and cheering of @thisonesatellite. Thank you so much, my friend!!! I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!

Ch Summary: After True Love’s Kiss works in bringing back Emma and Henry’s memories, CS and Henry return home to the Enchanted Forest.

Rating: For this chapter, G. For the entire fic, M (smut)

Words: 2500 of 5300 total

Tags: 3A Canon Divergence

Ch1 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag List: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The Jolly Roger cut smoothly across the crystal clear water, swiftly approaching the castle of Snow White and Prince Charming. Emma felt a thrill of excitement skitter down her spine as she beheld the flawless edifice for the first time. Memories of her first trip to the Enchanted Forest paraded themselves across her mind’s eye, the ruins of the castle she was born in, as well as her mother’s tears when faced with its destruction.

But this morning, with the sun rising over the mountains that surrounded her parents castle, the exterior nearly blinded her. The rays reflected off the white stone and turrets she remembered her mother talking about after they returned home from their Enchanted Forest adventure until her vision was positively dazzled. Her family and the other inhabitants of the place of her birth had obviously worked hard to rebuild in the year that they’d been back here. Or maybe Regina had simply waved her hand to restore the castle to its former glory.

They had left New York forever the next day after spending that Saturday packing up what they wanted to take with them and taking care of all the loose ends that would have been left had they simply disappeared. They arrived two days later at the familiar rocky coast of what had once been Storybrooke to find nothing but unblemished forest and sea birds. Poor Henry looked like he was about to cry, and she had to admit that she was having trouble hiding her own tears as well. She’d been careful, she thought, about getting her hopes up, but seeing with her own eyes no trace of Storybrooke, she realized just how much she had come to think of the small town as home and just how disappointed she was that it wasn’t there. Killian helped dispel the melancholy that had enveloped them by taking them both in his arms and assuring them that he would get them home to their family. They changed course, back toward New York until they found and fell through the portal that would take them home.

A feeling of peace, of home settled over her for the first time in her life. All her life she’d been shuffled from place to place, group home to foster home and back again. And even as an adult, the longest she’d stayed anywhere was Tallahassee. But with her pirate and son behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see Killian leaving Henry at the helm and begin making his way toward her, and the rest of her family ahead of her, living in a fairy tale castle to boot, she had never felt so content.

Strong arms circled around her waist and clasped over her middle. She covered his hands with her own as he nuzzled into her neck, placing a tender kiss right behind her ear. “What are you thinking, Swan?” he murmured.

She turned in his arms and raised up onto her toes to kiss him. “Just how much this feels like home. Neal told me, years ago, that home was the place that when you left, you just missed it. Obviously I never missed the Enchanted Forest. I’d never lived here. And going back to where Storybrooke had been made me realize how very much I missed my family.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Missed you. Even if I didn’t remember.”

Killian smiled down at her. “Aye, Love. We missed you, too.” He gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly for a few moments before he gave her a chaste kiss and released her, turning back toward the helm. She watched as he took over from Henry and her son started towards her.

“So, what do you think, Mom?” he queried as he leaned against the gunwale.

She smiled at him. “I think we’re home. And I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to see our family again.”

“Agreed,” he said, staring at the castle that was growing ever closer. Just a few minutes later, they were able to make out the dock at the back of the castle. Emma couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that there didn’t appear to be anyone to meet them. Wouldn’t someone have seen them coming from the towers of the palace?

Killian carefully brought the Jolly into berth as Henry secured the ship to the dock. Just as they were making their way down the gangplank, the Blue Fairy appeared before them. She gave a small bow before speaking.

“Thank you, Captain,” she began, “for bringing the Savior home.” Suddenly, the fairy pulled a small vial out of mid-air, uncorked it, and tossed its contents onto Emma.

Emma was frozen in place. Fear gripped her as she heard Killian and Henry shout, Killian drawing his sword in her defense, Henry’s face a mask of shock and dismay. Before Killian could reach the fairy, she waved her wand and a blue cloud of magic enveloped her and the magical being. Moments later, she found herself in a dark cave lit only by torch light. It took a few moments before she could see well enough to realize it was the same cave prison that Killian had left her in before she and her mother had made it back to Storybrooke. Only this time, it was the Blue Fairy on the other side of the bars, not her True Love and Cora. Emma lunged at the bars.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

Emma stared at the fairy, stunned. She looked sad, apologetic almost, for her actions, at the state Emma found herself in. She rattled the bars in anger. “Answer me! What have you done? Where are my parents?”

“Your parents are fine, Your Highness.” Emma huffed at the fairy’s use of her title.

“Why are you calling me “Your Highness” if you’ve put me in this dungeon?” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on her captor.

“Because you are still the Princess in this land, and I’m truly sorry to have to do this.” And with that enigmatic statement, the Blue Fairy disappeared. Emma shook the bars before her again and shouted as loudly as she could. There was no response. She turned and looked around, trying to think of anything that she could possibly do to get out. Trying to use magic was useless. She at least remembered that much from her previous imprisonment. The light from the torch just outside the cell reflected off of something lodged into a crevice in the rock wall. Walking over to it, she saw it was a small mirror. Pulling it out, the glass was suddenly filled with a purple smoke before a dark skinned, kindly, ageless face appeared.

“Hello, Savior,” he greeted her.

Emma couldn’t keep the shocked surprise out of her voice. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter, Savior, but yes, I know exactly who you are, Emma Swan,” he intoned. “And I also know what the Blue Fairy is doing.”

It took Emma a moment to absorb what he just said. “You do? Why?” she asked, “She is supposed to be one of my parents closest friends and advisors. Why would she do this?”

His bottomless brown eyes grew sad as he answered her. “I have watched the Blue Fairy for many years, since long before you were born. She has forsaken her duty of protecting your family. It is my responsibility to rein her in, to deprive her of the source of her power and now that she is back in a realm with magic, I am able to do so.”

“Are you taking her magic?” Emma queried.

The man smiled enigmatically. “When she realized that her magic was weakening, she sent Killian to bring you home.”

“She gave me the dream so that I would recognize Killian when he got there,” she breathed. “She repositioned Cygnus, both here and in my world, so that he could find me.”

He nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

Emma looked back at the bars. “Can you help me get out of here?”

“I cannot help you escape beyond what I’ve already done. You have the means at your disposal. Good luck, Savior.” Magic began to swirl in the mirror.

“Wait,” Emma cried, “Who are you?”

“I am Merlin. Don’t you know me?” he answered with a smile before he disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

Emma stared at the glass before her, not knowing what to do. She remembered what Rumplestiltskin had told her when they had all returned from New York after she found Neal. That magic was not an intellectual endeavor. She had to feel it. Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and shutting her eyes, she thought of Killian and Henry and how much she loved them and wanted to be with them again.

She opened her eyes again to see her two favorite people smiling at her. Her own face broke into a grin. “Swan,” Killian cried, “Are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m below the castle in the dungeon. In Rumple’s cell,” she explained. “Where’s Mom and Dad? And Regina?”

“We’re here, Emma,” her mother called. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright,” she exclaimed, pushing her way into the mirror’s glass. Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you’re really here! And that Blue would do this!”

“Merlin gave me this mirror so we could communicate. She’s trying to steal my magic because he’s been draining hers for her failure in upholding her duty to our family.”

Snow’s face was an “O” of shocked disbelief. Regina appeared in the mirror. “So what do we do?” she asked. “We obviously can’t trust the Blue Fairy anymore.”

“Merlin said that I have the tools at my disposal. I figured out what to do with the mirror. But maybe, my magic too? That’s a tool, isn’t it? Mom, Cora said that even Rumplestiltskin couldn’t escape this prison. Why? What’s so special about it?”

“We had it specially constructed and magically protected so that he could never escape. Only light and dark magic combined can weaken the enchantment.”

They turned their eyes upon Regina. “Two sides of the same coin,” Emma whispered. “Regina, you attack from outside the prison, I attack from inside. That would do it, right?”

Regina’s eyebrows rose. “It should. But what about Blue? Where is she? How do we neutralize her?”

“Regina!” Snow scolded.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about killing her. Just neutralizing her. Taking her magic, making her unable to fight us.”

“She disappeared. I have no idea where she is. But, if she’s wanting my magic, I would assume that she won’t be gone long.”

“Maybe she’s gone to collect some kind of vessel to contain your magic in, Love,” Killian speculated.

“In that case, we need to get Emma out of there.” Emma nearly burst into tears when she heard her father in the background.

Emma wiped at her eyes furiously as Regina, Killian, Henry, and her parents all appeared before her on the other side of the bars. Emma ran for the bars trying to reach and touch all of them at once.

“Okay, okay,” Charming shouted. “The reunion will have to wait until after Emma’s free. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

Emma stepped back and held up her hands sending a stream of magic at the bars that Regina matched on the other side. White and Dark magic met and sparks flew. Emma could see her family shielding their eyes against the clash of magic and, she’d be honest, if she wasn’t one of the magic wielders, she’d be doing the same. The heat and the power that coursed through her was like nothing that she’d ever known and she was suddenly aware of why the people around her had believed in her so much and for so long. Suddenly, Killian was there, at a hole in the bars big enough for her to climb through.

At that moment, Blue appeared. Quick as an adder strike, Regina shot the fairy with a blast of dark magic, knocking her back into the cell where she had imprisoned Emma. She appeared stunned as Regina shouted, “Seal the bars, Miss Swan!”

“Do it, Mom!”

Emma shot another blast of magic at the bars, making them whole again. Regina cast a binding spell both on Blue and the cell as realization dawned on their former friend and ally.

“No!” she cried.

Snow and Charming stepped forward. “Yes. You have betrayed us in the worst possible way, Blue,” Charming said, his face hard as stone. “For that, you deserve banishment and death. However, in gratitude for your part in bringing Emma home to us, your life will not end by our hand. Once your magic is gone, you will age like the rest of us. You will remain behind bars until death sets you free. This is your punishment for the crimes against our family.” He turned to his wife, who nodded in agreement with his sentence.

Blue looked from face to face, hoping to find some glimmer of regret, a sliver of affinity in anyone’s eyes, anything that she could try to manipulate to her advantage. There was none. She bowed her head as the family turned from her in her prison and walked away.

The jubilant group emerged into the sunshine. Henry was immediately gathered in Regina’s arms, where he was overjoyed to hug his adoptive mother just as tightly as she was hugging him. Emma found herself gathered in the arms of her parents, tears flowing freely as she felt her father’s hand on the back of her head. Pulling back, astonished, Emma looked down at her mother’s very pregnant belly. It hadn’t even registered in all the action of the last few minutes until Snow gathered her close in a hug that was a year in the making. More tears spilled as Emma expressed her joy at the impending birth of her brother or sister.

Finally pulling out of her parents embrace, Emma reached out for Killian. “Mom, Dad,” she began, smiling affectionately at her True Love, “Killian brought me, brought us, home.” He took her hand, a gentle smile on his face, as she turned back toward her parents.

“We know, sweetheart,” David told her. “When Killian and Henry appeared, he was just able to tell us what happened and how he got to you. Then you appeared in the mirror.”

“Did he tell you about True Love’s Kiss bringing back my and Henry’s memories?”

David’s grin split his face. “Yes, he did. And I, we, couldn’t be happier,” he said, looking at his wife.

“We will plan an engagement and welcome home ball at once,” she exclaimed, green eyes gleaming with excitement.

Emma turned resigned and amused eyes upon her pirate. “Welcome home, Love,” he said, before leaning down and capturing her lips with his own.

“Yep, I guess I am,” she agreed.

Looking around at the faces of the people who loved her, she knew that she was home. Exactly where she wanted to be.

The End

#cs ff #somewhere out there #ch2 #going home #krystal writes

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loveafterthefact · 4 years ago

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Love After the Fact Chapter 11:

Galra have toe beans. Also, sometimes, Keith just needs a break.

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Keith's begrudging to admit it, but life at the Castle of Lions really isn't that bad. It's more dull than anything else. A bit lonely, too. Lance is constantly busy trying to clean up the mess he's caused by neglecting his work the past few decaphoebs, and Pidge is busy spying on people and updating security so Keith can access places like the dining room without help. Keith lacks the experience and skills to really assist with much, though Adam, Lance, and the kings make an effort to teach him. He wishes he had more to offer, wishes he had something to do.

Against the wishes of his spouse and Adam, Keith sets to exploring the castle alone. He's discovered Pidge's lab, where he's taken to watching them work from a corner of their workshop. The Olkari doesn't speak much while working, but Keith doesn't mind, happy to simply enjoy their proximity. He's also discovered the training deck, where he strips down to just his leggings and fights bot and trains. But more than anything, he finds himself in the gardens, following the walls, reaching the gate going first left, then right. The guards won't let him leave. They tell him to "kindly return to the castle, where you are safe."

Where everyone else is safe from him.

He finds himself exploring the grounds in more detail. Altean plants are quite different from those on Daibazaal. They come in a wider variety of colors. They also tend to not have thorns, and lack carnivorous tendencies. It's quite fascinating. He’s in a new corner, listening to some flowers hum every time the wind blows. A tiny, furred creature with many legs crawls out of one flower’s throat, chittering angrily at him for getting too close. Keith leans forward, ears perked, twitching with curiosity as he holds out a leaf for the creature. It sniffs his fingers cautiously, takes the leaf, scurries back into the flower's deep throat. A moment later, the creature returns, six little babies on its back, chirping curiously. Keith smiles. So many different things on Altea make pretty sounds. It makes it harder to tell what might kill him.

He tickles the mother creature under its chin. It's friendly, seemingly harmless. That means nothing, of course, but as the creature explores the naked pads of his hands, Keith thinks he might have befriended it. After a few minutes, the mother scurries off, likely to find more food for her young. A good mother.

A gust of wind blows back a curtain of pink vines, and an irregularity in the wall catches his eye: a gap in the white stone. Without a second thought, Keith slips through, and breathes. His lungs fill with air from Outside The Wall. Outside the castle. Turning to his right, he sees the white city that sprawls in front of the palace. To his left, a vast rolling landscape, purple mountains in the distance. In front of him is a forest of trees. Keith’s ears twitch, fluttering with stimulation, with sounds not distorted by walls. The trunks are all green and purple, the leaves all blue and red, singing in the breeze.

Keith slips off his shoes and stiff outer vest, discarding the long, shimmering red cloak, and stripping down to the close-fitting tunic and leggings. He feels better this way, more comfortable, more capable of moving. Or fighting.

He keeps his knife strapped to his belt, sheathed at his back, hidden by an extra layer of opaque fabric hanging needlessly from his shoulders. He and the seamsmaster had managed, with Lance mediating, to come to an understanding. They were currently experimenting with materials and blends to find something more suitable to his lifestyle.

With his shoes off, Keith’s able to feel the subtle texture differences between the red, green, and purple mosses covering the forest floor. The smooth, almost glossy bark of the trees as he scales their trunks and leaps between the branches. The ones with the long strings of blue leaves chime in the breeze, a song that carries over hilltops and through valleys.

Keith likes this part, climbing to the top of one of the tall, straight, purple-barked trees. The purple bark is rougher than the green. The red leaves don’t chime, but they are soft, delicate. Gentle, if that makes sense. The bare pads of Keith’s fingers and toes enjoy sensations that aren’t the coarse stone, sand, and grit that covers much of the Daibazaani landscape.

At the top of the tree, Keith breaks the canopy, his tail swaying to keep him balanced. He finds an avian landscape. A forest of purple and blue leaves with green moss fields spotted with magenta flowers. The landscape here is different, and beautiful, but not breathtaking.

Instead, it’s breathgiving. It’s peaceful. A breeze ruffles his fur, blowing through the leaves, the spiced smells of blooming and growing things. Keith wonders if it might smell ‘sweet.’ He’ll have to ask Adam. Or maybe Lance, if the Crown Prince isn’t too busy.

A twinge of guilt hits Keith’s stomach. He’s skipped court again, leaving his spouse alone to deal with the courtiers’ nonsense and the commonwealth’s struggles.

Keith’s lips curl. The courtiers. He hates them. They consider minor inconveniences worthy of Lance’s time. The Kings are trying to piece together the fragments of two kingdoms while stitching together a frayed alliance and meanwhile Lance is handling such things as slow traffic and too much sun coming in through this one particular public window.

Lance says it’s a necessary evil. He will handle the daily absurdities while his fathers handle the important things. He’s happy to do it, he says. And he probably is. But Keith suspects Lance would be happier to feel useful, as opposed to just feeling used.

Keith knows the feeling. He's a child bride, after all. A commodity bought, sold, and paid for. His biggest responsibility is to serve as a breeder for Lance. Lance's displeasure in Keith's assigned role is somewhat gratifying. In fact, Lance has advocated for his involvement and inclusion more than anyone. He makes Keith feel like he has potential, and like he has something to prove. He wants to do well, wants to learn how to be a leader.

Beneath the expanse of treetops and blue sky, Keith recognizes that if he he wants to fill the shoes he's been made to wear, he has to take initiative. He can't let Lance carry him through everything.

Finding his courage, Keith climbs down from the tree, redresses, and wanders back through the forest, into the garden, through one of the castle’s back doors, and into the throne room. Lance is still sitting there, even after the half-varga it took Keith to get there. He’s been here for hours.

True to form, Lance hears him come in even as Adam announces his arrival. Lance beams, holding out a hand for Keith to take. Keith hides behind his hair as he joins his spouse, lacing their fingers together. He manages a tiny smile, keeping his head low. Adam has coached him on acting shy and demure. It makes him endearing, non-threatening. A role for him to play. “Apologies for my tardiness, my love. I was exploring the grounds and quite lost track of time.”

“That’s fine, beloved.” Lance is still smiling as he kisses the back of Keith’s hand. “I’m delighted to have you at all. Please, join us. We were just discussing the color of the glass windows in the grocer at the corner of Fligelt and Herborda.”

Keith sighs. He should have known.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #galra keith #altean lance #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years ago

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Carajillo

SUMMARY: Some things are truly set in stone. After the tension arises in the Devildom and Celestial Realm, the human is called back to attend a summit.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

january 14th, 12:04 p.m.

My chest heaves with effort, my breaths already labored and ragged, and I all but toss the suitcase onto the ground. Face flushed, lungs threatening to burst from my body. I press a hand to my breast, despite the uselessness of the gesture. Force myself to take slow, deep breaths, concentrating on the cobblestones of the ground before me. My heart pulses weakly in my chest, quick and abnormal in rhythm, but there lies little reason for concern. Not any more concern than the usual calls for, anyway.

“You alright, little lady?” asks the coachman, giving me a worried look. “Not looking so hot there.”

“Yes, I -- I think I just need a moment,” I wheeze, attempting to give him a reassuring smile. It doesn’t seem to work, given the deepening concern on his features, but I do my best to keep up the ruse. “I’m just a little winded, is all.”

His eyes flicker towards the rest of the bags in the back of the carriage. “I don’t think I’ll need any help with the rest, miss. Best you sit in the carriage.”

My mouth opens to protest, excuses for my condition on my lips, but a sharp look from the coachman encourages me to not to. I catch my breath on the side of the carriage for the few minutes that he needs to bring out the rest of my things, leaning on its wooden panels. Hand pressed to my chest, the other digging needlessly into the bag containing Barbatos’ present. It helps only marginally. When the coachman comes around the other side of the carriage to fetch me, there is still that same worried expression on his face.

“Going up to the castle, I take it?” It is more of a statement than an inquiry. He casts a glance towards the dark, looming castle, then back to his carriage. “I can escort you, if you want.”

I smile gratefully. “Thank you. Someone was supposed to meet me out here, but I think I arrived a little too early. I’m -- I’m here for the summit.”

The statement seems to spark an interest in his eyes. “Are you?” he says, scrutinizing me. “You’d think they choose a hardier human. Or at least an older one.”

My cheeks flush with indignation, my embarrassment about my condition expressed on my features. “I --”

“Don’t get yourself all twisted up,” he says, waving off my offense. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. It’s those angels you’ve gotta worry about, really. Those are the ones that’ll do you in, the sneaky little bastards.”

My mind flashes briefly to Simeon and Luke. “I highly doubt that.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Betcha they’ll stab you in the back right when you’ve signed the lord’s peace treaty,” he says, pantomiming the action. His tone is still relatively casual, his expression belying the weight of his message -- but there is an odd stiffness to his words as he speaks. “We might be the heralds of temptation and all that, but they’re the one that cast us aside in the first place. For all their talk of unconditional love and forgiveness, they sure don’t practice their own beliefs.”

“You’re sure?”

He nods. “‘Course I am. None of their kind have fallen in a millennia -- what makes you think they’ll listen to us just because we’ve got some new lord in place? Most of the flighty bastards probably can’t imagine living a life that doesn’t involve smiting demons or latching onto humans.”

I want to refuse his words, of course. I want to tell him that he’s wrong, that Lord Diavolo’s proposed policies will bring in a new era -- but I can’t deny the obvious unrest amongst the demons. I can’t dismiss the seeds of doubt in the demon population, nor can I overlook the strict attitudes of the angels. It had taken years for the angels to agree to discuss relations between all three realms, and then there were the discussions of agreeing to hold a summit. It would be incredibly difficult -- and lengthy -- for treaties to be discussed and signed solely via letters, as it was.

With such precarious circumstances, to be optimistic about the outcome would be to lie to myself.

I sigh. “I appreciate the input.”

“As you should, little lady. You gotta listen to the common people.” He hoists all three of my bags over his shoulder with inhuman strength, taking a moment to balance them. “Ready to go?”

I push myself off the side of the carriage, my body accommodating the movement awkwardly. My heart has mostly calmed, my breathing steady, but something tells me trekking all the way to the demon lord’s castle would be an unwise decision. One that might be a little too hard on my body. While I can’t quite remember how long the journey is from here to the castle, my health also isn’t nearly as good as it was when I was a teenager.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” I say, regarding the coachman with uncertainty. “It’s too far.”

He gives me an odd look. “After coming all this way? I’m pretty sure --”

“My -- my heart, I mean,” I say quickly, correcting myself. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk all the way. Not without falling over.”

I wait awkwardly as the coachman mulls it over for a moment, eyes wandering around the carriage. Certainly it would be fine to take the carriage right up to the front of the castle -- but such a decision would have to be made under normal circumstances. With such an important, private conference to be held within the span of the next few hours, castle security had likely been tightened regarding the admission of castle guests. A carriage other than Lord Diavolo’s could very well bear a few hidden assassins and weapons.

He fixes me with an oddly determined gaze. “You good at riding?”

“I’m sorry?”

* * *

My legs are still trembling when the coachman drops me and my bags off at the entrance hall of the castle. Still, it had been a worthwhile effort: my heart pulses only slightly abnormal rhythm, the stress only coming from the terrifying experience of riding horseback. The coachman had certainly found an alternative to me walking the distance to the castle from the front gate, but he had also implemented his idea in the worst way possible. With no seat, straps, or anything to hold onto, riding the demonic horse had been one of the most frightening experiences I had ever had the misfortune of experiencing. If one could even call it that: the six-legged beast bore too great of a maw to be considered anything close to a human world horse, his body seemingly composed of shadow and ash. But I hadn’t fallen off, at least. The hellbeast had chosen to go after game birds only a few times during the course of the short journey, taking my screaming body along its impromptu hunt for meat, and the coachman had been too burdened with both fits of laughter and my belongings to stop him.

Having my own two feet on the ground is a blessed, wonderful feeling.

A sound further ahead grabs my attention. I look in the direction of the noise, only to see Barbatos emerging from one of the corridors connecting to the entrance hall. He drops into a great, sweeping bow, clearly exaggerating the movement, and I can’t help but feel a mixture of both warmth and irritability at the sight. The sight of seeing such a good friend after so many years is relieving, especially considering the circumstances -- but his obvious amusement at my terror on the way to the castle is marginally irritating. He had likely delighted in the scene from the view of one of the castle windows.

He hasn’t changed at all.

“You’re looking well, my Lady,” he says, his expression showing only the barest hints of amusement. “Did you find the trip enjoyable?”

I frown. “No, but I’m sure you did. And you don’t have to call me that.”

“But it is fitting for your station,” he counters. “Is there another name you would prefer to be addressed by?”

“Something else.”

Barbatos nods. “ Brujita .”

“That’s -- that isn’t something you would use to address someone like me,” I say a little too quickly, a slight heat creeping up my cheeks. “How do you even remember that?”

“You act as if the years mean anything to an immortal being,” he observes, a vulpine smile beginning to play at his otherwise stoic expression. His mask slips only slightly. “Is there any particular reason I should not remember?”

I sigh, an answer forming on my lips -- but he turns before I can speak, heading in the direction of one of the corridors. I cast a glance over my to-be unattended things in the middle of the entrance hall, unsure what to do with them. Or myself, for that matter. The expectations of my exchange year likely don’t apply here now, especially not under such different circumstances. But he gives me a sidelong glance after his shoulder after a moment, as if he had expected me to follow without invitation.

If you don’t want to be left behind, I would suggest you quicken your pace.”

* * *

The castle, like most of its residents, is an entity that exists without the tarnish of time. Despite my utter confusion while traversing its halls, it is obvious that the castle has seen little, if any, change since my last visit. The stained glass windows stand tall and proud still, bearing the images of demonic rulers and great beasts. The same ornaments and anomalous art pieces hang on the walls of the corridors, looking down upon passerby. Uniformed servants run to and fro in the castle, bearing bedding, brooms, and other various cleaning supplies, and the labyrinthine garden lies before the massive windows, each section of the garden bearing its own style of flora and sculptures.

And then there is the unchanging, nearly inscrutable demon walking just a few paces in front of me. His words mask my labored breathing as we continue along the corridor, and my pride thanks him over the beats of my pulsing, weak heart.

It is a kind gesture, truly.

My eye catches on a strange figure out of the corner of my eye, and I find my body instinctively turning in its direction. Pausing. Barbatos stops when he hears my footfalls cease, regarding me over his shoulder, and then he is following my line of sight. He comes to stand beside me after a moment.

“Are you fatigued?” he asks, studying me. His eyes linger on the hand that I have pressed to my heart -- a bad habit of mine -- and I quickly lower the hand to my side. “I can let Lord Diavolo know of your exhaustion, if need be. There is little need to expedite the meeting.”

I shake my head. “Not yet,” I say, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I can go for a little longer.”

He is silent for a moment, perhaps considering refuting my words, but it is his position that obstructs his decision. “As you wish, then.”

“When was this put in?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation. My eyes regard the statue before me, its image shrouded in a strange semblance of familiarity. Yet I can’t quite remember when or where I had seen the statue. “Did a human sculptor make this?”

“Not very long ago,” he responds. “I commissioned it from an artist in the Devildom.”

“I didn’t take you as the artistic type.”

The statue depicts a serpent coiling around the body of a nude woman, segments of its body wrapping around her torso and neck. She bears an apple in her hands, her mouth poised to bite into the fruit, but the serpent’s tail around her eyes seems to prevent her from doing so. Blinding her. While one would take it as a violent figure at first glance -- especially considering the serpent’s fangs lodged in her neck -- the posture of the woman seems to indicate otherwise. She does not appear to struggle against the serpent’s coils, nor does she seem to be particularly perturbed about being restricted from consuming the fruit.

It is an oddly poetic piece.

“You would be correct.” Barbatos looks upon the statue with severe distaste, as if mulling over some unpleasant thought. I try to consider the piece in his eyes, my eyes lingering on different parts of the statue, but I am unable to identify the source of his disapproval. “It was a complete waste of time and money.”

My gaze flickers to his, inquiring. “Was it? It looks pretty well made.”

“Which is precisely why it was a waste.” Barbatos turns in the direction of the end of the corridor. A silent indication. “Lord Diavolo has instructed me to occupy your time until your meeting,” he says, studying me with a clinical eye. “If you require refreshments or rest, I would suggest you make your needs known now. I would prefer not to have any of our representatives collapse before tonight’s summit.”

I feel a pang of embarrassment under his scrutiny, the intensity of his gaze much stronger than before. “Am I allowed to refuse?”

“I would suggest that you not.”

CHAPTER 4

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #writing #fanfic #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x oc #obey me oc

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baldwin-montclair · 5 years ago

Text

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 12)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: After a tense exchange in their rooms, Baldwin and Alisha join the festivities. However, residual animosity and unanswered questions try the couple’s bond.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @sylverdeclermont

The Story So Far

“I would like to say a few words.” Gallowglass stood up from the table, wine goblet in hand.

“Only a few?” Baldwin muttered in sarcastic disbelief.

The dinner had been way more courses than required for a gathered group consisting of just less than half not actually partaking in much more than nuts, extremely rare cuts of veal and red wine.

“I for one would love to hear what you have to say Gallowglass!” Alisha smiled sweetly, and pointedly at Baldwin.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Marcus warned, “or else he might never shut up.”

“Listen to this one, as if he couldn’t talk the back legs off a horse!” Sarah ribbed Marcus with obvious affection.

Nathaniel chuckled as he bounced little Margaret against his shoulder.

“Gallowglass, ignore him, please continue.” Alisha encouraged.

“Thank you Auntie.” He raised the goblet towards her in gratitude as Marcus put a hand over his heart in mock offence.

“Yes, please, by all means, get on with it!” Baldwin scowled but there was no malice in it, he even seemed to be enjoying his role as grinch of the festivities.

Alisha put her hand over his and he glanced across at her before kissing the back of her hand.

“Not only is she very sweet and obviously patient but she has somehow managed to make our uncle smile for what has to be the first time in at least a few hundred years.”

“Listen, it’s definitely a first for me.” Marcus offered.

“You both exaggerate.” Baldwin chided.

“I’m not sure they do.” Ysabeau agreed, making Sarah laugh.

“That can’t be true,” Sophie disagreed and received a grateful nod from Baldwin, “he seems so nice!”

Alisha cleared her throat, trying not to show her obvious amusement at the look of abject horror on her husband’s face at being called ‘nice’.

“My apologies,” Gallowglass acknowledged Sophie, “I do exaggerate, Baldwin really is, so very...nice.” He struggled to get the word out without falling into a heap of laughter.

“I will ground you!” Alisha threatened and Gallowglass raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, making a gesture of crossing his heart, “all else said, I’m happy for the both of you.”

“We must plan the wedding,” Ysabeau lifted her glass, “formalise the private engagement.”

“We are not engaged, Ysabeau. Alisha is my mate and she is my wife. As head of the family I have the authority to, as you say, formalise the union.”

“Do you really think you would be permitted a private ceremony? Your father was very clear on procedure!”

“Ysabeau, you seem to be under the illusion that my word and my authority with regards to our marriage is not sufficient.” Baldwin answered but Alisha got the impression it was not directed at Ysabeau as much as it was a reminder of his position as the head of the family.

“I hold no such opinion, Baldwin, I am merely a conduit for the will of your father.”

“After his death I asked you if he left me any instruction so you either lied then or you are lying now.”

“I did not lie, he left you no such instruction.”

“If it’s your father’s wishes...” Alisha reasoned, trying to diffuse the tension when she noted Marcus’ wide eyes as he shook his head for her benefit only.

He was trying to warn her against getting in the middle and she gratefully took his advice and remained silent.

“See, at least the girl has some sense of propriety.” Ysabeau needled.

“I do not know how to be any clearer,” Baldwin’s voice was both quiet and commanding, “our union is lawful and valid.”

“Lawful and valid? Am I to understand it has also been consummated?”

“Grandmother!” Marcus exclaimed.

“It has.”

Alisha stared at him in shock and pulled her hand back.

“Excuse me.” She stood, departing the table and the ensuing staring contest.

Overestimating her sense of direction, she got lost on her way back to the tower, finding herself instead in a hallway with a long tapestry adorning the walls.

Sure he’d be right after her, she waited, nothing.

A few moments later, still no Baldwin.

His battle of wills with Ysabeau was clearly at a standstill.

It was probably for the best, she was so angry she’d probably curse him out in such a way that the castle had not heard in its long life. He had no right to share their intimate affairs in front of everyone like that and as though it was nothing, not just nothing but he’d used it as a missile against his step-mother, caring nothing for her feelings on the matter.

Asshole

Were they even really married, she wondered, her eyes drawn to the party atmosphere depicted on a particularly vibrant tapestry. It captured the jovial atmosphere the dinner had been until the matter of a wedding came up.

Her decision had been made, she wanted to be with him and even if she didn’t particularly like him at that moment, she knew that she loved him. She wasn’t so much regretting her decision as she was understanding the full scope of it.

“You should go back,” Marthe joined her, “just don’t expect him to apologise.”

“Marthe.” Alisha greeted, she had met the vampire when she fetched her and Baldwin for dinner.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, just know that I am not be best placed to advise you on how to manage your husband.”

“I’m not sure he even is my husband.”

“Ysabeau’s push for a public ceremony is to satisfy your tenants, that’s all. Those people whose ancestors have guarded and protected us for hundreds of years. The wedding is a formality, as a vampire it is plain as day that you are both mated.”

Alisha nodded, wanting to think about anything other than the argument happening upstairs.

“You have such a beautiful tapestries in this place.” She complimented.

“Philippe had this one moved down here, he didn’t like to look at it.”

“What’s it supposed to depict?”

“A peace treaty. Philippe agreed to back Henry of Navarre’s claim to the throne and the Pope’s representative, the venetian doge, had the tapestry created to memorialise the occasion.“

“Did something happen during this, whatever, looks like a party.”

“I wasn’t there. Ysabeau did not support Henry’s claim, we departed whilst the negotiations took place.”

“So you don’t know why Baldwin’s father hid it down here?”

“You should ask Baldwin, he was in attendance.”

“Ask me what?” His voice, layered with impatience reached them before he did.

“We were talking about this-“ Alisha started.

“Marthe, could you give us some privacy?” Baldwin cut her off.

Marthe simply gave a vague shrug and left them.

“That was unnecessary,” Alisha hissed, “she was being friendly.” She turned to leave when Baldwin caught her arm.

“Are you upset about Ysabeau’s wedding talk?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“No, Baldwin, I’m upset because you decided to one-up your step-mother by telling everyone about our sex life.”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages, do you believe anyone at that table did not suspect we had been together in that sense? I did not exactly go into detail and I do not believe that is the reason you are upset.”

“Oh, really, it isn’t?”

“Honestly? You’ve been distant all evening and as angry as you were by my confirmation, I believe it was simply the last straw in whatever great offence I have unknowingly committed.”

“You can’t even imagine what you did, can you?”

Baldwin shook his head before what seemed like a realisation sunk in.

“Gods, Alisha, you know what I am, if it’s the hunting that bothers you-“

“What the fuck kind of Pollyanna do you think I am? I know you need to hunt, that’s not it.”

“Then tell me!”

“Just forget it.”

“Alisha, do not make me repeat myself.”

“Or else, what?” She challenged.

“Excuse me?” Baldwin still had a grip on her arm and drew her closer to him, his expression darkening.

“Don’t make you repeat yourself, don’t ever lie to you. Maybe you need to be clear and actually tell me what you will do to me if I break your rules.” He released her arm and stepped back, processing her words.

“Do to you?”

“See, I kinda thought it was so very sexy in the beginning, you telling me to do something in that stern way you do.”

“Alisha, listen to me-“

“Tonight was the first time I was genuinely afraid of you, did you know that?“ She asked quietly, if he had been anything other than a vampire he would not have heard.

He didn’t say anything but his expression told her the answer.

“You’re the vampire, you can’t sense fear?”

“Witches blood,” he answered curtly, “it drowns everything else out.”

He turned away, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to compose himself.

When he turned back, his expression was cold as stone.

“You are missed at the gathering upstairs, you should return.”

“Aren’t you coming-“ she stepped towards him.

“No, I have matters to attend.” He said simply and left and she started after him.

Ysabeau stepped into her path.

“Let him go. There are matters of our own to discuss.”

Alisha looked around the small study, then to Ysabeau seated at the other end of the large desk. An small, ornate chest sat on the table between them.

“I have to talk to him, I can’t leave it like that.”

“You will, but first I must honour my own husband’s wishes and impart your inheritance.”

“My what?”

“Philippe came to understand the unlikelihood of a potential mate of Baldwin, or Marcus, Gallowglass arriving with a dowry. So, he provided one. Open the chest.”

Alisha stood, unsure, but lifted the lid on the container. Inside were various deeds and stock certificates as well as a small velvet box.

Inside was filled with precious stones, almost every colour.

“This’ insane. Do you know how much wealth is in this box?” Alisha closed it over.

“A fraction of what your husband has in his various holdings but that is his domain after all.”

“Does he know about this?” She asked Ysabeau.

“No, I believe he’ll be surprised to see these properties resurface. He probably believes them lost in a careless bet at Versailles.”

“But-“

“You are a De Clermont now, you have to stop viewing all of this as an undeserved windfall and see it for the privilege and responsibility that it is.”

“I hate to break it to you but I’m already struggling in my first responsibility, obedience.” Alisha confessed, retaking her seat across from the vampire.

“It will take some time to adjust.”

“Baldwin’s father demanded the same of you?”

“I was his mate, part of a family he commanded. Vampires do not stop resenting one another when they are forced together and if the leader is not strong the family will tear itself apart. Many dynasties suffered that fate over the centuries. I had to submit to his will just as you have to submit to Baldwin’s.”

“Every command comes with a threat though, right?”

“If it is genuine. If not then it is worthless. Your husband does not make idle threats and he keeps his house in order.“

“So, just do as I’m told?”

“Marcus told me you were bitten?” Ysabeau countered, diverting the subject.

“A vampire called Guillermo,” Alisha sighed, “Baldwin showed up before he could kill me, he saved me.”

“But you were marked.”

“Baldwin used his own blood, he said that got rid of the scent.”

“And it has, I would not have known had Marcus not told me.”

“Do you think it bothers Baldwin?”

“Of course, he probably doesn’t even realise it. Does he get oddly possessive when you are around other creatures?”

“Like Witches?”

“Something happened.” It was not a question.

Alisha wanted help but she was unsure of the propriety of sharing this with her when she had taken him to task earlier for a similar offence.

“Whatever you tell me stays private, you have my word.”

“Okay. After Baldwin returned from hunting, Em was introducing herself-”

“Wait, Baldwin returned from his hunt and there was a witch in his tower?”

“Is that bad?”

“One of few things I admire in my step-son is his self control, if anything he’s gained more respect from me in that regard! Mix a witch and a new mate bond with a recently bitten warmblood and I’m astounded everyone is still alive.”

“So, this is because of what Guillermo did?”

“In a sense. Vampires have a need to protect their mate and whilst he knows you are safe here, he cannot sense you. It’s a war between the rational and the instinctual.”

“I could go hunting with him.”

“He would never allow that.”

Alisha nodded, she’s expected as much herself.

“Sense me how?”

“Your scent.”

“So he wouldn’t have to see me? If my scent was there but I was not-“

“It could pacify the instinct until you were reunited.” Ysabeau agreed, “it could work.”

“Let’s hope.”

Margaret was enamoured by the bow of the red silk ribbon now tied around Alisha’s wrist, watching as the movement of the bow on the violin made it shine in the light.

She was seated on her father’s lap as Gallowglass and Marcus led Sophie, Sarah and Em in a traditional dance.

Ysabeau watched from her chair, clapping the beat.

Alisha was both playing and following the boys’ instruction, picking the movements up with seemingly no effort.

“Wow, you got the hang of that fast Auntie!” Marcus complimented.

“Who needs a step class when I have you two?”

“Well, I can’t get the hang of this part!” Sarah laughed, trying to synchronise her movements with that of Em beside her.

At the close of the song, Alisha performed a courtly bow in Ysabeau’s direction as the Mistress of Ceremony.

“You would have been a natural at court,” Ysabeau complimented, “and poor Baldwin would have been beside himself when you’d caught the king’s attention.”

“Which one?” Marcus chuckled.

“All of them,” Gallowglass replied, “we would have been constantly at war when our dear Uncle killed every noble who looked at you!”

“Thank...you...?” She hesitated, not sure if it was flattery.

“No. Thank you! I haven’t had a good dance like that in a long time.”

“Just don’t sing, for the love of god!” Marcus pleaded with him.

“Hush,” Ysabeau reprimanded, “Gallowglass you have a beautiful singing voice.”

Gallowglass childishly stuck his tongue out at his cousin who simply rolled his eyes and offered Alisha a glass of scotch.

“Yes please.” She gratefully placed her violin in the case and took the glass from Marcus.

Sarah’s eyes travelled over the instrument with interest.

“Is this a family heirloom?”

“God no, my parents got this for me when I was ten, it goes everywhere with me.”

“I know it’s priceless to you but would you mind if I had a closer look?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” She placed the glass on the table and lifted the violin from the well worn case, placing it in Sarah’s hands.

The witch turned it over displaying the strange knot design on the underside.

“This wasn’t engraved, it’s actually the grain of the wood.” Sarah said with wonder.

“How’s that possible?” Marcus looked at the instrument with interest.

“I don’t know,” she answered absently, “do you know where your parents got this?”

“Some second hand store,” she shrugged, “they didn’t have much money.”

“But they clearly loved you to give you such a unique gift.” Em said pointedly to Sarah and the other nodded in agreement.

“It’s a beautiful piece, they were lucky to have found it.” She handed Alisha back the violin.

“Thank you.” Alisha was unconvinced by their attempt to explain away the marking.

They knew something that they did not want the others to discover and she would have to be patient to find out what that was.

Alisha started the climb to Baldwin’s tower, the mystery around the markings on the back of her violin still nagging at her mind.

Gallowglass had offered to carry it up for her but she politely declined given Baldwin’s unease about having other creatures in the tower at the same time as her.

She didn’t wish to be the reason for a fight between the men.

Guillermo’s attack on her clearly had a much more destructive impact on Baldwin than she’d realised. Agreeing to become his mate took the edge off this somewhat but he was struggling.

It was a new situation for them both.

Ysabeau was right, they both had to adjust and she hoped that the silk ribbon idea would work.

Opening the door she found him seated at his desk, a glass of red wine beside two open laptops.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet, you’re clearly busy.” She promised, placing the violin case on a nearby chair and kicking off her ballet pumps.

“Too busy to spend time with my wife?” He teased, closing the screens and pushing them to the side to give him space to lean his elbows on the desk.

She was already resolved to give him a pass for his behaviour.

His determined stare, coupled with the rolled up shirt sleeves and lack of a tie was just overkill.

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t have missed your nephews teach us how to party like it was 1699.”

“Your nephews,” he corrected, “what is that?” He nodded in confusion at the ribbon.

“It’s an idea I’m testing, a way to be with you when I’m not there.”

“I don’t follow.”

“My scent, it transfers to the ribbon and when we are apart, you take it with you.”

“Like a Knight’s Favour?”

“In that case, brave knight, I will give you the honour of wearing my favour in the tourney.”

“And in battle.”

“I’m glad I met you in this time. I’m not cut out to be pinning at the window of a tower awaiting my husband’s return from war. Getting to see you in full armour on a horse would be some consolation I suppose.”

“Can you ride?”

“Baldwin, I have never been within touching distance of a horse.”

“I will instruct you.”

“Marthe insists I learn how to sew if I am to make proper favours.” She walked around the desk to stand between it and his chair.

“Then I’m glad you’ll be kept busy,” he took her hand in his, “the Congregation has been called. I must attend.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“No sweetheart. You are under the protection of the Knights of Lazarus, this is your sanctuary and I will only be a few days.”

“You almost started a vampire vs witch war in this very room after only being apart for an hour. What will it be like after several days?”

“Fortunately for me,” he wrapped his fingers around the ribbon on her wrist, “you had an idea.”

“I’ve only had it on for just over two hours and there’s no telling it will even work-“

He stood and silenced her doubts with a kiss.

“It will, and I can help.”

“How?”

“Your scent becomes stronger when you are in a heightened state.”

“What, like pain?”

“I was thinking just the opposite and by my calculations, I have enough time to put you in that state at least twice.” He explained, effortlessly lifting her to sit on the desk with his hands on her waist.

The first was easily won as she gripped the edge of the desk, her legs over his shoulders as he demonstrated just how adept he truly was with his tongue.

Her second arrived with his own, in the more intimate setting of their bed, in his arms and between tender kisses and whispered declarations of affection.

“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.” Baldwin sat on the edge of the bed.

“How long have I been asleep?” She asked groggily.

“Not long.”

She noted the bags by the door and her now clothed husband dressed for departure, the realisation hitting like a sucker punch, he was leaving.

“I’ll come see you off.” She moved to get up but instead encountered his hands on her shoulders.

“You will not, it is freezing out there,” he tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb, “I will see you again soon.”

“Don’t forget this.” She moved to untie the ribbon.

“Let me.”

She nodded and watched as he slowly pulled apart the bow and unravelled the material from her skin.

“If Marthe has her way I’ll have a much fancier one for your return.” She joked, trying not to think about how much she was going to miss him.

“I’ll look forward to it, and I’ve been thinking,” he sighed, “perhaps we should humour Ysabeau’s request, for the sake of peace.” He suggested, winding the ribbon around his fingers and placing it safely in the inside pocket of his jacket.

The unspoken reason she read loud and clear was his reluctance to act against his father’s wishes.

“I agree.”

“Then it’s decided.” He nodded in finality.

“Come back, as soon as you can.” She placed a hand on his chest and he responded by covering it with his own.

“I promise you that I won’t stay away a second longer than I have to.” He assured and leant forward to place a final kiss on her lips before standing to leave.

“I love you, very much. I hope you know that.” She called after him.

“And I love you, Little Nightingale.”

———

PART 13

#baldwin montclair #baldwin de clermont #a discovery of witches #adow #baldwin’s nightingale #baldwin imagine #adow fic #adow baldwin fic

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browneowl · 4 years ago

Text

Jewel/Gemstone Tarot Card Short Story

Ruby

Love - Passion - Protection

3445 words

Warning: Violence, injuries, mentions of blood.

The heavy wooden door shut with a deep clunk, she sighed, exhaustedly leaning her head and back against the thick walnut, lingering for a few moments. She gently pushed herself off the door, and supported her back with the soft palms of her hands as she waddled over to the balcony. The delicate fabric of her crimson skirts swayed back and forth in time with her steps, she grabbed a blanket that had been carefully folded and placed on the large burgundy couch seated in front of the roaring fire, no doubt prepared by one of the maids moments before Rubal had arrived. As tempting as the dancing flames were, she much preferred to sit on the balcony at twilight, and watch as the night sky began to twinkle. She gently slid open one of the glass doors, and stepped out into the air, a mild late autumn chill softly nipping at her cheeks as she shifted over to the smaller couch that was always seated in the roofed balcony, and eased herself down onto the welcoming cushions, wrapping the soft wool blanket around her her belly and legs. She lingered there, savouring the silence, before something caught her attention, without even needing to look behind her, and with a wide smile, she spoke to him,

“We’ve been married for years, and you still think that I don’t notice when you’re watching me from the shadows.”

“I still thought it was worth the attempt,” he admitted, stepping through the stone archway, the remaining light of dusk illuminating his deep skin, “I couldn’t dare to disturb you when you’re so peaceful,” he sauntered towards the back of the couch leaning his elbows on the back, “I know these past weeks haven’t been easy”

“I greatly appreciate that, “ she thanked him, reaching a hand up to bring him down for a brief kiss, “But things haven’t been easy for you either,” she pointed out, using her finger to graze along his still grazed cheek as their lips parted, his own hand pressed against against her pale one.

“Aye, what else do you expect in such times?” he answered, “But you two are my main priority, and I will endure the most torturous pains that this world has to offer to keep you both safe,” that was something he had confessed on many occasions before, and probably would never stop saying until the moment that life drifted from his body.

“I think we would prefer if you abstained from getting into such situations,” her brows furrowed, looking intently into his eyes, her heart collapsing at the thought of even the slightest harm coming to him.

“I’ll make sure to avoid them,” he gave her another little peck, “I’ve disturbed your peace for long enough, would you prefer that I go? If you still desire to be alone, I will happily oblige, ” he offered sincerely.

“No, I’m happy that you're here, will you please sit with me?” she gave him a sweet genuine smile and involuntary puppy dog eyes, though she was already aware that he wouldn’t say no.

He practically leaped around the couch, and plopped down onto the soft cushions by her side. They both quickly scooched towards each other and Rubal nestled herself snugly into his side, throwing half of the blanket over him as he wrapped his arm around her. Nivonin placed a tender kiss to her head with a smile as they both sighed contently. The stress of the current war floating away as they drifted off together into a peaceful slumber.

Their sleep was short-lived. Rubal was nudged barely awake by their child kicking, an uncommon occurrence, but what dragged her out of her sleepy state was the deep rings echoing throughout the city. Nivonin threw his head up from the cushions behind him as he also began to hear them. Rubal turned to him, “The warning bells?”

They sat up and moved to the balcony, their gazes shifting frantically to see the threat. The door burst open behind them, they turned to see Nivonin’s servant, Camon, and Rubal’s maid, Lyna, rush into the room, giving abrupt bows before awaiting their instructions.

“Are we under attack?” Nivonin demanded from the two,

“Yes sir, they somehow sneaked through our lands, we were sent up here,” Lyna responded. The couple looked to each other before hurrying into their chambers,

“You both know the routine, help us with our armour please,” Rubal ordered, and the four had no hesitation in beginning preparations.

They all rushed into the adjacent bedroom, and the young servants wasted no time in carefully grabbing the steel armour from the racks. Lyna gently slid the metal, personalised for Rubal’s current body state, around the mage’s torso, careful not to buckle the rough leather of the straps too tightly, “is this comfortable my lady?”

“Perfect, thank you Lyna,” Rubal gave her a motherly smile as Lyna continued to place her vambraces on her forearms and tighten them. Lastly the maid went and grabbed a flowing royal red cape from the mannequin, and gently placed it around the lady, hooking the beautiful gold clasp, inlaid with a large ruby, “thank you my dear, now go, be with your family, and do not leave your home, alright?”

“Yes, my lady,” the girl went to turn away, but quickly turned to give Rubal a tight hug. Rubal returned it, coiling her arms around her servant of many years. Ninonin smiled as he looked over at the heartwarming sight, feeling adoration swell in his heart, along with an ache of worry in his stomach. The two reluctantly ended the hug,

“Now go, and please be safe,” she hesitantly pushed Lyna by the shoulders, urging her to hurry.

“And you my lady,” Lyna gave a small bow before turning and taking off out of the room. Rubal felt a sudden movement in her belly, and she moved to cradle the prominent, yet still growing bump.

The metal of her armour was cold against her hand, “Everything will be alright sweetheart,” Rubal cooed to her swollen belly, gliding her thumb over the rounded steel. Her attention was caught by her husband as he stood up from having his own armour put on by his servant. The warm candle light showing every detail of his fine armour, the sparse and delicate swirls that had been engraved and curves hammered in to fit his body.

“Thank you Camon, now go and may you and your family remain safe,” he said to the young man.

“Are you sure that there is no more that I can do for you sir?” Camon asked,

“No, now go, you don’t have much time,” Nivonin reassured him, the boy gave a small bow and then rushed out of their chambers, the echoes of his footsteps just barely audible over the guards and other castle staff rushing throughout the halls. He swiftly walked over to shut the door, and then glided over to Rubal, their arms tightly wrapping around each other as if on instinct, giving a gentle kiss to her temple before nesting into the crook of her neck.

“Are you sure you want to fight this? No one can blame you for wanting to stay away from this battle,” he asked her, lifting his head to look into her mahogany eyes.

“I swore an oath to protect our people, remember?” she answered.

“I’m pretty certain it has exceptions for when the individual is with child,” he retorted.

“This will be one of the largest and probably one of the most devastating battles either of us will face in our lifetime, if we lose this battle, the city, the three of us may not survive past the dawn, every warrior will make a difference,” she told him, “I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

He cradled her face with one hand, and her belly with the other, “I know, and I know that nothing will change your mind, I am beyond proud and envious of the bravery you wield, I’m just worried.”

“As am I,” she said, her own hands moving to gracefully wrap around his gloved ones, and press them closer into her. The two pressed their foreheads together, savouring this moment before the two would have to part, the room was silent, apart from the ominous warning bells ringing throughout the city.

With a heavy heart, she broke the silence, “We need to go, the others are probably waiting for us.” He sighed in acknowledgment,

“You are right, we don’t have a lot of time, may I escort you down to the courtyard, I can’t bring myself to leave you just yet”.

“Of course you can,” she answered. They leaned into each other, and gave each other a deep and tender kiss. They parted, the two barely audible as they spoke, “I love you,”

“I love you too,” they ended their embrace and they left their chambers, holding each other's hand tightly.

Their footsteps were only few among many as guards and staff hurried throughout the citadel as they made their way to the courtyard, a large space decorated with elegant banners, a small crystal pond and a flourishing array of flowers and emerald bushes, an oak tree standing guard over all of the little plants.

Diamod, a fellow mage, was waiting for her by the pond, his oak staff at his back, they noticed him and they stopped at the bottom of the palace steps, “I guess this is where we part, for now….hopefully” Nivonin cut in, he too had somewhere to be, Rubal turned from Diamod, and the two held each other in one last time, and Nivonin noticed the light emitting from his armour, he didn’t say anything, she always did that.

“I love you”,

I love you too”, the final words they spoke to each other before they leaned away from one another for a split second before passionately kissing the other’s lips. After gazing into his wife’s eyes, Nivonin reluctantly stepped away from her and made his way to join the generals and the king, towards the battlefield. Rubal watched as he left, before focusing her attention on her friend, “Diamod!”

“Rubal, there you are, it’s not exactly the good evening we wished each other a couple of hours ago is it?” They greeted each other with a swift head bow.

“Isn’t it just splendid? Is everything ready?”

“Yes, mostly, we didn’t really have any forewarning, as you know,” he responded.

“Then we better make our way to our positions,” they gave a small smile to each other before they marched up onto the stone battlements, overlooking the large army of creatures approaching the city.

“Do we know their numbers?” her eyes widened at her first look upon the enemy, she wasn’t expecting the endless sea of possessed beings before her.

“I’m not certain, but I think I heard someone say about three thousand,” her jaw dropped slightly, “we were fortunate for the scouting party that caught them and sent word back”.

She nodded in agreement, “Alright, I think we can work with this.”

They stood, armed for the first move to be played, they could see the king standing out with their soldiers, preparing to charge. She couldn’t resist her eyes wandering to the silver formations of troops, knowing that Nivonin was down there. Her eyes focused again on the army before them, the giant rough silhouettes of boulders catching her attention as huge monstrosities hurled them at the city’s walls.

One hand still placed firmly upon her stomach, the other raised at eye level, beautiful strings of red light emitted from her skin, the gentle light bouncing off of her soft features. As the first boulders approached the city, she furiously flicked her hand to send a glowing arrow towards them, hitting her targets, causing them to explode into little chunky pebbles. And thus the first piece had been moved.

The battle went on for hours, she was now fighting against the enemies that had made it onto the walls, knocking down their ladders, and destroying those scaling the stone using nothing but sharp claws and pure strength. Occasionally she had to take care of one of the giant monsters when they drew close enough, using her powers to restrain their legs to the ground, so that either she could strike the killing blow, or to allow someone else the chance.

The troops on the battlefield were holding off most of the hoard, but there were creatures who breached them. From her position, she couldn’t do much against those who had made it through the city's barriers, but she tried to wipe out as many of them as she could before they entered through the burnt and mauled gates, or the huge gaps that had been broken into the walls.

The sweat beaded across her forehead as she elegantly waved her hands, luminescent ribbons flashing from her fingertips, which she used to ferociously whip, slice, stab, and strangle her opponents, even making them explode if she needed to.

Rubal and Diamod never left each other’s side, fighting to protect the other, as well as themselves. The jewel in his staff flashing with white light as he created barriers to hold back the foes charging at her, and her ribbons of energy shooting, as if through water into the heads of enemies that he couldn’t get to before they got too close.

The pure light of the stars had long died out by the time the battle ended, and the eastern corner of the sky was shifting colours. The grey stone was splattered with blood and entrails. Rubal slit the throat of her final opponent. She looked around to see the battlements littered with bodies, she leaned against the stone, she was done, her physical, and magical strength, drained. Her face was red from smeared makeup and blood, both her own, and the enemy’s. Her obsidian locks drenched with sweat. She could see that Diamod was just as exhausted, panting,

“Are you two okay?” she nodded in response, her baby kicking as she did.

“I think so, you?” was all she could muster.

“I feel just wonderful,” he smiled at her for a second, not able to hold it for long, as did Rubal. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she realised her next objective: find Nivonin.

“I need to go find Nivonin,” she pushed off of the wall and turned to go find him.

“I’ll come with you, I want to get you to the healers, and I need to find Trenik,” he placed a hand at her back.

They hurried down the steps into the streets, and ran as quickly as they could to the main gate.

“We should head for the citadel, they’ll be taking the wounded there, and we can both be seen as well,” Rubal walked as fast as she could to keep up with Diamod through the streets, looking for the large halls and tents that were being used to treat the wounded, it wasn’t hard to find, they had the wailes and screams of the injured guiding them. It wasn’t long before they had entered the healers domain, everything had been prepared from the moment the warning bells rang, tables had been laid out, and medical equipment was currently being strewn about as the healers fought to save the injured warriors. They stayed to the side, not wanting to get in the way, they both knew that they were too weak to help, but there were a couple of mages running around, helping with the more serious injuries, keeping soldiers alive even just long enough for them to receive the treatment they needed.

Diamod’s spring green eyes fleeted around the room, looking for a free chair to grab, he found one, and quickly brought it over, carefully setting it down for Rubal,

“Here, sit down,” he gave the seat a light pat, “and don’t argue”, he knew that she would retaliate, but she listened and with a groan of relief, set herself down, leaning back against the cold wood, cradling her belly. They both stayed there, watching, searching. Rubal could see the waves of injured soldiers being carried in, some leaning on the shoulders of their brothers and sisters in arms, many on stretchers. She tried desperately to sense the enchantment she had placed on her beloved’s armour, but she was too weak, a drop of blood trickled from her nose, she raised her already crimson stained hand to wipe it away.

“Do you see them? Sense them?” she inquired, not daring to tear her eyes away from the carnage before her.

“I can’t….” his voice cracked a little, “wait here, I’ll see if anyone knows anything.”. Rubal nodded in response, her eyes followed him as he scurried off to search for answers.

She couldn’t dare to count the minutes that past, her heart would only hurt more with every second. The baby started to get impatient, squirming a little, and she could feel it. Her eyes looked tenderly to her stomach, the blurred reflection of the light seemingly dancing along the metal along with the baby. She reached around and gingerly undid the buckled of the armour, releasing it from her abdomen, it landed on the floor with a clatter, and as soon as it fell away from her body, her scratched hands rubbed along the soft fabric,

“Everything is alright, we’re just waiting for papa,” her voice strained,

“Rubal!,” a familiar deep voice came to her ears, her teary eyes shot up to see Nivonin, limping towards her, his face bruised, his skin and raven hair equally sweaty, he was clearly injured, but he was in one piece, he was alive.

“Nivonin!” she reached out to hold him as he kneeled in front of her and threw himself into her embrace, their aching arms coiling around the other, “you’re alive! I’ve never been more thankful for something in my life” a sob broke from her throat.

“Are you both okay? You’re not hurt are you?” he pressed his head into her neck.

“No, we’re both alright, I think, this little one got quite impatient waiting for you,” she leaned back to look at his face and draw his gaze to her belly.

“I’m sorry to have kept you both waiting” he leaned down and softly kissed where his child was currently curled up inside their mother’s womb, and then grabbed his love’s face and frantically littered her face his kisses, warm tears streaming down both of their faces,

“Can I have a turn?” she mumbled between sobs,

“I’m sorry, what?” he paused to ask the question but that was time enough for her to lightly grab his cheeks and do the same to his face in return, whatever lipstick still remaining on her lips transferring more colour onto his soft but beaten skin. She then brought his lips to hers, they didn’t care who was around them, and no one could blame them. The kiss only got deeper, as they poured more and more emotion onto that kiss with every passing second. Their post battle ritual never really changed, but the feelings they felt for one another always grew and thrived to become more secure, more intense than the times previous. Their lips reluctantly parted and they pulled their bodies together. Their muscles ached, they were scratched and bruised, but they felt warm, safe, happy, and beyond grateful.

Rubal opened her eyes briefly to see Diamod with Trenik, they too were embracing at the other side of the room, both safe and happy, as they were. She smiled and shut her eyes again, tightening her grasp on her beloved. They would celebrate their people’s victory later, now, all they wanted to do was be peaceful, and savour the fact that they were still safe and together.

Rubal and Nivonin both stayed and were looked over by the healers, all three of them were in good health, and they were advised to go and rest. They had their arms round the other’s waist as they gingerly made their way to their chambers. Once there, they wasted no time throwing off any excess armour and their shoes, Nivonin never failing to help her take off her boots with her quickly growing belly making it increasingly awkward for her. The fire was surprisingly still going, and the room was warm. Nivonin set his crutch down, leaning it against the night stand as they swiftly curled up under the soft sheets and furs. As a new sun was beginning to shine on the city, they were able to drift off and sleep peacefully in each other’s arms.

#fantasy #short story #tarot card #ruby #writing #fantasy art #art #gemstone #jewel #romance #love #magic #tarot

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 7 liveblog

“Time to Make… My Move”

Life got busy for a while and then I forgot to watch and then I remembered the game existed and I bought it and I played it and got to the point in the plot where I left off and realized crap I’d better get the plot from the show not the game, the game hasn’t been stellar with story.

So here we are!

Just a stream of thoughts.

And we start with vomiting Hup. Okay then. Good place to pick up.

Rian: “How could so much come out of one little podling?”

“The most beautiful desert flowers are always the most dangerous” This Dousan guy is a flirt!

Hup: -vomits-

Hah.

I like this desert with its random crystal spikes. Its very cool. Its got a lot of lightning which hits the sand and turns it into glass I guess.

The Circle of the Suns.

Uh oh lightning sandstorm

Lore: ‘i’m getting outta here!’ grabs brea and tries to climb up the mountain.

Brea: ‘don’t split the party my dude’

The CGI of Lore climbing the mountain looks a little stop motiony which makes me feel better about it being CGI.

Rian: “Well that was exciting” the anti-Jen.

I think Jen would have curled into an overstimulation ball by this point.

Heretic: “GELFLING”

Me: “SKEKSIS!”

Heretic: “WELCOME”

Heretic: “ITS WONDERFUL TO SEE YOU! LOOK UPON MY WONDER”

I like him

Hey, Heretic is Lore’s dad. Nice.

RIan: “You’re a Skeksis”

HERETIC: “I’M A WHAT??!?? THAT WAS A JEST! I’M A FUN SKEKSIS!”

I like him!

Heretic: “COME INSIDE AND BRING YOUR PODLING SLAVE”

Deet: “He’s not our slave, he’s our friend!”

Heretic: “????? EVEN BETTER”

He used to be the Conqueror and I could see it.

Heretic: “WELCOME TO THE CIRCLE OF THE SUUUN” -maniacally laughs for like a minute-

Rian: “Are you alone here?”

Heretic: “YES I AM ALONE so very alone BUT I’M ALSO WITH MYSELF”

Oh hey an UrRu

I think this is the first time any Gelfling has met an UrRu and they apparently they thought they were just legend.

Heretic losing his shit as UrGoh slowly walks over and slowly introduces himself.

UrGoh is apparently the Yakov Smirnov of Mystics.

Aw he’s shutting down Lore

Lore hugs Brea goodbye

Heretic: “HMMPH HE NEVER HUGGED ME LIKE THAT BUT WHY SHOULD HE WE ONLY GAVE HIM LIFE”

And pulls out his shiny life ball.

Hup is not having a good time here.

Heretic: “WE HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU”

Brea: “We don’t really have time for a surprise”

Heretic: “WE HAVE WAITED OVER THREE HUNDRED TRINE FOR YOU TO SHOW UP! YOU WILL BE SURPRISED!!”

So over at the castle of the crystal, apparently the Skeksis have a hotline telephone webline right to the arathim. Not sure why since they’re apparently the sworn enemy of the Skeksis

OH SWEET the arathim are like a hive mind and form a big talking face to talk to the Emperor.

THis is really cool and creepy puppetry.

Oh so the Arathim Ascendency were banished into the wild and been labelled public enemy one because they rose up against the Skeksis. So they were really just ahead of the curve.

The Emperor promises to return the arathim home cave to them if the arathim help quell the gelfling rebellion.

Deet: -almost eats some drug berries-

Rian: “Maybe don’t”

Poor Deet. I don’t think she’s had time to really adjust to the surface world before getting thrown into all kinds of misfortunes and mishaps.

Rian: “I think your nurloc rump dress is quite lovely” Aw, what a flirt!

I can see why the internet lost its shit over the Heretic and the Wanderer. They’re a delight.

Heretic is going to present THE TRUE HISTORY OF THRA

Aw poor Hup, he’s been press ganged into being an actor and Heretic has endless notes on his performance. Poor guy.

Hmm… what conquest could the Conqueror conquer if the Skeksis were seen as the rightful caretakers of Thra? What did the world look like in his prime?

Maybe the arathim maybe.

Then Thra gave urGoh and the Heretic a vision that Skeksis and UrRu should unite not divide. And the other Skeksis were like ‘gross’ and kicked him out.

They don’t mention what the Mystics said. Probably ‘lets not get ahead of ourselves.’

Heretic and Wanderer do an opera. Which is RANDOM VOCALIZING.

Emperor: “The Darkening!”

General: “Its purple”

Oh the arathim cave is infected with the Darkening so the Emperor is screwing them over. How expected.

Oh nerts the emperor thinks he can control the darkening eventually-

PUT YOUR NOSE BAACK ON SIR I DO NOT CARE FOR THIS

Emperor: “Never forget, there is absolutely nothing in this world which does not bend to my will”

If he’s messing with dark corruptive power no wonder he aged like crap and died before the other core group of Skeksis.

Oh double nerts, the Hunter is in the desert chasing down Rian.

Dousan flirt: “I’m not afraid of getting hacked to pieces by you”

His sidekick: “I AM, THEY’RE AT THE CIRCLE OF THE SUNS”

Deet is the only one who stayed awake through the whole opera. Aka the only one with TASTE

THEY’RE GOING TO DO PUPPETS

Puppets doing puppets how meta.

So they’re going over the plot reveal from the movie that the Skeksis and the UrRu used to be one. Hey they even have an UrSkek puppet.

Also that the UrSkeks are aliens.

They wooed Aughra with an orrery and then started doing experiments on the crystal. AND BROKE IT.

The worst house guests.

And then when the Skeksis started bullying the Mystics, they accidentally broke a shard off the crystal.

These are really good puppets that these puppets are puppeting.

UrGoh: “Every moment one is two is too terrible for one to bear”

Huh. Super special sword. The Dual Glaive. I guess since they can’t use the shard macguffin they need a different plot device.

Heretic: “Cast in the deepest fires of the inner sun, it carries the spirit of Thra. And when held by Gelfling holds the power to unite the seven clans and defeat the Skeksis!”

INNER SUN IS CANON

GIMME THURMA PLS

Pffft UrGoh accidentally set himself on fire the poor dear.

Rian just assumes that he’s the one who gets the plot sword. Pretty presumptive of him.

Heretic: “WE DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE THE DUAL GLAIVE”

They gave it to “the most reclusive of gelflings” where the three brothers dare not shine.

Deet: “oh hey its in my home”

Maudra Fara is planning to storm the castle. But a castle guard shows up and tells her that the castle guard were all killed by the skeksis

Fara promises to make the Skeksis pay.

Aughra: “Promises you cannot keep are no better than lies!”

Hello the all-wise buzzkill.

Fara: “No its cool after we overthrow the skeksis we’ll melt our weapons and have peace and stuff”

Aughra: “my point is that you should plot to survive you damn lemmings”

She’s not doing a good job convincing them to not try to fight because her suggestion is ‘go away and hide and a gelfling will eventually take care of things’

Also doesn’t help that she foretells that Stone-in-the-wood might fall and that just makes Fara indignant.

Oh no Tavra is getting chosen to be the ‘strong gelfling’ to be sacrificed to the arathim

She was too cool to live =(

UrGoh: “As they say……. Whats good in the gourd…… is good in the gelfling”

Heretic: “WHO SAYS THAT??”

UrGoh: “Every one”

DAMMIT HUNTER WHY YOU BREAKING UP THIS COMEDY ACT much rude.

Hup stood up to the Hunter to protect Deet and whoops he’s light mass and got tossed

Hunter: “WHERES YOU FATHER NOW?”

Thats just a low blow.

Hey its the Archer! He’s come to shoot himself to save the others. That takes determination.

And Hunter runs off with Brea out of spite. What a dick.

Ooo near night sky in the desert of Thra is beautiful. Love the scenery.

And back at Stone-in-the-wood right when Maudra Fara is planning the castle attack on the war planning board the Skeksis General show up. WITH A WHOLE BUNCH OF SPIDERS

The General is kinda more extra than you’d think of him. I mean, all Skeksis are extra but I saw him as one of the more lowkey ones. Like a watered down Garthim-Master.

Huh. Princess Tavra is here. Looking… Oh no she’s speaking with the voice of the legion.

OH NO SHE’S MADE OF SPIDERS

UNPLEASANT

I know these are dangerous spider monsters but they’re tiny and the Gelfling trying to stomp on them is kinda silly.

Then again I have minor arachnophobia so this is still working on me.

Oh gross the threader arathim borged the whole stone-in-the-wood village.

Wait, if they’re this dangerous how come they were a backwater problem this whole time?

One tries to get Aughra

Aughra: “What? You try to control Aughra? AUGHRA CAN BARELY CONTROL AUGHRA!” -yeets the spider-

That’s a mood.

Emperor: -watching the plot through a telescope- “lol”

#dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #episode 7 #liveblog

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blondeblackwidow · 5 years ago

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surefire ( Poe x Queen!OFC x Kylo ) AO3

IV. Kylo

one | two | three

a/n: itsa mesa, the coronation is heeerrrree! okay for real this had a different tone and then i changed it. I hope yall enjoy, poe is next! also i used latin for the adroran words n stuff, just for reference for here on out.

wc: 1128

tw: none

tags: @treestarrrrrrrr @simonsbluee

IV. Kylo

“I now proclaim Amicea, of the Domus Solaris, Second of her name, Queen of the Adrora and her moons, First Lady of the Court, and Protector of her noble people.” The elder man shouted over the room full of people. Each person adorned with colors of their family, and Kylo stood in the front row, dressed all in black. Hux had said something earlier about him no longer wearing his mask on the planet, but he paid it no mind.

As soon as he saw her, he forgot about anyone else in the room. Her dress was ivory, with gold down the skirt. The rather large skirt, he might add. She looked like a vision from a dream to him. The nervous young queen took a seat at her throne, and the first set of eyes she found were his.

And Ben Solo forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Once the official ceremony was done, the guests were escorted into a large ballroom, as there was one more grand entrance to be had. This time it was side by side with the beautiful woman he had been staring at all morning.

He found her in the hall, in a much sleeker gown. She had her silver hair in a large braided circle. She was beautiful, and she was inviting him over.

“Congratulations your majesty.” He bowed his head, and she extended her hand. He froze, he had never been offered such a formal sense of intimacy. He placed a kiss on her knuckles and stood.

“Thank you, for suggesting this, it’s been wonderful thus far.” She waved her hands around. Her handmaiden behind her, Edly, he thinks her name was, was fixing her capes and skirts. “Shall we?” She offered her hand once more, and he took it.

The doors opened, and the whole room seemed to turn and look at the two. The sun and moon, the black and white robes covering the royal couple.

“May I present her Majesty, Queen Amicea.” The announcer proclaimed. “And her beloved, his Excellency, Commander Ren of the First Order.”

They walked in together, as one unit, and Kylo was trying to memorize what it felt like to have his hand against hers, what perfume she was wearing, smooth satin of her gown as it brushed against his wrist. His conflict was always a problem, but around her, Kylo felt his cracks become cataclysmic canyon.

The band slowed down to play a slower song, and she swung around him in a half circle, to meet his shoulders in a waltzing stance.

“I must confess.” He whispered, wrapping his hand around her waist. “I don’t know how to dance.” This earned him a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m not good at it either.” She giggled. “This one’s quite simple, you just sway.” She replied, and he pulled himself closer, settling her in the crook of his arm.

“I don’t think this is what the Order intended for me to do when I came to the planet’s surface.” He mumbled, and she rested her spare arm on his bicep, skirts in hand.

“Last time I checked, Commander Ren, you were sent here to serve the Adroran Queen.” She smirked. “And your queen wants to dance with her consort.”

“How can I refuse her?” He laughed, and dipped her across his knee. This wasn’t like him, he knew he should be stoic, the commander he was raised up to be. But she was intoxicating, a drug he never wanted to stop using, and all he could hear for miles was the sound of her laughter.

“So much for not knowing how to dance.” She said as he pulled her back to her feet, applause filled the room.

“My mother used to make my father dance with her at events like these.” He said mindlessly, it was low, and quiet, but he still said it, and all he could do is pray snoke didn’t hear him.

“So you are of royal birth.” She winked. “I knew it.”

“Something like that.” He heard the end of the music, and receded away from his partner, bending at the waist.

The walk through the gardens was more peaceful this time, a lot of the awkwardness of their first dinner had faded through time and several glasses of wine during her coronation feast. She was laughing, holding onto his arms for balance. He was just watching her, like a moth to a flame, he was smitten. She pulled off his arms and climbed up on the stone fencing, overlooking the lakes the castle towered over.

“My mother used to tell me that Phoenixes could fly.” She laughed, the moonlight reflecting across her white dress and hair. She was pure, his purity. Ben Solo didn’t love her, but he knew he could, if she’d let him. “What do you think, Ren?” She asked, turning to face him.

“I think you’ve had far too much wine to be climbing things, your majesty.” He offered his hand.

“Amie.” She replied, unmoving from her post, capes blowing in the wind.

“Come again?”

“Amie, my mother always called me that.” She looked at her feet. She went to take his hand, and stepped on her skirt, tripping backwards toward the ocean. She let out a scream when what felt like a cloud, lowered her back to the ground, right next to hi,. “What was that?” She said breathlessly, stumbling into his chest.

“The Force.” He responded, lowering his hand back to his side. “It moves through all of us.” He moved a stray hair out of her face, and her breath caught in her throat.

“I thought that was a story we tell children at night.” He shook his head.

“No, its a living thing, the Jedi used it for their own sick purposes, to murder their enemies, but the First Order is bringing it back, to its full power, and glory.” She moved away, and his brows furrowed.

“Then why do you want me?” She asked.

“Adrora is vital for trade -”

“Trade routes and hyperspace lanes, I know I spoke with your generals. But why do you need me?” She crossed her arms.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“No one offers a Marriage Alliance, not since the days of the Old Republic.” She laughed, turning back to the waterfront. “You and your order don’t want Adrora, you want me. And I need to know why.”

He was quiet for a long time, he didn’t know how to respond. He walked up beside her. “I don’t know.” He whispered, and rested his hand on hers.

“I’m being used, by men on all sides, at all times.” She turned to look at him. “Promise me, you won’t use me too.”

“I promise, Amie.” He whispered.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #star wars #star wars fanfiction #kylo ren x ofc #kylo ren x original character #ben solo x reader #ben solo x original character #ben solo x ofc

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isidar-mithrim · 5 years ago

Text

Beyond the Veil

[Also on Ao3]

“No fewer than four Stunners had shot from the figures around the cabin toward Professor McGonagall. Halfway between cabin and castle the red beams col- lided with her. For a moment she looked luminous, illuminated by an eerie red glow, then was lifted right off her feet, landed hard on her back, and moved no more.” [Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix]

What if Minerva, in a coma at St.Mungo, had the chance to choose between staying or coming back – between living and dying – as Harry did in King’s Cross? ___________________________________

Minerva opened her eyes.

The sun was high above her head, but oddly enough she could look at it without being blinded by the dazzling light.

She was lying on a cold, flat surface, like a stone pavement of some sort. Determined to look around, she sat up cautiously, expecting to feel sore, but her body reacted smoothly at the command.

Only when she stretched her arms in front of her she realised what she was wearing. It had been ages since the last time she had put on her Gryffindor Quidditch uniform, and she couldn’t hold back a smile remembering her past as Chaser. Oh, how she had missed those youthful days...

Eventually, after what could have been a moment or an hour or a day, she lifted her gaze from her robes and looked around her.

Despite the sky above her head, she was in a closed space. Massive stone walls surrounded her from afar, delineating a huge hall that rang familiar, but had a surreal vibe in it. The colors were dimmed and the outlines shadowy, like immersed in some sort of cloudy mist – like made of some sort of cloudy mist – and Minerva went to check if her lenses were clean, only to realise she wasn’t wearing her reading glasses.

She stood up to explore the place, and after a couple of steps she saw that the hall hosted four long tables – yet, she could swear they weren’t there an instant ago.

Red gold banners were hanging from the walls, and Minerva was squinting her eyes to figure out the animal woven on them when she heard a wheezing in the air.

She turned on the spot and saw the Quaffle right in time to seize it.

“Nice catch, professor!” exclaimed the familiar voice of a young boy with messy black hair. He was smirking at her, and that smirk...

Was he...? But no, no, that wasn’t possible... He must have been...

“Harry?”

The boy chuckled.

“He looks like me, doesn’t he? But he has Lily’s eyes,” the boy said with a warm smile, his hazelnut eyes sparkling with fondness.

Minerva hadn’t seen that gaze in almost fifteen years, but she had missed it dearly.

“James…” she whispered, bewildered.

“In the flesh! At least I think so,” he chuckled.

“Is this... is this a dream?”

“Something like that, yeah. Nice decor, by the way,” he said with a wink, gesturing at the walls.

Finally, Minerva recognized the griffins on the banners, and she finally understood where she was – or seemed to be. In hindsight, she had probably known since the beginning, but for some inexplicable reasons she hadn’t grabbed the concept until then.

“Why are we at Hogwarts?” she asked, still looking around. The tables seemed more defined now, more real.

“How am I supposed to know?” said James, amused. “It’s your dream, professor. Not that I mind the choice, though… I kinda missed it here, you know?”

She thought Hogwarts had missed him as well, but she didn’t voice the sentiment, afraid of getting too emotional.

James was walking around, now, and Minerva let her gaze wander again, spotting an old, worn hat upon a three-legged stool. How many eleven years olds she had let sit on it...

“We are here because Hogwarts is my home,” she whispered in understanding.

James nodded, his warm smile not leaving his lips. “I woke up at home too, when I died.”

Minerva winced, dreadful realisation coming to her. So, that was what had happened... that was the reason she was there. Those Stunning spells had killed her.

Well, her father would have been thrilled to know that even witches deserved a spot in Heaven, or whatever that was – it didn’t seem like Hell, at least.

“Shouldn’t the drapes be black in mourning, since I’m gone?” she joked.

It was a lame attempt, she knew that – she had just found she was dead, in her defence – but she still hadn’t expected James’ eyes widening in horror.

“Oh, Godric, no, no, I’m so sorry, you haven’t died yet, professor!” he clarified hastily, clutching her shoulders as to better convey the message.

She was astonished for an instant, before breathing a long sigh of relief. It took her another long second to grasp the full meaning of his words.

“Not yet?”

“Well...” mumbled James, running a hand through his messy hair – for heaven’s sake, she had forgotten that annoying habit of his. Even if they were discussing her own death, she couldn’t help smiling at the gesture.

“You can still choose to go back. Truly back.”

There was a soft, melancholic longing in his words, and Minerva didn’t need much time to guess why. “Are you saying that... you couldn’t choose?”

James sighed deeply, his features serious for the first time. “I got a different offer... One not as appealing.”

Minerva wasn’t sure she understood what he meant, and probably that showed on her face.

“They gave me the chance every wizard gets: becoming a ghost,” explained James with a shrug. “I wasn’t interested.”

Minerva wondered how hard it must have been for such a young, vibrant boy to turn out eternity.

“Why?” she asked.

“I thought it was better to wait few years to be forever with the people I love, rather than watch them live and die only to spend an eternity without them. And... I wanted to be there to welcome Lily and Harry, if… if they couldn’t flee.”

Minerva felt a lump swelling in her throat, sadly aware that eventually Lily had to die too, to let Harry live.

“But why are we talking about me!” exclaimed James with forced cheerfulness, diverting her mind from those angst thoughts. “This is your moment, professor. Your choice.”

He was staring at her with intensity, and she felt oddly exposed under his gaze. It should have been a simple pick, she knew that, but it was so peaceful there, so beautifully calm...

She took a deep breath. “What would you do, in my place?”

“I’d go back.”

He had spoken without hesitation, and Minerva was taken aback by his conviction. “You’d leave Lily?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah... I would. For the same reason you’re going to, if I know you well. Our kids.”

Of course, she realised. Even if Lily was there, Harry was not. Lily herself would have wanted James to go back to their son. That made sense for James, but she couldn’t see how it applied to her as well.

“I don’t have kids,” she said, even if James certainly knew.

“Are you sure?” he retorted, gesturing at the long tables with a knowing smile.

Minerva brought a hand to her heart when she saw the benches crowded with faceless teens wearing their Hogwarts uniform. The lovely scent of the feast treats and the joyful noise of the students rose in the air, filling her nostrils and hears, and warming her heart. Minerva hadn’t even realised of how unusually quite the Great Hall had been until then.

“I’m sure they still need their Transfiguration teacher, don’t you think?”

At those words, Minerva began recognising the happy features of her students.

She instinctively knew they would disappear if she got too close, so she watched them from afar, walking back and forth along the spot usually occupied by the teachers’ table.

They all sat randomly mixed together: the youngest with the oldest, fathers with sons, present students with past ones, alive and dead, Gryffindors and Slytherins. They all looked like teens, even those that by now had kids at Hogwarts of their own.

“That’s me!” grinned James, pointing at his other self. “And that beauty beside me... is she Ginny Weasley?” he asked uncertain, and Minerva smiled fondly when she recognised the girl.

“No, that’s Molly Prewett, her mother.”

James stilled, and Minerva could see his eyes getting misty. “And what a wonderful mother she is.”

Minerva laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “The best one Harry could have hoped for,” she murmured against the lump in her throat. “Beside her own, of course.”

James rub two fingers on his eyes, pushing his glasses upwards, and to give him a moment to recollect Minerva resumed looking at the students. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Cedric Diggory setting with his father Amos.

This time it was James to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Minerva realised she had been staring at them for too long. She took a deep breath and let her gaze wander to another table, and a moment later her eyes fell upon a lighting shaped scar.

“Look at that boy,” she said to James with amusement, pointing at Harry. “I bet you can recognise him.”

“Well, he does have something familiar, now that you point that out,” joked James, but she could see his eyes gleaming. “Never seen those hideous hair before, though,” he added with a smirk, and she chuckled despite herself.

Her smile suddenly faded when she saw the guy in front of him.

“Regulus Black,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Poor, silly boy... I always wondered if I could have done more...”

James took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess we all wondered. But at the end, he made his own choices, as everybody else.”

“He was just a kid...”

“We all were,” said James. “They all are,” he added, his gaze fixed on Harry.

She looked at the two boys again, and she noticed that they were sitting alone, now. To her surprise, they were chatting animatedly, but despite the renewed quite in the hall, they were too far to be heard.

“I wonder what they’re talking about…”

“I bet they’re saying that Seeking is the best thing in the world, but as incredibly skilled Chasers we both know that’s only a mere illusion,” said James with a smirk.

Minerva smiled. “Well, I’m afraid I must agree. Harry’s still a better flyer than you, though,” she teased fondly.

“No way!” exclaimed James, comically widening his eyes and mouth in pretended shock. “He’s only got a better broom!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe,” she played along, knowing perfectly well how proud James must have been for his son talent.

“For the record, Sirius has never bought me a broom, the tosser. Nor you/, for that matter,” he added with a fake pout, and Minerva felt slightly embarrassed. Of course James hadn’t missed that she had personally paid for that Nimbus, probably breaking several unwritten Hogwarts ethical rules in the process – not that Albus had minded.

She would do it again in a heart beat, anyway, and according to James amused expression, he was perfectly aware.

“Well, what can I say?” she shrugged. “It would have been a pity to waste all that talent on a school broom.”

“Indeed,” nodded James. He was apparently serious, but she could see his lips twitching, and finally he let go the pretense and grinned. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with Harry being the son of your favorite and most talented student ever.”

“Lily was indeed exceptional,” she said, trying to keep her expression stern as well – and failing spectacularly.

“Oh, please. We both know she is too rubbish at Quidditch to be your favorite. And she clearly isn’t the most talented, or should I remind you that I was younger than you when I became an Animagus? And I didn’t even need Dumbledore holding my hand to do it,” teased James. “Pretty sure that seals the deal.”

She shook her head in amusement, recalling her stunned shock the day Albus told her what the so called ‘Marauders’ had illegally accomplished. Looking at James smugness, though, a way older memory popped in her head.

“I can’t believe I’m saying it, but –”

“Merlin, are you really about to admit I was your favorite student? All those years trying to make you say it, and strict logic plus a near-death experience was all you needed?”

“Oh, no, that’s nowhere near enough,” she smiled. “I was simply admitting that becoming an Animagus at fifteen without a proper guidance is a rather impressive achievement, after all.” She almost added that she had no idea how they managed to teach Peter Pettigrew as well, but she cut her tongue right in time. “I will also admit I was quite upset when you so flippantly refused my offer to help you becoming an Animagus yourself. I believe you said something as Unlike you, professor, I don’t need a tacky pretext to show myself off in my birthday suit during random Transfiguration lessons. But if that what’s work for you, who am I to judge?”

James laughed with mirth, clearly delighted. “Godric, that’s pretty accurate, you know? I had to make sure you weren’t going to pressure on the matter ever again. Worth all the night of detention, if you ask me.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said with a fond smile. “So, would have you accepted my offer, if you hadn’t learnt it already?”

“Of course I would have! I’d never refuse such an interesting learning experience offered by my favorite teacher. See, not that hard to say,” he winked, and Minerva shook her head in amused disbelief. Oh, she had really forgotten what this boy could do to her…

She was about to admit that he was indeed the most talented Transfiguration student she had ever taught when the sky turned darker, the sun setting on the West.

James put his hand on her shoulder yet again. “I guess it’s time to make your choice, professor,” he said kindly.

“I guess it is,” she agreed. “So, how is this going to work?”

“You just have to choose, I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s my first time doing this welcoming thing! And nobody bothered to told me the technicalities, for the record; the good news is, I’m definitely smart enough to figure it out,” he winked.

But this time his mirth didn’t reach her. It had been lovely staying here with James, and the time spent together wasn’t nearly long enough, but she finally knew what she had to do, and that meant she had to say goodbye.

She looked at him with sadness, and she gasped when he hugged her tightly, almost lifting her from the floor.

He let her go too soon, and fixed his gaze on hers.

“Harry is a fine young man, isn’t he?” he asked with longing.

“The finest.”

“And you’ll take care of him, right?”

“I’ve always had, James.”

“I kno –”

“Merlin, I bet this is one of those scenes you can only see as dead,” said a wry voice in the distance.

Minerva and James turned towards it to find a young boy of breath-taking beauty looking at them in amusement.

“You know, I didn’t expect the world beyond the Veil to look like Hogwarts,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I definitely didn’t expect you to be there, professor. Killer outfit, by the way,” he added with a wink, and she felt her eyes watering.

“Padfoot…” whispered James, his voice cracking with grief.

“I did expect a warmer welcome, though,” he playfully scolded James. “And there’s no need to look so gloomy, you’d think somebody died.”

Sirius was the only one to find the joke amusing.

“What happened?” asked Minerva with a lump in her throat.

“I could ask the same about you, professor.”

“She’s not here to stay,” said James.

“Well, I am. A courtesy of my dearest cousin.”

Sirius was grinning, but Minerva felt her chest heavy, suddenly aware that she had another tough goodbye to attend, now. She wished she could switch places, but she was sure it didn’t work like that.

“Anyway, esteemed professor,” added Sirius with pompous humor, bowing slightly at her, “it’s rather obvious I happened across your missed demise, and I humbly beg forgiveness for the inconvenient intrusion.”

A tiny smile finally twitched her lips. “Forgiveness granted,” she conceded with a nod.

“But since I’m here,” said Sirius, “it would be an honor to run with you one last time.”

A second later he turned in a huge, black dog, who barked playfully and wagged his tail. Minerva understood, and soon beside the dog appeared a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes. It was dark, now, and their pupils gleamed brightly into the night.

When a majestic stag joined them, they moved forward between the central tables, the stone under their paws and hoofs turning in damp grass, the walls of the castle fading away like mist.

On the distance stood the Whomping Willow, its branches motionless, its leaves gently blowing in the wind. The dog barked cheerfully and raced towards it, urging the others to join him, and while the cat was supposed to be the slower and the stag the faster, somehow they all kept running side by side, and nobody was left behind.

When they got close to the Willow, the branches began fidgeting fiercely, but the tabby leapt easily among them and pushed the knot at the base of the trunk.

The tree went still, and stag and dog lied down near the cat, who brushed their fur with her paw and glanced at them one last time, before vanishing in the secret passage.

***

“Can you squeeze my hand, professor?”

Minerva somehow sensed that remote request and made an effort to oblige it, managing to clench her fingers with fair strength.

“Good, very good! Now, can you try opening your eyes for me?” asked the feminine voice.

Minerva painfully lifted her eyelids, and then blinked a few times before adjusting to the light. She was in an aseptic hospital room, and against the white walls and furniture the bright spot of color of a Quaffle easily caught her gaze. Minerva recalled holding one at the beginning of her odd dream, but she couldn’t remember ever dropping it.

“A gift from Gwenog Jones, professor,” said the Healer with a warm smile. Minerva was almost moved when she recognised her as a former Ravenclaw student. “And a lot of people sent you flowers, but since a patient was strangled by a Devil’s Snare few months ago we have to send them back. Hospital policy, I’m afraid, but we put the notes in your drawer.”

Minerva nodded politely, but she really couldn’t care about the flowers, nor the notes.

“Can I hold it?” she asked, looking longingly at the ball. Any other day she would have been thrilled to receive a gift from her favorite team’s captain – another former student of her – but all Minerva could think about right now was that James Potter had given her that Quaffle.

Minerva had been conscious for less than an hour when a silver phoenix appeared in her room and Dumbledore’s voice filled the air, to rejoice for her awakening and update her on the last developments.

Only at the end he announced the terrible news of Sirius’s death.

Only then she finally realised it wasn’t just a dream.

***

The dog and the stag ran and played in the grass until exhaustion, the full moon lightening their steps. Eventually, they collapsed under the usual beech near the shores of the Black Lake, turning in their human forms.

They stayed silent for a while, catching their breath and enjoying the chill of the night.

Sirius was the first to break the quiet.

“I’m a shitty godfather,” he blurted out.

“Harry adores you” said James softly, nonplussed.

Sirius took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. “How wrong it is that I’m happy to see you, rather than miserable because I can’t be at his side?”

James shook his head. “It’s ok, Padfoot. I missed you too.”

Sirius was silent for a while, before gathering the courage to speak again. “I’m sorry I made you doubt Moony,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“If I hadn’t suggested the exchange…”

“Voldemort wouldn’t have fallen, and the war wouldn’t have ended. Who knows how many innocents would have died because of it.”

They got quite again, and their gaze wandered to the stars.

“Sirius is particularly bright, tonight,” said James, pointing at it.

Sirius snorted.

“Ow!” exclaimed James, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. “Why are you laughing at me, you sod? Have a bit of respect for the older dead!”

“Sirius is particularly bright, tonight,” mimicked Sirius with a high-pitched tone. “Did you kill time taking lessons from the centaurs?”

“I tried, but they sadly refused my entry in the herd. I had to be content with snogging Lily.”

Sirius laughed out loud. “Too bad, eh?”

“Yeah, what a shame,” grinned James. “I bet the centaurs were too envy of my stunning legs to accept me, anyway. They’re quite sensitive, you know?”

“It’s their loss, mate.”

“I guess they also felt threatened by my stunning antlers.”

“Speaking of antlers – or lack thereof – where’s Lily?”

“She’ll be here soon.”

“How soon? I’m kinda offended that she hasn’t shown up yet, if you ask me.”

“You got Minnie, though.”

“She has wrinkles.”

“Well, she hadn’t this afternoon.”

“But she does. And don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject. Where’s Lily?”

“I told you, she’ll come.”

“Not if you’re not shagging her,” smirked Sirius. “Or did she dump you for a centaur?”

“I thought we’d already settled that having antlers is definitely cooler?”

“Maybe. Now, where is she?”

James sighed. “She went looking for someone.”

“You really want to make this hard, don’t you?”

James raised his hands, defeated. “Ok, ok, I’ll tell you… but only if you promise you’ll listen to everything he’s got to say.”

“It’s a he, then. Any other clue?”

“Padfoot,” scolded James.

Sirius looked at him with suspicious, but he nodded eventually. “Yeah, ok, whatever. I promise. Now, who is it?”

James smiled enigmatically. “Regulus is particularly bright too.”

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