#the only remaining account is her diary

[chibimui]

Link to the original tweet: https://twitter.com/kusuriya_ten/status/1818845657505185993

The Apothecary Diaries official twitter account shared a short story that Natsu Hyuga wrote specifically for the account. I decided to translate it and share! It's just a cute casual conversation between Jinshi and Maomao about what they were up to as 10 year olds.

Disclaimer: this is a fan translation, I am in no way a professional and may have made some mistakes. Please do not use this translation elsewhere or claim as your own.

(translation under the cut)

The Apothecary Diaries (Hero Bunko) 10th Year Anniversary Short Story

10 Years Old

“Maomao”, Jinshi called to Maomao. This was after he’d called her in today asking for the details of another random case. Apparently the case was solved after she shared recollections of similar cases, and Basen had been sent to clear things up.

“What is it?”

Maomao drank her tea quickly with the desire to return home to prepare dinner.

“What did you do when you were ten?”

“That’s quite an unexpected question. Wasn’t that the age you began posing as a eunuch?”

“...that was later. I’m just curious what childhood could have led to your personality. Ten is a significant age, but eight or nine is fine too.”

Maomao grunted. “At ten years old things were pretty normal for me. I helped out at the apothecary shop under my adopted father Luomen.”

“Could you be more specific?”

Jinshi had asked Suiren for more tea and was now drinking it.

“That was around the time I was finally given permission to make my own medicines. Before then, I was yelled at for making things on my own, so I was really happy.”

“Don’t make things on your own.”

“Also, the madam taught me to do calculations and I was shocked at how messy my dad’s numbers were. I wondered why we always earned less than we sold, and I learned there was someone who was sick and had no money who he’d always give the medicine away to for free.”

“I see.”

“I followed them and found out they were a dirty little re-seller, so I enlisted one of the male servants and brought them with me to the marketplace to secure a spot. I took back our goods and told other buyers if they wanted stuff for cheaper to buy it directly from us instead.”

“Is that really something a ten year old should be doing?”

While Maomao had been speaking, Suiren had prepared her a new cup of tea and so she remained in her seat.

“If I hadn’t, the madam wouldn’t have given me my dinner.”

“She gave it to you?”

“She put it on my tab.”

There isn’t a single person more stingy than The Madam of the Verdigris House.

“Now I understand why you’re so particular with money.”

“What about you, Master Jinshi? What did you do as a ten year old?”

“Me?”

Jinshi grunted. “I was usually at my mother’s, the Empress Dowager’s, palace. How should I put this. Because of the odd proclivities of the previous Emperor, I was shielded from a lot of things while being raised.”

“I’m sure even a ten-year-old Master Jinshi was already sparkling with beauty as a child and was surely mistaken for a young girl.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not.” Maomao denied such nonsense.

“I was taken care of by my nursemaids, and tutors were called to give me an education. The Ma brothers were my milk siblings, and Gaoshun would occasionally teach me martial arts.”

“I heard that Master Gaoshun was a military official back then.”

“That’s right. Since the Emperor was only the crown prince at the time he was guarded by another member of the Ma family. These were orders from the Empress Regnant and had to be followed, but it was still quite a lot to endure. Still, Gaoshun would occasionally visit the Emperor and make time to see me so he must have been quite busy. I remember frequently hearing him say ‘My daughter hates me’.”

Maomao recalled Mamei to mind and could understand.

“Even so, I couldn’t stay in the palace forever so sometimes they’d let me go outside.”

“Oh?”

“I was told everything is an experience and was brought to military training camps, and during summer retreats I remember having fun jumping down waterfalls. Although I was yelled at afterwards.”

“Summer retreat......, waterfalls. Ugh! H-How were the training camps?” Maomao appeared troubled, and attempted to refocus the topic of conversation.

“The training camps? I would join the soldier's in their regular training routines. This was also arranged by Gaoshun.”

Gaoshun’s paternal influence was strong.

Now that Maomao thought about it, Jinshi had mentioned something similar while eating chicken skewers before.

“Normally I’d only eat meals that had been carefully prepared, so I never realized grilled skewers flavoured with just salt could taste so good.”

Maomao could feel her mouth filling with saliva.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking maybe my dinner can be paired with chicken skewers tonight.”

“Chicken skewers.”

It appeared that Jinshi’s mind had wandered in the same direction as Maomao’s and he held his stomach.

Just then--

“Young Master. Maomao.”

While smiling gently, Suiren appeared holding a large chicken.

“How do you two feel about chicken tonight?”

“Please and thank you!”

“Yes please!”

Both Maomao and Jinshi exclaimed loudly.

[taegularities]

colour me in: timeline | jjk

numerous main parts and several drabbles in, i realised how easy it is to lose track of time. considering how we’ve been jumping between the present and the past, it’s become necessary to illustrate what cmi’s timeline looks like, especially since we can’t store every bit of information ever mentioned in the chapters in our brains at once! so i decided to make this little post that outlines the cmi couple’s entire story chronologically. i will explain things that aren’t explicitly mentioned in the series in detail – the rest is only briefly listed.

in case you haven’t read the series yet and plan to do so – spoilers ahead!! hope the timeline makes sense! 💕 

⤑ SERIES MASTERLIST

⤑ last year, sometime in late spring. break up with nara:

mentioned in cmi4/lights and cmi8/blurred: ⋆ jungkook and nara separate. ⋆ there is a back and forth for a couple of days, but they settle on a mutual decision: it’s over. ⋆ jungkook, hurt by loneliness and tempted by freedom, sleeps with other girls. ⋆ nara and jungkook cannot keep it at this break up – more to this later.

⤑ last year, july. frat party:

cmi8/blurred: ⋆ jungkook and oc meet at fratboy choi yeonjun’s private party and talk. ⋆ they hook up and build a connection without any high expectations of crossing paths again. ⋆ jungkook is not hooking up with nara at this point. ⋆ oc rejected hoseok whom she had a fling with during freshman year and again a couple months ago. he’s a fleeting friend.

⤑ last year, fall/september. accounting/business class:

mentioned throughout the series: ⋆ jungkook and oc meet again; oc is a business major, and jungkook attends this class for extra credits. ⋆ not long after meeting again, they fall into constant bickering, competitive in class but secretly fond of each other. lowkey even friends. ⋆ oc tries to push him away bc she’s sure this won’t end well. ⋆ soon after the semester starts, they start hooking up again.

⤑ last year, beginning of october. nara cont.:

partly mentioned in cmi4/lights and explained here and here: ⋆ jungkook and nara have a history together that goes beyond what they were to each other. they grew up together and are used to that connection, even though the depth of the relationship and its importance has faded throughout the last few months. ⋆ they hook up again, multiple times, but eventually realise that neither of them will benefit from this. it’s unhealthy – they need to move on and remain friends. ⋆ they part in good terms; a huge weight is lifted off their shoulders. nara and jungkook are officially over. ⋆ moving on is easier than it was right after their sudden decision to separate as a couple.

⤑ last year, end of october. the fwb deal:

cmi7.5.2/unhindered: ⋆ jungkook and oc have sex and seal the fwb deal. ⋆ jungkook hasn’t slept with anyone but oc since the beginning of october, and with nobody except nara and oc since the frat party.

⤑ last year, end of december. new year’s eve:

cmi5.5/not enough: ⋆ jungkook and oc, still in a fwb thing, are invited to a big party at hoseok’s place. ⋆ oc doesn’t reveal that she knows hoseok and jungkook doesn’t know. hoseok might or might not be aware that oc’s been hanging out with jungkook (more to this after cmi9).

⤑ this year, february 14th. valentine’s day:

cmi6.5/undying roses: ⋆ fwb still ongoing! jungkook and oc aren’t attending any classes together anymore; they’re friends now. ⋆ jungkook gifts her a ‘beauty & the beast’ rose bc he remembers her talking about the movie during choi yeonjun’s party. ⋆ but the movie isn’t mentioned in cmi8/blurred, so guess oc truly cannot remember this bit anymore – it’s not in her diary either.

⤑ this year, june. the fake dating deal:

cmi1 – cmi3/layers: ⋆ sealing the fake dating deal. ⋆ jungkook and nara are still somewhat friends. ⋆ more that unfolds: the paparazzi issues, jungkook’s first experience with newspaper headlines, clubbing with all their friends before oc finds out jungkook’s going away for a month.

⤑ this year, july. jungkook’s vacation and the journalist reveal:

cmi4/lights & cmi5/the canvas: ⋆ oc finds out about jungkook and nara’s history; jungkook goes on vacation after that. ⋆ jungkook comes back and needs to tell her something: a journalist, hired by her mother, has been following jungkook around for a while to find content for drama. this creates a huge rift between oc and her parents, and she temporarily stays at jungkook’s place.

⤑ this year, august. the confession and the break up:

cmi6/silhouettes – cmi7.5/letters from the heart: ⋆ oc spends her time at jungkook’s place. ⋆ they make a trip to a smalltown nearby and confess their feelings for each other in the rain, but the next day, everything collapses due to more terrible headlines and jungkook breaks up with her. ⋆ weeks later: they meet again at the hospital after yoongi’s accident. they accompany their friends to the movies where they impulsively kiss but unfortunately part again. ⋆ jungkook starts to realise that and why this was a mistake. he attends an exhibition hosted by namjoon where he displays two of his paintings. ⋆ it’s his birthday, and oc, despite receiving an invitation, doesn’t show up.

⤑ this year, september. the birthday, exhibition and the making up:

cmi8/blurred – cmi11.5/blooming: ⋆ oc has started looking for apartments. ⋆ oc goes to the exhibition and gives him his birthday present. ⋆ jk invites her to stay, but she leaves. ⋆ oc goes partying with jimin and eun and drunk calls jk who picks her up. ⋆ jk spends the weekend with oc. he reveals his secret and childhood trauma regarding his father and cousin; jk and oc make up and start their relationship. ⋆ oc keeps looking for apartments until jk offers her to move in with her. she thinks about his offer and reveals at a charmante press conference that she’ll be living with his boyfriend from now on – and that she is leaving charmante and becoming a manager at the subsidiary novaura. ⋆ oc has a conversation with her mother and finally spills all her thoughts. jk and oc start living together, and she starts her job at novaura. she meets seokjin there as a co-manager. ⋆ oc starts feeling sick and hides from jk due to a pregnancy scare. jk nearly goes insane looking for her, and the worries and the scare make him realise that he wants to stay with her, no matter what. ⋆ jk tells oc he loves her for the very first time. ⋆ oc and jk start getting used to living together. oc asks jk if he’d want to go on a trip with all their friends; he agrees.

⤑ this year, october. the trip, the wedding, …?:

cmi12/palette: ⋆ jk and oc go on a trip with their friends in mid-october. they visit a mountain, a beach, play slippery soccer. yoongi and jimin’s relationship is confirmed, and taehyung and eun have grown closer, too. ⋆ oc tells jk that she, too, loves him. ⋆ oc and jk leave their friends earlier to drive to his hometown, to the wedding.  ⋆  what next?

⤑ sometime in the future: the 1-week-long fight:

cmi9.5/seven:  ⋆ jk and oc have a fight that goes on for a week. jk serves as a fashion model at oc’s job. oc has already been working at novaura for a while. ⋆ more or less a filler chapter!

i will add more as we go! this is a late night post, so i might come back to edit it later; i hope this helps for now. please remember that this timeline isn’t supposed to be a summary; it merely provides some insight into what occurred when. only those who have read the fic will find this actually helpful – if you’re interested in the storyline, please do read the series 🤍  

[fraugwinska]

Chapter 1 - Overture

Overture (noun) 1. music: a piece of music that is an introduction to a longer piece, especially an opera 2. rhetoric: a communication made to someone in order to offer something 3. approach: an approach made to someone in order to discuss or establish something

Tags & Warnings: Demon summoning, Murder, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Cannibalism, Blood & gore

She had studied the accumulated books and scripts for months. There was no room for a single mistake, so the last two weeks alone were for reviewing and practicing the procedure.

Her work had called multiple times, she knew she was running out of her bosses patience, but she knew it wouldn't matter anyways, after tonight. Stanley was a pain in the ass, but there were enough desperate dancers around looking for an extra shift, and she knew she wouldn't need the rest of her bank account balance, as meager as it was. Not after what she was about to do. She finished packing her bag, a burgundy leather messenger bag she found at a flea market when she was fourteen. The one her mother bought for her.

Two-and-a-half pounds of fresh, high quality venison? Yes. Red chalk? Yes. Coarse pink salt? Yes. A dial radio? Yes. Correct summoning circle? Yes.

She took a deep breath, held it in until the oncoming shaking ceased.

Don't think about it too much. You are prepared. You can do this.

Her apartment seemed so big without all her stuff. She left only the barest furniture, the rest was donated, except for a few personal, important things. A photo of her mom. Her graduation pin from the academy. The hunting knife of her dad. A map of the south forest. The book that planted the idea in her mind. She threw on her forest green, oversized parka, and without looking back, closed the door of Apartment 13 for the last time.

The cabin was wet, dark and cold. After placing down her bag, she started promptly on getting a fire going in the fireplace. She needed light, best before sundown. The shed was full of old wood, but the lack of upkeeping had caused the roof to leak and it got so wet it barely worked. Frustrated, she decided to get the old, rusty axe and sacrifice two of the chairs in the house, which helped to get the fire going. Then it went back to preparing and reviewing everything she needed to do. Since she disposed of her phone, she relied on her wristwatch – half an hour until midnight.

She had already measured out and drawn the summoning sign in red chalk, checking the old book after every stroke if it was accurate and precise. Now she took the pink salt, drawing a circle large enough for her to comfortably stand in. She brought more than double her estmiate. It would be fatal if there was a break in the circle, so she packed extra to make sure she didn't run out.

Quarter to midnight.

She rushed out of the cabin to retrieve the meat she brought – she had stored it in a plastic bag outside, since it was almost winter and the temperatures were cold enough to preserve it nicely. Inside, she unwrapped it, steadying her increasingly shaky hands. She had to stop several times, breathing and focusing. She placed the meat neatly on the only clean serving plate she found in the cabin kitchen and sat it down in front of the summoning circle. Her hands were lightly coated with blood.

Five minutes to midnight.

She unpacked the radio and hesitated. This was the trickiest part of the process... Her book – a diary from the 1960's, became almost unreadable after detailing the previous procedures, as if the author wrote the instructions while having a stroke. From what she was sure to have deciphered correctly, it had to be placed in the middle of the summoning sign, but after that it was guesswork. Would he appear instantly? How much time would she have to get in the salt circle?

She decided to not risk anything ad placed her bag with her remaining belongings in the salt circle. Almost solemnly, she walked to the mystical looking sign. Another look at her watch -

Half a minute to midnight.

You are prepared. You can do this.

She put the radio down and jumped.

He was at Rosies, sipping tea with her when he felt a familiar pull.

„Oh my...“, he cooed, a sudden feeling of forgotten excitement rushing over him. The tall, slender belle sitting on the loveseat next to him lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.

„Are you quite alright, friend?“, she mused.

„I'm afraid I have to cancel our get-together early, my dear, and leave immediately. A human is summoning me.“ Rosie laughed, her blackened eyes wide in amazement. „It must have been decades since you were last called from the living world. That is quite auspicious.“

His grin, although wide and gleamimg, streched even more as static surrounded him and he faded.

„Auspicious indeed.“

She stood rigid. Muscles tight. Breath forcibly controlled and flat. Eyes darting around the salt circle. Her jump into the protective circle hadn't disturbed even a single grain, so she was safe.

For now.

Though, nothing had happened. She heared nothing but the low crackling of the fireplace. Ten seconds later, still nothing. Her mind raced. She hasn't forgotten anything, has she? No. No, she did everything the diary told the reader to do. Was it the wrong kind of radio? Was it the wrong time? Did she draw the sigil incorrectly? Or maybe she was supposed to say something? And why was the crackling of the fire getting so loud?

No.

That was not the fire.

With increasing dread, her gaze turned to the radio, which was now glowing red and emitting a frenetic hum. The needle danced, from left to right, until it it stopped at what she read as 66.6 fm.

Then came the darkness. Like somebody blew out a candle, the fire in the fireplace went out, not even emitting smoke. The only light came from the window, tinting the small cabin room in a ghostly shade of moonlight, and from the illuminated dial of the radio, which now played a strangely distorted, dainty tune. A tune she was eerily recognizing... 'You're never fully dressed without a smile' from the musical Annie. She didn't dare to moke, or speak. Fera or reason, she didn't know which, whispered in her ear to stay still.

Aaaaaah, my dear! What a glorious night!”

Shivers ran violently down her spine as the voice appeared, distorted by the radio.

“Glorious, I say. Well, well, well, it has been a while since someone dared to call on me.”

The red chalk started to beam, strange green symbols and onyx shadows grew like weed out of the summoning sigil. She froze in horror as the shadows formed a tall, lean figure. Colors of every possible shade of ruby red materialized into tufts of reddish and black hair adorned by grotesquely shaped antlers, painting a red, sophisticated but tattered pin-striped coat on the slowly forming body. From what seemed to be burgundy smoke, a cane formed, on it's top sat a strangely shaped, almost alive looking microphone, which was swiftly catched by long, clawlike fingers. And then he finally stood - in all his frightening glory - in his sigil, heay-lidded and eerily wide grinning with razor sharp, yellowish teeth. The Radio Demon. Alastor.

Her saliva turned to glue, swallowing got almost impossible as she stared at him. Sure, she had prepared for months for this moment, and she thought she was at least barely mentally equipped for his appearance, but right now, she felt awfully foolish to even have thought that she'd ever be ready for this sight. Praying to herself that the salt circle would actually do something – anything really to protect her until she finished, she took a shaky breath and forced her face to remain unmoved.

„Th...thank you for... answering my call.... sir.“ She didn't recognize her own voice. She sounded hoarse and strange, as otherworldly as the demon in front of her, who tilted his head in curiosity and chuckled darkly. Crimson irises focused on hers.

„Ah, such good manners! A rarity nowadays, as I've heard. The name's Alastor, little doll, but I'm sure...“, the tall figure chatted non-chalantly, eyes now pinning the diary beneath your feet in an odd sense of recognition, „you already know that and maybe a little more. So, let's continue the pleasantries, I am just too curious – who the... audacious soul is that's calling on me?“

Her skin felt too tight. She mentally steadied herself, reminding her to stick to what she rehearsed, over and over and over like a mantra for the past months.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„My name is (Y/n), sir.“, she said, her voice a little more assured now.

„A beautiful name, my dear, delectable even. (Y/n)...“ The radio demon repeated her name as if it was dripping from his lips, dark like syrup, thick and almost sounding hungry. She pushed that terrifying thought away. With a smirk, he gestured to her setup, slowly blinking as his red glowing pupils searched her own eyes.

„And I see you've done quite the research, preparing for this little welcoming? I am flattered.“

„I hope my offering is to your liking.“, she recited and barely bowed her head at the meat in front of his feet. His eyes followed her gaze, and widened in satisfaction.

„Well, look at that! Color me surprised!“, he exclaimed, the static in his voice buzzing even louder as an imaginary audience OOOh'd and Aaaah'd, „You really did your due homework, little kitten. I indeed do appreciate a good taste of venison, and this seems to be an exquisite selection of, what ist it? Tenderloin?!“

With a snap of his fingers, the meat disappeared into thin air, leaving only streaks of crimson blood on the polished plate. He glanced at her mischievously. „Well then, since you've paid my fare, we can get to business.“ He snapped again and a plush, velvety red wing chair appeared in which he swiftly settled, hands folded neatly on his lap and staring expectantly at her.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„Yes sir.“, she croaked, quickly clearing her sore, dry throat. „I need help. Help beyond anyone can give me. So I called on you, sir... Because... you are the only one I can think of to help me.“

The demon's grin widened a bit. His eyes twinkled in the moonlight with an impish glee.

„And what, my dear, naive doll, makes you think I would help you instead of just ripping your delicate little throat to shreds right here and now?“

His words felt like needles, prickling her skin almost raw in fear. Exactly what he wants, she thought.

Be polite, be demure, be direct, be specific.

„I hope I can offer you something of worth in return for your help, sir.“

The radio demon seemed to think about it, then waved his hand casually. „Very well, state your case, then. If I find it worth my while, maybe we can come to a... mutual agreement.“ Clearly amused, he watched her as she once again steadied her breathing.

„Thank you, sir.“ With trembling hands, she slowly, carefully, reached down to her bag as she continued. „ I need your help to... disappear. To make it like I never existed. To make everyone I've ever met forget I was born.“ She took out the tattered photography of her mom, laughing happily into the camera, and placed it in front of her for the demon to see. His ears perked at your statement, a brow quizzically shot up.

„This is my mother, sir. She had me when she was very young. My father left before I was born, I've never met him. She is... the most selfless woman that I know.“ The more she talked, the steadier her voice became. „She gave up everything for me – her dreams, her money, her happiness.“

She sighed, exhaustion and nervousness feeding on her energy. Keep it short. You can do this.

„She married when I was 9, a wealthy man, but... he abuses her. She keeps being with him, because she has nothing to fall back on – no career, no friends, no money. He practically owns her, even if she would leave him... He would hunt her down and drag her back. So...“

A shudder ran down her spine, she readied herself for the final request.

„I want him dead. I want...“

The radio demon leaned forward in his chair, his yellowed teeth glistening with his saliva.

„Go on, my dear?“

The static became almost unbearable, her ears hurt and her head became fuzzy.

„I want him tortured, humiliated and killed. And I want everything of me to be erased from this life with him. I want my mom to.... be free, from him, from me. I want her to finally be happy, and safe, as long as she can.“

The cabin fell in instant silence. It felt like outer space, she could not even hear her own heart beating. Was that... normal? She hung her head, nervously waiting for his answer while sorting her thoughts through the deafening silence. Would it be condescention? Anger? Frustration? This was the end of her rehearsed speech. From this point on, the monster in the cabin would decide how she could proceed, if at all.

His sudden, echoing laugh broke through the unnatural soundlessness, so unexpected it startled her, almost making her trip over her bag as she took a step back to stabilize herself.

„Careful now, we wouldn't want your pretty salt circle to open too soon, darling. I must say, that is a most unusual request. I'd even go as far to say I'm endeared by your little speech.“

The demon pushed himself off his armchair, carefully twisting his cane in his fingers as he stalked her, creeping closer with every sentence.

„It's an elaborate request you have, sweet (Y/n), much more than other souls came to me to bargain for. Yet you still have to offer me something in exchange, and I'm most interested in what you think I would trade this small favor you're asking me in for.“

He stopped inches away from her pale face, his polished, pointed shoes almost touching the pink grains of her protective circle. His eyes widened when she met his stare, suddenly a sense of what he could only describe as unwavering and unbreakable resolution in her features.

„I don't have anything except this: I can and will give you my life and body to consume. And my soul and loyalty to do as you please after you kill me.“

This human was something different. She was so... unusual. His shadows buzzed in sheer excitement, a cacophony of thoughts. He ignored them all. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, but she seemed almost vintage, like an old wine in a modern bottle. She was pretty, in a non-conformative, niche way, with a most intruiging voice despite the apparent dread in it – an almost melodious sound, with hints of smoke, sugar and spice. She was also exceptionally polite, well spoken and complaisant – he of all people appreciated these oh so rare traits.

Most of all, he could literally taste her fear on his tongue but yet she stood there, so composed, so unmoved, almost as if she was made out of white marble. By now he usually would have mortal men shiver in terror, foolish mobsters crying in fear. He had pulled every thread he usually did to frighten the feeble minds of humans, to grind them under his increasing pressure and make them make the mistake of taking a rash deal. His constant growing static alone would've shattered the little sanity common goons would have had by now, but the only thing he had seen her doing was the slight tremble of her fingers and the jump of surprise at the sound of his voice after his forced silent void. Her face was unmoving, and that intrigued him.

Ah, and then her request. Most unusual. In the decades he traded favors for souls, with the living or the dead, it has always been for selfish causes – fortune, fame, power, revenge. Of course he obliged, knowing he would get the better end of the deal anyway. The people who called on him were cocky, little wannabes, people who were under the ridiculous misconception that they were destined for something special, that they were equal or above the demon they so senselessly called upon. They thought they could trick him, that they were smarter than and could evade him. He found it laughable, really.

But she...

He knew that she knew. That she came here, called on him, not in foolishness, but knowing full well that he would demand everything she offered him. And the cream on the sugar, she did it all too willingly! Ha, she even promised loyalty, not forced, but given. He really had to refrain himself from gleefully snickering.

As unexpected as it was, and as much he hated to be called by the living, he was more than glad he followed the strange but familiar pull to the overworld. How she would really accustom to hell, and to him? How fast would her brave, earnest facade break? Or would she surprise him again, and become a usable asset to his collection of souls?

Oh, he was over the moon, yes. This one would be so much fun.

Her stepfather moaned in agony in front of her feet. The heavy metal pole felt cold and smooth in her hands. He offered to punish him, but she refused. She had to do it, he had to know it was her. Had to feel the weakness, the shame, the helplessness he made her mother feel. She was surprised of how numb and empty she felt with every hit he took, void of things normal people would feel – compassion, pity... She only felt the cold disgust she always felt in his presence.

His blood dripped from the end of her pole onto the forest ground. She had aimed for his legs first, then his arms.

“You fucking bitch, you worthless piece of shit, just like your whore mother you are...”

He couldn't finish his tirade as he clawed the throat of her stepfather, carefully and precice – not lethal, but severe enough to cut his ability to speak. He tuttet at the writhing man, stepping back to her side, his eyes full of mocking condenscation.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Now now, good man, didn't your mother teach you it's rude to interrupt a lady? Please, darling, continue.”

He bowed generously to her, and again her hands lifted the pole once more. His shadows hummed in satisfaction around them both.

“This is for all the times you forced yourself on her.”

The pole hit it's target with full force. He screamed bloody murder as she pushed it even harder into his - or what once were - his privates. Her face remained blank, her stare fixated on his face. She knew with how heavy he bled, she had to end it once and for all, and quickly. The demon behind her chuckled, a dark smirk on his lips.

“I think we should come to an end, my dear. Our friend here has some places to go.”

She nodded slowly, for the first time since he brought her farce of a parental figure she tore her gaze away from the writhing figure.

“Yes sir. And... thank you.”

She gave him something she hadn't done in a long time. She even thought she wouldn't be able to.

She smiled.

The radio demons grin twitched, as if in surprise, but he just tilted his head, and she turned around again, her face falling back into an indifferent expression. She stepped up to his head and he gargled as if he wanted to say something as he looked up to her, the lights in his eyes rapidly fading.

“Remember this moment when you see me in hell, Frank.”

The sound of his skull cracking under the force of the metal rod was sickening and obscene. His body stopped shaking, and then, he was gone.

The demon laughed as if he just heard a funny joke. He placed his free hand on her shoulder, the other swinging his Cane in sheer delight.

“Ah, dear (Y/n), i really do admire a gal with a knack for theatrics! Makes every ordinary moment so much more entertaining, don't you think? And now...”

His shadows roared in delight, static and dark, inky flames surrounding them both. He almost tenderly placed his fingers under her chin and turned her expressionless face to his, dimly lit by his own, ruby glow as the ground slowly swallowed them.

“...it's time for dinner.”

Next Chapter >>

[roosterforme]

The Deployment Diaries Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your fear that you did something to distract Bradley eats away at you while you wait to hear about his condition.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

From the second the mission started, Bradley had a bad feeling. He usually felt calm and peaceful once he was up in the air. He usually felt a connection to his father. But this time, he only felt anxious. 

As soon as the target had been destroyed, he and the other pilots were under almost constant fire from enemy fighters. It was literally the worst case scenario, as the F/A-18s weren't equipped with heavy weaponry. They were made for stealthy missions, ones where you hoped you weren't detected at all, ones where you shouldn't need to use more than your two allotted missiles. 

The dogfight was intense, and Bradley had to help Titan out not once, but twice as the other pilot had run out of flares early on. It was such a relief to Bradley when he was out over open water, heading back to the aircraft carrier. He breathed a sigh of relief as he was able to account for the other three Super Hornets as well. They were all just trying to limp back to safety.

"Tally, tally!" called Empress through the radio. As soon as Bradley was alerted to the position of the remaining enemy bogey, he regrouped. He was the only one with any ammunition left. 

"I got this," he informed the others, looping back for a better shot at the enemy fighter. For a second, all he could think about was your face. He pictured your lips as you begged him to be safe. He pictured the uncertainty in your eyes when you told him you missed a birth control pill. He pictured you in bed underneath him, laughing at a secret just the two of you shared. 

"I need her," he whispered, as he lay down a round of fire, getting a few hits on the wings. But the other pilot somehow managed to keep control, banked around to the right and tried to gain the upperhand. Bradley unloaded his last round of bullets, hitting the fuel line and starting a small fire. But instead of ditching out of the flaming aircraft, the other pilot fired back, and soon Bradley had lost his hydraulics and radio functions. 

"Shit!" he yelled, realizing he had no control over his throttle as every red light imaginable started flashing at him. Alarms were screeching everywhere, and he knew there wasn't a chance he would be able to save this F/A-18. Too bad he didn't have Hangman here this time to help him. If he did, he probably wouldn't have to punch out.

Now he was rapidly losing altitude. Based on his last known air speed calculation, he only had a couple more seconds to bail safely. So Bradley made sure everything was in order before he pulled the cables to eject. But he had waited too long, taken one more breath than he should have before ejecting. The aircraft started into a roll, and Bradley's torso slammed against the frame as he launched out, sending him in a trajectory where he hit his head as well. 

The last thing he thought about was how pissed he was that he didn't have time to grab his helmet bag containing the photo of you. 

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

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Priscilla Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

The pause on the other end was too long. You got yourself sprawled out on your back on the kitchen floor, trying to get blood to your head so you didn't faint. Why wasn't she telling you if Bradley was okay?

"Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs.

Admiral Franklin sighed. "He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive. 

"What happened to him?" you asked, choking on your tears.

"I can't provide you with more information at this time. I'm sorry." She actually did sound sorry. She could probably hear you panicking through the phone. "When he regains consciousness, the medical staff will be able to do a more thorough examination. See what kind of head trauma we are dealing with. He's being stitched up at the moment. We are going to need to get him medically evacuated as soon as he's able to deal with the flights, and get him back home. I will personally call you back with details when I have them."

Once the call was disconnected, you rolled onto your side on the kitchen floor and cried hysterically, grabbing onto Tramp when he came to see what was wrong. You cried for such a long time, your cheeks were raw and one of your contacts had come out. 

Bradley was alive, but something terrible had happened to him. You started to search for information about grade three concussions on your phone. Some of the information was terrifying, and you prayed he would still have a fully functioning brain. And lacerations? He might need to have them surgically closed if they were too deep. Broken ribs could be interfering with his lungs working properly. And even though you would have done anything for him, there was nothing you could do to help at the moment.

How was he going to get home? Maybe Admiral Franklin would let you come get him and fly back with him. Did she mention when she was going to call you back? You could barely recall anything she said now. 

Then your phone rang, and it was your mom. You ignored the call. You couldn't get yourself up off the floor at the moment, let alone collect yourself enough to talk to your parents. You barely moved until the room started getting darker as the sun moved across the sky. You could hear Tramp's stomach growling, and you knew it had been hours since your phone call with the Admiral. 

Carefully you stood, but your body felt like it weighed a ton, and you were having a hard time walking. You gave Tramp a scoop of dog food and then went to sit on the couch. You quickly texted Phoenix and the guys, letting them know the scant details you had about what had happened to Rooster. 

Then you curled up into a tight ball and thought about Bradley. You wondered if he was in pain. If he was awake yet. Was this your fault? Had he been too focused on things here to be fully present during the mission? Was he more upset than he let on that it was a false alarm instead of a pregnancy? You pressed your lips together as the tears started again.

About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the front door, jostling you out of your stupor. It took you a full minute to figure out how to stand and walk to go see who it was. "Phoenix," you said, but your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. You let her inside and she gently wrapped you in her arms. You could tell that she must have been crying at some point too, but right now she was being strong for you.

"You guys should just give me a spare house key, okay?" was the only thing she said as she led you back to the couch and gently helped you lay down once more. She covered you in a soft blanket and picked your phone up from the table. "You need to close your eyes and take some deep breaths. I'll answer any calls. I'm just going to take Tramp out to the front yard."

You nodded vaguely as she clipped Tramp's leash on and took him outside. You tried to close your eyes, but all you could picture was Bradley, his face a bloody mess, floating around in the Pacific Ocean. By the time Phoenix walked back inside, you were crying again. 

"How long until they call me back? I need to know what's going on," you whispered. 

"I don't know," she told you as your phone rang in her hand. "It's your parents. Want me to talk to them for you? Let them know what's going on?"

"Please," you sobbed. She answered your phone and slipped out through the sliding glass door. After that, Nat ended up doing everything. She heated up a bowl of soup and sat with you while you ate it. She got the bathtub ready for you and took Tramp for a longer walk while you soaked. She helped you change into clean clothing for bed. 

"I'm so sorry," you whispered to her. "I know you're upset too. I know you love him too. But you're doing everything for me. And I didn't even ask if you're okay."

Nat pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing your back as she took a deep breath. "I love him, but I don't love him the way you do," was all she said before helping you into bed. "I'll plug your phone in right here on your nightstand and let Tramp out one more time before I go."

You nodded, feeling so exhausted, you thought you might actually be able to fall asleep. "The spare house key is hanging in the pantry on Bradley's UVA keychain. Take it with you," you told her as you closed your eyes. 

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

"What the fuck," Bradley muttered, trying to make his jaw work. His head felt like someone had split it open with an axe. He had no idea why he couldn't open his eyes, and his thoughts were a mess. He reached for you across the bed, trying to find your body in the darkness. You must have gotten up already. Had he even slept? What day was it?

"Start the morphine drip. He's going to be in intense pain when he wakes up fully."

He didn't know who was talking. It sounded like there was a problem though. Did something happen to you? He needed to open his eyes and figure out where you were. 

He opened one eye a tiny bit, and he saw bright lights and movement. He closed his eye immediately. Then everything came back. He left for the mission. You took six pregnancy tests. They were all negative. He had to bail out of his fucking aircraft. 

He tried so hard to talk. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to call you and make sure you were okay, because something was telling him you weren't. But now the pain in his head subsided to a dull throb, and he thought it might be a nice idea to fall asleep for a bit. 

When he woke up again, he was finally able to open his eyes. "What the fuck?" he asked again, and this time someone answered. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, welcome back," came a cheerful voice that made Bradley want to punch someone. He looked around to see a man in scrubs examining his left arm, and when he examined it too, he jolted in surprise. 

He was covered in lacerations. They had been stitched up, but it was still a mess. 

"Where am I?" Bradley asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The infirmary aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. I'm Doctor O'Connor. You had to eject from your aircraft, and you were recovered from the water. We are treating you for your injuries, which I'm sorry to say are extensive and numerous. However, you should be just fine in a few weeks."

Bradley stared at him in shock. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"Holy hell. I need to call my girlfriend. Immediately." Bradley's heart rate spiked on the monitor, causing him and Dr. O'Connor both to check the screen. "She must be worried sick."

"Someone has already been in touch with your emergency contact."

Bradley had changed his emergency contact from his mom's cousin Brenda to you, after you and he had been dating for a few months. When Bradley asked you if that was okay, you'd seemed surprised yet really happy about it. And a few days later, you smiled and told him that you made him your emergency contact person as well. 

But he couldn't imagine you were too overjoyed at the moment. He wondered what you had been told about his condition. 

"When can I go home?"

The doctor hummed and looked at the computer screen. "Maybe tomorrow. You'll need access to a larger medical facility. You don't have any hemorrhaging or blood on your brain, but you did have extensive head trauma. Now that you're fully cognizant, I'll keep you updated on the plans."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered as he walked away. Extensive head trauma? Numerous and extensive injuries? He needed to talk to you, so badly.

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

Admiral Franklin called you at four in the morning on Wednesday, and you jumped instantly out of bed. 

"Hello?!"

"This is Admiral Franklin. I have return flight information for Lieutenant Bradshaw."

You gasped. "You're sending him home? Is it safe for him to fly? How's his head?" You had heard from her one other time on Monday afternoon, with an update on his condition, but there had been some concern that he might have blood on his brain. You had no idea how you'd made it to work this week.

"His brain is fully functioning. He should make a full recovery with the help of some doctors on base in North Island and a lot of rest."

You screamed. Literally screamed with joy and jumped around the room and started crying. "Thank you!"

You could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you ready to take down his flight information?"

"Yes!" you reached for a pen in your nightstand, but couldn't find paper, so you wrote it down on your leg. 

Tomorrow night, just before midnight, you would be picking Bradley up at San Diego International Airport. He was coming in on a flight from Australia. You had literally no idea what had happened to him or how he had been injured, but it didn't matter, because you were going to pick him up tomorrow and bring him home! 

You decided to call Phoenix and wake her up with the news. "This actually is worth being woken up for in the middle of the night," she said, voice raspy with sleep. "Let me know when you want me to stop by this weekend. I'll bring food and Jake and the boys, and I'll make them be on their best behavior."

Next you called your parents to give them the good news, since it was a normal time to be awake on the east coast, and you listened to your mom cry over the phone. And that made you cry, and then you laughed and cried together. 

And when you got to work and told your boss you needed to use a vacation day on Friday, and possibly Monday as well, he told you, "Take as many days as you need to. Just let me know when you'll be back."

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

Bradley was up and walking with help the following morning. But more importantly, he was allowed to eat and use the bathroom by himself. And most importantly, he had been informed that you would be picking him up in San Diego. 

Walking made him dizzy, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but the doctors told him to spend as much time moving around as he could. He was itchy and annoyed by the nearly one hundred stitches on his arm and neck, and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower. 

He would most certainly have more scars after this. It was just unclear how bad they would be, since he was still so bruised and swollen. And as he walked a lap around the small hospital wing, he couldn't help but think of his parents. Bradley had two bad ejections so far in his career, but nothing like the fate his dad had suffered. And the last thing he wanted to do was turn you into the kind of woman his mother had become after Goose died. So maybe his parents were somewhere, somehow watching out for him.

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

You changed into jeans and Bradley's UVA tee shirt after work and started cooking. Your heart was lighter than it had been in days. Even if it was your fault, and Bradley was distracted because of you, at least he would recover. 

You made Marry Me Rooster along with several other things that could be reheated throughout the weekend. Bradley was going to need to eat plenty of good food and get a lot of rest. And after you took him to see a doctor on base tomorrow afternoon, hopefully you'd have even more information about what you could do to help him heal.

Bradley had emailed you from the airport in Australia. It was short and sweet. 

Baby Girl,

I love you. Will you please pick me up at the airport? I'm coming home on flight 731. I'll be the guy with the horribly bruised face and a big smile just for you.

You figured if he was making jokes, he was doing pretty fucking great. You had made plans for the other aviators to stop by on Saturday or Sunday, contingent upon how your boyfriend was feeling. Phoenix promised she would wrangle the boys if needed. But you didn't want to focus too much on that. You just wanted to pick him up in four hours and thirty-two minutes and bring him home.

His flight was listed as on time, so you got there about an hour early, just in case and found a bench. Without a boarding pass, you couldn't get past the baggage claim area, so you send a message in the group text you had started with Phoenix, Hangman and the other aviators. When you went to tuck your phone in your pocket, it started ringing. 

It was Jake. "Hey, did you see my texts?" you asked.

"Yeah, I did, Angel. Hey listen... if I know Rooster, the reason he told you ahead of time about his bruising is because he probably looks real bad. You understand?"

You paused for a second and thought about Bradley's pretty face and his perfect body. "Yeah?" you said to Jake. "What about it?"

Jake sighed. "I know you're going to nurse him back to health and do a great job, too. But Rooster is self-conscious about his scars."

Your brow scrunched up. He wasn't that way with you. Not really. But you'd told him right from the start how sexy you thought he was. That wasn't going to change now, no matter how he looked. "Jake, is this your way of trying to tell me to be encouraging about how bad my hot boyfriend suddenly looks? If so, I'm not going to think he's less hot now, I promise."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm trying to tell you. Just make sure he knows that. I know would feel terrible if I came back to my girl looking anything less than my best, okay?"

You started to roll your eyes, but then you realized Jake was probably right. "I'll make sure he knows how I feel about him. Sound good?"

"Night, Angel."

You paced around, thinking about what Jake said. Maybe Bradley looked like a mess, but you didn't care. You just needed him to be with you, and then you would take care of everything for both of you. 

You heard an announcement about his flight number and the corresponding baggage claim. So you headed in that direction. But thirty minutes later, you had collected his duffel bag with the large Bradshaw patch from the conveyor belt, but there was still no sign of Bradley. You took his bag out of the way of everyone else and looked up and down the walkway for him. You got your phone out to call him, although you really didn't want to rush him. But you were dying to see him at this point. 

Then you saw him from a distance. Nobody else was that tall with such a graceful gait. Nobody else gave you goosebumps just from the way they moved. You knew it was him immediately, and you broke out into a smile. Bending down and hoisting his bag onto your shoulder, you took off in his direction as quickly as you could move. 

As you got closer, you started running, and when you could make out his smile, you started crying. 

"Bradley!" you called to him. 

"Baby Girl!" he called back and you tossed his bag to the floor and came skidding to a halt in front of him. 

"Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised and you could see stitches peaking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand through your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his. 

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could. 

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks. 

You laughed as he made contact with your skin, and then you started sobbing harder. 

"Come here," he told you, wrapping his right arm tighter around you.

"I want to touch you, but I don't want to hurt you!" you blubbered, trying to pull out of his grasp. 

"You're not hurting me. Touching you could never hurt me," he whispered into your hair. "I love you. Plus, I'm taking a lot of pain medication." 

He held you and let you cry against his chest. "I love you, too," you managed between sobs. When you finally looked up at him, he bent down slightly and softly kissed your lips. 

"I'm so much better now, Y/N," he promised. "I just needed you. I'm so sorry I made you worry. And I know I look horrible right now."

You smiled up at him and shook your head. Jake's words bounced around your brain, but you didn't have to lie to Bradley when you said, "You're still the sexiest guy I've ever seen, Roo."

He barked out a laugh and tipped his head back before grimacing in pain.

"Now let me take you home and take care of you."

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

When Bradley tried to pick up his duffle bag with his good arm, you snatched it up off the floor and scolded him. "Absolutely not! Nothing strenuous until a doctor tells you it's okay!" Then you laced your fingers through his and guided him out into the cool July night air. "I brought the Bronco, because I figured you'd be more comfortable with more room."

Bradley kind of hated your little car, but he'd never tell you that. You were convinced the thing was invincible and would last you ten more years. Bradley on the other hand was hoping it would die next week so you and he could pick out something bigger. 

"Thanks, Baby Girl," he said, pulling your fingers up to his lips. He watched you smile as he kissed your hand. This was the hand the ring should have already been on. He knew he needed to talk to you about the skipped pill and what that meant between the two of you, but he didn't feel like getting into it right now.

Despite flying back in a first class seat, Bradley hadn't been able to sleep much. He was itchy and uncomfortable and exhausted, but he knew as soon as he was with you again, he would feel better. And he honestly did. He watched you toss his duffel into the back of the Bronco, and said, "My girl's so strong." That earned him another soft kiss on the lips. Then you guided him to the passenger door and opened it for him.

Bradley gingerly climbed in, cringing a bit as his cracked ribs got used to the seated position again. A look of panic flashed across your face. "I'm fine, Sweetheart. Just really sore."

"Okay," you whispered. And then you took the seatbelt in your hand and gently pulled it across his body and buckled him in.

"That's my job," he whispered against your neck as you clicked it into place. But you were shorter than he was, and now you were draped across his thighs. "Baby Girl, climb on my lap," he instructed.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. You licked your lips and tried to read the expression on his face. "Mmhmm," he hummed.

"Roo," you gasped. "I don't want to hurt you." 

You were wearing his shirt and the necklace he gave you, and he was needy for you, and now you knew it. 

"Nothing hurts below my ribs. Climb on my lap. Please, just for a minute."

Slowly and carefully, you planted your palms on his thighs and eased yourself onto his lap, his right hand coming to rest on your hip. You shimmied up his thighs until you were straddling him, and then you placed your hands on either side of his head on the headrest.

"Bradley," you whined, letting your lips meet his. The kisses were so sweet, but your bodyweight on his thighs had him getting a little hard. He had missed you in every way. 

"I'm sorry I made you worry. I hate doing that to you."

"It's okay," you told him between the gentle kisses you planted on his lips, nose and forehead. "Don't do it again."

He smiled and rubbed your hip through your jeans. "I'll try my best not to."

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

Thanks for reading along and loving them!

PART 20

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[the-halloween-jack]

ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｔｗｏ

PART TWO OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader  The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,103k Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part >

A month had passed, and Y/N still found herself in the preternatural town of Mystic Falls; with every passing moment, her case became more thorny and twisted. Though, there were two things of which she was certain.

Vampires in this town did not succumb to their usual prison of daylight; the only logical explanation for a lack of night prowlers was that they simply did not need to prowl at night.

Secondly, the reason Y/N could not get any information from the townspeople was because they genuinely did not know anything; she had the nagging feeling their minds were patched up with fake accounts of nefarious events that they were unfortunate enough to witness. Y/N shuddered to think that maybe her memories had been played with, too; after all, she would not know. Y/N took to writing down everything she uncovered; if she were right about the memory tampering, all of her evidence and theories would be there to rediscover.

Y/N begrudgingly gazed upon her tenuous evidence in the form of a journal. Countless farfetched “animal attacks,” both historical and recent, missing persons and hospital break-ins. She knew three blood bank robberies had occurred within a fortnight, and yet no action had been taken by order of the sheriff. It was redundant to attempt a case so premeditatedly shrouded by the authorities, whose ill-judged aims of keeping locals nescient only paved the way for more of these “animal attacks”. 

The stalemate the young Winchester found herself in was beyond frustrating; she could not deaden the voice calling for her brothers’ help in her head, though her stubbornness prevented her from doing so. The further this case progressed, the more impossible it became, its virulent tendrils unfurling in every which direction. 

But the vampire case was not the only thing that frustrated Y/N; she found herself becoming quite comfortable in the uncanny town. Remaining in the same place for a couple of months gave her a strange sense of stability she had never experienced before. She found herself building relationships, and as depressing as it was, for the first time in her life, she could confidently say she had friends. 

The renowned Mystic Grill played a pivotal part in this; every other night, the locals would flock to the establishment, blissfully ignorant of the wary pastimes of their councillors. It was the seemingly tight-knit nature of Mystic Falls that first attracted Y/N to the town, and although she had only resided there for a short while, she had already begun receiving invites to their extravagant founders' events. 

Of course, Y/N was wise as to what these seemingly inconspicuous gatherings really were, though she still found the fact she was already being invited heartening. 

Though friends and a sense of community were not all that was new, Y/N tried desperately to quell the feelings she had growing for the sardonic Damon Salvatore. Of course, she had had fleeting crushes before, but this time, she found herself infatuated. She was kicking herself for ever allowing it to happen. She would go out of her way to see him, convincing herself that she was only investigating the case, trying to get into the inner loop of the founders' council. Deep down, Y/N knew she was lying to herself. 

The sound of a knock on her motel door snapped Y/N from her thoughts. Hastily shoving her journal under her bed and tucking her wooden-bullet-filled revolver in the waistline of her jeans, she strode over and glanced through the glass peephole, finding Caroline, an overbearing but lovely girl Y/N had come to call a friend, standing on the other side clutching what looked like a flyer. With a sigh, Y/N heaved the faulty door open,

‘Hey Caroline, I wasn’t expecting you here; excuse the room, it’s a mess.’

‘I don’t know why you stay here; I keep telling you we have a spare bed.’ Caroline’s response was doubtful; she already knew what Y/N would say,

‘I’ll get my own place eventually; for the meantime, I’m happy staying here.’ 

Y/N liked the idea of staying in Mystic Falls, continuing the relationships she already held dear. She thought of her brothers and how long her anonymity here would last; how long did she have before they found her and forced her back?

‘Oh well, I didn’t come here to judge your living conditions; I came here to give you this.’ 

Caroline held out the piece of paper Y/N had thought was a flyer, though upon closer inspection, she could see it was an invitation to a ball.

‘Another event?’ Y/N’s words were incredulous,

‘I know, we always have them, but you need to come to this one.’

‘I’ve needed to attend the last few founders' events.’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke; Caroline ignored her jab,

‘Elena, Bonnie and I plan on heading into Richmond to find gowns; you’re welcome to join.’ 

Although Y/N acted as though she held herself aloof from these girly hangouts, between being an only daughter and living on the road, they had been something she had never experienced before, and she could not help the excitement and giddiness she felt every time she was invited. 

‘Okay, I’ll see if I can make it… Will Damon be there?’ Caroline’s eyes rolled so far back into her skull that Y/N was worried they would be stuck there. 

‘I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll tell you again. He. Is. Bad. News.’ She very carefully emphasised each word. It was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes,

‘You know, I don’t understand why you’ve got such a big problem with him; you can tell me you know.’

‘Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to get mixed in with him; it doesn’t end well for anyone.’

Y/N wished she would heed Caroline’s advice; she could not afford to get mixed in with anyone, bad news or not; her lifestyle did not allow it. Though for a century and a half now, it seemed Mystic Falls was in constant danger from the Supernatural, would it be that unforgivable if she stayed and protected these people? Protected her friends? 

Y/N quickly learnt that Caroline was a fan of advice; if anything happened, she had an opinion about it. For the most part, Y/N found it endearing; she could tell it came from a place of care. So why was it that she was so vehemently against Damon? What was it about him that caused Caroline’s dismay? These questions riddled Y/N’s thoughts as she sat alone in the very spot she met the dark-haired man, knowing that it would not be long before he sat in the vacant space beside her. 

‘Why the long face?’ The satirical voice she had come to adore sounded from her left, and the face in question quickly shifted to a grin,

‘I knew you would be showing up soon; that’s enough to cause despair in anybody.’ Or at least Caroline, Y/N thought sardonically. Damon’s hand quickly covered his heart, his expression mocking offence.

‘You wound me.’ 

Damon pulled the stool next to the Winchester girl out from under the bench and lowered himself onto it with a hefty sigh, catching the eye of the young bartender,

‘House bourbon please…’ He glanced at the empty crystal glass clutched in her hand, ‘make that two,’ he added,

‘Thanks.’ She muttered, 

‘You know, I’ve noticed you never buy me drinks.’ He teased, eyes crinkling with his smile, Y/N scoffed, 

‘Nice try, Damon; I’ve seen your house. You don’t need me to buy you drinks.’ Her eyebrows furrowed,

‘What is it that you do for a living any way? How can you afford a house like that?’ Damon did not answer, instead, he waved his hand dismissively. He never answered personal questions; it was beyond frustrating. However, she understood she was being hypocritical; none of her new-found friends knew anything about her, nothing real anyway. She continued,

‘It doesn’t look like you have the time for a job; you spend all your time here.’ Y/N spoke with fake judgment; she spent a fair amount of her time here as well. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping her statement would elicit some sort of answer, but to no avail; Damon simply took a sip from his glass and moved to another topic,

‘Did you get your invite to the ball? I heard the girls were going to get gowns. ’ His tone was teasing as he wiggled his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes,

‘Yeah, I’ve also been invited to the shopping trip; I don’t know what I’m going to get; I've never been a dress person.’ 

‘Well, whatever you end up wearing, I’m sure you’ll look stunning; that’s something we have in common.’ Y/N's cheeks heated at his comment; she should be used to it by now; their whole relationship was built on cheap pick-up lines.

‘You flatter me.’ A chuckle escaped with her words, 

‘Speaking of the ball… Were you going with anyone?’ His words were hesitant but aired with confidence, 

‘You’re kidding, right? You’re just about the only person I know in town.’ Y/N was incredulous,

‘Well.. in that case… I suppose I better take you.’ 

Two days passed, and Y/N found herself in the back seat of Elena Gilbert's SUV, trying desperately to quell the feeling of giddiness settling in her stomach; the idea of a girls-day-out excited Y/N in a way she had not anticipated and although she had tried very hard to act aloof, she fears she had not been successful. 

Every time she complained about dresses, shoes and jewellery, Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie shared knowing looks. 

The day passed slowly, Y/N quickly learning to nod politely at the dresses she believed were only ordinary and gush over the ones she thought were stunning. By the end of their trip, Y/N knew that the girls would pass as goddesses at the ball, their embellished gowns complimenting each one of them wonderfully. Though she had not foreseen how difficult it would be to come to a decision herself, each dress she tried on never quite hugged or sat the way she wanted it. But when she glanced up at a mannequin she had yet to see, the dress she knew would be hers lied upon its shoulders. 

The burgundy gown adorned a tight-fitting velvet bodice, its sweetheart neckline drawing out to meet hanging chiffon off-shoulder sleeves. Y/N thought the skirt looked like deep gushing blood as it extended from the pointed waist of the bodice to the floor, its chiffon overlay flowing delicately to meet the rest of the dress on the ground. Complimenting the dress was a pair of long gloves made to match its ornate material and a necklace of warmly coloured pearls encrusted with a brilliant red jewel. It was utterly perfect. 

She drew closer to the gown, fingers stretching out to glide over the impossibly soft textile and called the saleswoman over, asking politely if she could have the dress and accessories to try on. As she held it up before her in the changing room, she was astonished to realise the material was even more stunning up close. 

She took timid steps from the changing room, treating the gown with utmost care. As she turned the corner, Y/N heard subtle gasps come from her entourage, her cheeks suddenly deepening to a pretty shade of vermillion. 

‘Oh my goodness, Y/N, you’re stunning’, Bonnie spoke earnestly, Elena nodding in agreement.

‘Hot and sexy are the words I’d use; whoever you’re bringing is a lucky guy’, Caroline added. Y/N was sure she suddenly looked culpable; Caroline’s eyes narrowed.

‘You know, you never mentioned who was taking you, only that somebody had asked.’ Caroline’s voice was suspicious, 

‘Well, um…’ Caroline raised her eyebrows as though she was already anticipating Y/N's answer, 

‘Damon may have asked me the other night.’ Caroline closed her eyes and sighed,

‘Y/N, he’s bad news; how many times do I have to tell you before the message sinks in?’ Her tone was frustrated,

‘You’ve never actually told me why he is “bad news.”’ Y/N’s fingers formed quotation marks around her last words. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline exchanged glances; they knew something they were unwilling to disclose to her, and Y/N would find out what it was. 

A/N: I wanted to add a reference for the dress Y/N found, though I could not find one that matched what I pictured, so I decided to draw what I was envisioning instead.

Here is a link to the image: https://i.pinimg.com/750x/60/af/61/60af61d9f9d20b5a4afa52cc71505831.jpg

[saintsenara]

always wondered how Snape never clocked that the diary/ring/Harry was a horcrux (other than the plot needed him to remain in the dark). Doesn’t add up that teen Regulus knew what it was and the 38 year old Dark Arts expert and professional double agent who has seen Voldy fail to die never worked it out

honestly, anon? same.

although i think we can work our way around this with a bit of canon-wrangling...

we can probably justify snape not clocking that harry's a horcrux during order of the phoenix, on account of the fact that he's presumably the only human horcrux in existence.

dumbledore says in half-blood prince that using animals as horcruxes is unusual because it's inadvisable, because the behaviour of a sentient horcrux can't be predicted or controlled [and it may, i suppose the implication is, therefore destroy itself, thus defeating the purpose of making it] - and snape is certainly taken aback by dumbledore asking him to keep an eye on nagini.

this could, however, be interpreted as snape being surprised that voldemort - who is highly-strung even by the standards of people who might encase their souls in inanimate objects - would have made an animal horcrux, even though he knows voldemort is able to control nagini through virtue of being a parselmouth.

connected to this, snape's understanding of the attack which harry witnesses on arthur weasley is that voldemort was mentally present in nagini when the attack took place:

“You seem to have visited the snake’s mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment,” snarled Snape. “He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too...”

voldemort is canonically known to be able to possess people - ginny weasley chief among them - and also, by his own admission in goblet of fire, to possess snakes. the assumption snape is making is that voldemort's control over nagini is one of the "standard" possessions the dark lord is capable of - and he must also assume, as mad-eye moody does and as the rest of the order accepts moody's account of, that harry's visions are the result of voldemort possessing or attempting to possess him.

indeed, there's an interesting sense in canon that many of the adult characters don't understand that harry's visions don't resemble what possession typically looks like - which is a genre convention which is in keeping with the overall narrative arc of the series as children's literature. the child-heroes need to be able to work everything out and the adults need to be, at best, politely disinterested - and this manifests itself throughout the seven-book canon in the fact that the child characters understand voldemort considerably better than any of the adult ones.

after all, the only person who points out that harry's experience isn't standard possession is also a child:

“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.” Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. “I forgot,” he said.  “Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly.  “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it. “So... so do you think I’m being possessed, then?” “Well, can you remember everything you’ve been doing?” Ginny asked. “Are there big blank periods where you don’t know what you’ve been up to?” “No,” he said.  “Then You-Know-Who hasn’t ever possessed you,” said Ginny simply. “When he did it to me, I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing for hours at a time. I’d find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.”

from snape's perspective, then, the idea that nagini and harry are simply being possessed by voldemort - rather than that they're sentient horcruxes [and that harry is a unique type of sentient horcrux, and that voldemort could have been stupid enough to intentionally make his child-enemy who hates him into a receptacle for his soul] - is the result of him applying the principle of occam's razor: that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.

snape does, however, acknowledge that harry and voldemort's mental connection is unusual:

“The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,” said Snape. “Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.” “Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?” Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so. “The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable - when you are asleep, for instance - you are sharing the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.”

obviously, we know that the connection forged between harry and voldemort is that harry's a horcrux. but it's also the case that harry doesn't have the ability to see into voldemort's mind before voldemort is corporeal again. if we assume that dumbledore keeps harry's visions from the earlier parts of goblet of fire secret from snape - and there's no reason why this wouldn't be the case - then snape's understanding of the mental connection between harry and voldemort is presumably that it was caused by voldemort using harry's blood to resurrect himself.

after all, snape must know about the blood protection established by lily's death, since not only the full order [moody mentions it in deathly hallows] but the death eaters also know about it. he will also know that voldemort used harry's blood for the ritual because voldemort did this in order to show off - he's proud of the symbolism, and you can tell he was dining out on it right up until it spectacularly backfired...

the question then becomes whether snape truly deeps what dumbledore's saying when he tells him - during the half-blood prince timeline, but not revealed to us until the end of deathly hallows - that:

“On the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

snape realises, without dumbledore prompting him further, that this means harry has to die. which means, i think, that we can justifiably suggest that snape has twigged that harry needs to die because - in order for a horcrux to be destroyed - the container needs to be damaged beyond all repair...

and - let's be frank - his little argument with dumbledore after this revelation makes perfect sense if he knows that dumbledore is speaking about harry as a horcrux:

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter - ”

snape's beef is that dumbledore secured his cooperation as a spy on the pretence that he could atone for his role in lily's death by protecting harry from voldemort, while dumbledore knew all along that this was never going to happen [snape does not, of course, know that dumbledore reckons harry will be able to return]. clearly, he would have preferred dumbledore to have just smothered harry as a baby, destroyed the horcrux, and saved them all the agony.

and so i think that it's canonically impossible that snape doesn't understand - eventually - that harry's a horcrux.

and i also think that it's canonically impossible that snape doesn't clock the others well before this.

after all, voldemort states in goblet of fire that the reason he's so pissed off by the death eaters who pretended to have renounced him after 1981 is because they knew he couldn't die:

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand... “I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain...”

[he is hamming it up so much here. the man understands camp.]

what he means by this - clearly - is that the fact that he'd made at least one horcrux was common knowledge among his minions, which provides the explanation for why regulus knew what was going on [which i've gone into more detail about here].

which makes sense - voldemort actually tells us in canon that his safeguards aren't that nobody knows he created the horcruxes [and also, if that's what he'd been going for, he'd almost certainly have killed slughorn.]

the section is too long to quote, but if you look at the bit in chapter twenty-seven of deathly hallows when he's panicking that harry and dumbledore have figured out his secrets, the thing he's afraid of isn't that they know he's made horcruxes, but that they've worked out what the objects are and where they might be hidden, something he was certain nobody other than himself would ever be able to discover.

the ring - for example - could only be located by someone who knew voldemort's full birth name, who knew that the name "marvolo" was associated with the gaunts, and who knew where the gaunts had once lived.

the locket - as voldemort understands it, since he assumes kreacher is drowned by the inferi - could only be located by someone who knew that voldemort had, as a child, been taken on an outing to the coast and had lured two children into a cave to torture them.

the diadem could only be located by someone who knew that it wasn't actually lost, knew that helena ravenclaw could be manipulated into revealing where it was, and knew how to open the room of requirement - which voldemort canonically believes is impossible for anyone other than him [even though this makes absolutely no sense to me - there's furniture everywhere, babe?].

the cup could only be located by someone who managed to bypass gringotts' famously tight security, gain access to the lestranges' vault, pick out the cup from among all the other objects stored within [which would also require them to know that a shop-boy called tom riddle stole it from a woman called hepzibah smith] and then not get crushed to death by a rising tide of molten metal.

the diary is much less closely guarded - although voldemort evidently believes that lucius malfoy can be trusted to keep it safe until he tells him otherwise. but this - as dumbledore tells us in half-blood prince - is because voldemort wants it to be used, so that the chamber of secrets can be reopened, and that he's therefore prepared to take the risk of it being destroyed because he believes that his other horcruxes are so secure that the loss of the diary won't matter. this is also, i suspect, his view of nagini - which is why him moving to protect her is taken by both dumbledore and harry as the signal that no other horcruxes remain.

snape must know, then, that voldemort has made horcruxes, because voldemort must, however obliquely, have told him so.

and he must figure out that the diary and the ring are horcruxes specifically. he's clearly the source of dumbledore's information that voldemort's fury when he discovered the diary had been destroyed was "terrible to behold".

and he must be the person who prompts phineas nigellus black to drop the info that dumbledore used the sword of gryffindor to break open the ring. harry and hermione assume this is something black lets slip without knowing its significance, but we know from the prince's tale that he visits them at snape's request in order to find out how the horcrux hunt is going.

[on the sword of gryffindor, snape's statement - "and you won't tell me why it's so important to give potter the sword?" - has to be taken as asking why the sword is so crucial to the destruction of a horcrux that he's being forced to go to great personal risk to give it to harry in order for this overall argument to work... but i think this reading is plausible - not least because voldemort knows that harry was left the sword in dumbledore's will, since wizarding wills are examined by the ministry, and could undoubtedly find out very easily if he wanted to that the sword snape places in the lestranges' vault is a fake.]

the reason that snape doesn't participate in the horcrux hunt in any more specific way relates to the point about genre conventions and child-heroes made above.

the reason that the horcrux hunt takes the form it takes isn't because horcruxes themselves are magic so arcane and unknowable that only the trio, dumbledore, and voldemort are aware they exist. it's because harry - even more than dumbledore - is the only person who knows voldemort well enough to figure out what the horcruxes are made from and where they are.

[this is why i don't vibe with stories which assume the hunt goes quicker if snape - or sirius or anyone - helps the trio. the point is that nobody but harry could figure out that voldemort would be seething about not having a vault at gringotts, or that he would have hidden the diadem the night of his failed job interview.]

snape appears to know the adult voldemort reasonably well, but there's no evidence at all that he knows anything about his life prior to c.1970 - either from dumbledore or from voldemort himself. this means that he would be absolutely no help when it came to guessing what the horcruxes were - the diary, ring, cup, diadem, and locket all presuppose the knowledge that voldemort was once called tom riddle, after all.

which makes him useless to harry when it comes to hunting them down. by the time dumbledore dies, harry knows with near-absolute certainty what five of the horcruxes are: the diary, ring, cup, locket, and snake. he knows for a fact that two of these have been destroyed, he and dumbledore believe they've just got their hands on a third, and he knows where a fourth is [nagini, next to voldemort]. the location of the cup - and the form and location of the sixth horcrux, the diadem - is something only harry has the ability to work out. the seventh - harry himself - is information dumbledore has ordered snape to keep hidden until the appointed time.

meaning that snape clearly does know what a horcrux is - both in theory and when four [diary, ring, nagini, harry] of voldemort's own are put in front of him - but that this knowledge is sufficiently incomplete as to be irrelevant to the quest harry's engaged in which takes up the narrative's time.

[fairykery]

The Vampire Diaries opinions people hate me for:

Forwood is actually a good ship and I wish it didn't have to go down like that, at the expense of Caroline's character.

I ship Klaroline; but Klaus was toxic. I could only ever see this ship becoming endgame if Klaus redeemed himself first.

Caroline had chemistry with everyone except Stefan.

Bamon had potential (and it was literally in the books). If they had come up with a "I had my humanity off" plotline it would have made the ship work🤷🏻‍♀️

Bonezo is a good ship and is clearly less toxic than Bamon; but it only happened to please racist dullena fans that complained about Bamon's romantic implications(even if it happened in the books)

Caroline, Katherine, Bonnie, & Stefan are the most interesting characters of TVD

Jeremy & Anna were cute IDK🤷🏻‍♀️

Matt did not deserve the hate. His feelings were valid. All his friends were killers and he was an abandoned, heartbroken boy, whose mom was a drunk and pedophile, and his only sister & family was killed by the boyfriend of his ex-girlfriend who he loved alot, just cause he decided he was bored. He remained loyal & brave to his friends and they didn't account for their murders and killings & stopped caring for the innocent.

Alaric was not a bad father and teacher. Even if he had his slip-ups he was actually an interesting & good character.

Damon is way too defended In this fandom. People should like the character and not defend the wrongs?! Just how many women has he compelled to sleep with him and to let him drink their blood? And what about what he did to Aaron whitmore? He slaughtered entire families of Innocents even while dating Elena. So all that "sHe mAkEs hiM bEtTeR" crap, is not valid. You can like Ian's acting and the smugness of his character, & like the character for those reasons, without defending the terrible acts of the character.

Delena was a horrible ship. The only reason it's popular is due to the shallow fact that people see Ian as more handsome than Paul. The ship only has good chemistry and looks. Beyond that, there is nothing.

Stefan is still the better man. (Fried humanity/off humanity Stefan don't count just as it goes for all the other vampires) Gaslighting writing through the other characters won't change that(Nice try, Julie P)🤷🏻‍♀️

Alaric and Jo were really cute together. I don't care. They made epic twins together.

Elena is overloved; but overhated at the same time. It's annoying. Just love the kind human girl that she used to be and hate the vicious, selfish girl she became, without hating her for breathing. That simple.

Klelijah(Katherine x Elijah) is not a good ship. Katherine loved stefan. She was only using Elijah to survive, and back then she only pitied him. Elijah also only was with her because of what he did to Tatia

Katherine did deserve better though, even if she did bad things. Making her the biggest/& ultimate devil and pretending there wasn't any good in her was incredibly misogynistic. Like Damon & Klaus did worse things and they get happy lives and good character ends? Like No! Horrible! Katherine's core was a scared little girl who wanted to live a normal human life while still being powerful and beautiful. She was chased for 500 years, had to see her entire family slaughtered, lost a baby because of misogynistic expectations, found her again, just to see her last family die again. Did she do horrible things? Yes; all to survive. But she also saved Jeremy, Damon, Stefan, encouraged Elena to be honest about what she felt for Damon even when she didn't have to.

Caroline did annoying things; but overall she was an interesting character. And she was way too smart and strong as a vampire. I loved seeing it.

Bonnie deserved so much more than the show gave her. I hope she gets her own show one day. A show about witches would be pretty lit.

Rebecca could have tried harder to be kinder and less evil. I get she had centuries of habits she needed to break but still. (Elena stabbing her in the back was still shit though)

Klaus was evil to his default and was an abuser to his family. I'm glad he changed/died for hope; but still I would have been nice if there were other factors to this action.

They shouldn't have thrown away the good of Elijah Mikalson. He didn't deserve that. The way they also tried to pull a Stefan on him.

Haylijah was a cute ship🤷🏻‍♀️

Esther wasn't wrong about her children being evil as vampires. And what she wanted to do with them was have them live as humans.

What the originals did to Marcel was fucked up

What the originals did to Davina was cruel

I wish we could have seen more of the witch that played "the hollow".

Glamorizing Hope's evil side is not "a flex". Again, like the character & actor art; but not the vicious actions.

Hosie should have been canon

That random new original sister was so unnecessary.

Kolvina is the most interesting ship of the entire TVDverse I wish there was more of them

All TVD ships were good I just find: Steroline, Delena, & Klamille to be cringe. Steroline only happened to compensate Forwood/& Klaroline and justify Delena. And Delena only happened because of looks and the love story was trash. Klamille was also a compensation ship to Klaroline so yeah, cringe.

TVD writing, lore, acting, cinematography,. directing is all a 10. The only thing that is trash is the ending and all the romantic entanglement the show had.

Warning: This isn't to start an agree to disagree party. This post is just so that those that agree with me can high-five with me. If you disagree, don't even bother commenting on this post. Everything is a matter of perception & perspective. I'm just sharing mine, while venting. By jumping on this post to fight with me you are immediately self-labeling yourself as entitled. Everyone has their own opinions bestie so don't even.

[vickyvicarious]

"The letter to Hawkins—that I shall, of course, send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?" He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence.

They both know Jonathan's letters are far from sacred. The treatment of the letters began with spying on them by giving Jonathan thin envelopes that Dracula could read through. Then of course escalated to Dracula all but dictating false letters to be delivered when he chooses, which serve to hide what is really happening to Jonathan. This is a blatant lie and mockery even before we come to the pretended innocence at what might be the source of these letters.

It's clear that Dracula has already read Jonathan's letters before coming in here. As such, he knows that the letter to Hawkins doesn't do anything but tell him to talk to Mina*. Allowing the letter to pass is no more than an extra mockery, because it won't reveal anything. And by forcing Jonathan to send it without the key that made it useful (the Mina letter) Dracula is once again taking ownership over Jonathan's correspondence, his voice.

It's no coincidence that Jonathan can do nothing but follow Dracula's instructions in silence. Not only must he be feeling quite defeated and unable to speak in a calm tone/without possibly dropping the ruse of friendship altogether, but also... Dracula has figuratively just stolen Jonathan's voice, his words. Jonathan's silence bears that out. He does not describe himself saying anything at all for the rest of the entry. Nor does he even try to 'speak' in the one way he still can freely do so - in his diary - until he has left the study. There is no break in his narration to write after Dracula finds the letters. That means after he was left alone in the study Jonathan continued to remain 'silent' for hours. Long enough to fall asleep there, to be awoken and sent to his room. Long enough to sleep again in his bed and fail to dream.

Dracula stole his voice from him, and it sunk Jonathan so thoroughly into despair that it took some time for him to get it back.

(All this, and he may have been lying, may not have even sent the one letter. Even without the key of Mina's letter, if Hawkins gets it, it could possibly raise questions about missing correspondence or context. Maybe it's cleaner to just stick to the fully dictated letters. Dracula may well have just burned the letter to Hawkins as well later on. But he didn't do so in the moment, not in front of Jonathan. There, he burnt the letter that had hopes attached, and forced Jonathan to watch without protesting. He made Jonathan take part in 'sending' a letter that has no purpose anymore, because being made to join in with the Count gives Dracula more control, breaks Jonathan's spirit more, twists the knife just that extra bit deeper.)

*Slight spoilers but I just noticed the foreshadowing here with Jonathan entrusting the main document to Mina and trying to have a trusted older man seek her for context. The man may have more knowledge about the situation overall and thus ability to assist but Mina is trusted with the most important details and thus the decision of what to do about them, whether to share them or not. Later on the man in the equation changes, but Mina reading a shorthand account from Jonathan and then choosing to share it with an older man who is seeking her as a resource for more context is what kickstarts the back half of the plot.

[funkyllama]

Princess Adelheid, Margravine [Redacted]

Born Countess Adelheid Elisabet Amalia of Celle and March; 8 May 1805 - 24 September 188x, Adelheid was the youngest child of Countess Wilhelmine of Celle and Count Bernard of March. Her elder siblings were Everette I, Grand Duke of Bergstrasse and Countess Marie-Odile of March. Adelheid was born at Schloss Celle, and christened into the Catholic faith. She was raised in the French court after the premature deaths of her parents during the Napoléonic Wars, by her elder brother. In 181x, she was arranged to marry Prince Jean, Margrave [Redacted] in what was a significant military alliance between the two families. They were married in the spring of 182x. She gave birth to nine children, only three of which survived to adulthood: Princes Stefan and Luitpold, and Princess Rudolphine. Her betrothment and marriage was a significant step up in the social climbing of her brother, Everette I, who was able to massively expand the Rodchester-Bach's wealth and prominence during the reign of Emperor Napoléon I Simparte. Adelheid never remarried after the early demise of her husband, nor did she return home to Bergstrasse. Instead, she remained in the court of her son, Prince Stefan, until her death in September of 188x. Throughout her life, she remained in close companionship with her sister-in-law, Princess Antoinette. Letters from Adelheid to her personal staff reveal that she and her Chief Lady-in-Waiting, Helene von Voss, carried on a short lived affair in the 1840s. Adelheid's original diaries and personal letters were destroyed, and/or heavily edited, by her daughter posthumously. Recordings of her life rely, mainly, upon the writings and accounts of her husband, brother, and children.

@simming-in-the-rain and @empiredesimparte for mention :)

[burningvelvet]

so i have some random questions, maybe you could answer, and am curious if any have had any academic papers written up about them, or if you just.. know where to find the information? Bit of a meta question: How much information do we actually have of the gang on their days in Geneva around the time of digging into their ghost stories? Is it just ex. what you've posted before of their journals of the time, or do we have other later recollections akin to Mary's own in her intro of Frankenstein? Just how much remains, and how much can we pull from various sources etc? (research is fun, go off on this on, i love to read it.) The evening before mary's waking dream, do we have any further recollection by the others on their discussions on the principle of life, other than her account? Or even in general by the squad thru their lives, does anyone dig into the technological advancements and scientific theories of their time, or even those of the Enlightenment thinkers? (Newton, Hooke, Boyle, et al.) I assume since it's the Romantics with their general dislike of the prior period it's a no, and also because I'm asking about bloody poets, not academics, but..? Likewise, anything written by the gang on her waking dream and the effects after? (could've sworn I read something about Mary appearing gastly pale?) (I'd love to hear your thoughts and rants and rambles on the following, :D): Or do we have anything written by others outside the gang in reference to her dream after she gave her Intro? Something like.. (I can't articulate this well, pls bear with me; ) Has there been any sort of mysticism, or poetic acknowledgement of Mary's 'waking dream'/'hallucination' being written as something 'supernatural'? Anything written akin to that one parody/horror film you mentioned where everyone basically hallucinates that night lol. like.. Mary's Intro gives such an inherent je ne sais quoi (lol) of.. this entire fragment of history? It reads like a frozen slice of a gothic novel/poem in itself. Very 'based on a true story' but the true story holds more substance than Frankenstein itself. As if Mary herself was in a gothic novel writers could only dream of. Has nobody noted this? Tried to catch it, wax poetic on it? I feel like there's a.. gravitas here but I don't see anyone speak of it? (other than that horror film.)

This will be long!

Re: Geneva 1816 sources: We have letters, journals, records (like receipts), accounts from the other people on the lake, accounts from aristocrats Byron visited at Geneva without the Shelleys presence, and some accounts from Lord Byron's Geneva servants given to inquiring tourists later on. Lake Geneva was an insulated aristocratic vacation town and gossip abounded.

First-person documents: - Polidori’s 1816 journal, his prefaces to The Vampyre and Ernestus Berchtold. - History of a Six Weeks Tour, Mary’s first book, co-written with Shelley; travelogue containing letters and journals from their travels in 1814 and 1816. - Mary Shelley’s other journals and letters. - Mary Shelley's (voluntarily uncredited) contributions to Thomas Moore's biography series on Byron, where the time in Geneva is talked about and where most of the funny stories come from, and a handful of comments in Thomas Moore's diaries/letters regarding Mary's recollections. - Byron’s letters, found here on Peter Cochran's site (he was an editor/scholar & leading Byronist) https://petercochran.wordpress.com/byron-2/byron/

Best books about the summer of 1816: - Byron in Geneva by David Ellis, - The Poet and the Vampyre by Andrew Stott, - The Making of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" by Daisy Hay.

Books on Frankenstein or the tech & science of the time in relation to Mary & other Romantics: way too many to mention! Frankenstein is one of the most written about works of all time, and tech discourse is inherent to Romanticism — there are tons of books & articles written about all topics. Percy studied science with James Lind and was inspired by Erasmus Darwin who Mary refers to in a Frankenstein preface. 

On if others at Diodati recollected specifically about Frankenstein or Mary being pale: Percy wrote a review of Frankenstein as well as the novel's introduction section (he wrote it from Mary's POV), and he mentioned the novel in his letters; Claire discusses it several times in her letters with praise, Byron mentions it once or twice with brief compliments; Polidori mentions it in the preface to Ernestus Berchtold in compliment but with possible jealousy beneath. Your "pale" reference likely refers to how she and Byron said she looked when learning of the news of Percy's missing boat; I made a post about that (https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/710178692214784000/from-conversations-of-lord-byron-with-the-countess?source=share). 

My Interpretation of Mary's "waking dream": This was largely metaphorical. Mary probably did have an inspirational dream (scientists have found evidence: https://m.csmonitor.com/Science/2011/0928/Frankenstein-moon-Astronomers-vindicate-Mary-Shelley-s-account) but at the same time I do think she sensationalized the trip a bit. From the novel The Poet and the Vampyre: "these [visits to Diodati were] not always convivial - Mary describing the 13 August visit in a single word: 'War.'" Mary, like everyone else, mythologized the summer of 1816. The preface to the 1831 edition of Frankenstein (different from the 1818 original) sensationalizes the origins with a gothic flare because that’s what she knew her fans wanted; she was a widowed single mother in her 30s determined to make a living off her writing, and she enjoyed the immense popularity of Frankenstein, helping to proliferate it through the wildly successful stage adaptation which was spookier and showier than the philosophical novel.

Mary “said the three or four months she passed there were the happiest of her life,” (source: Thomas Moore’s journal, vol. 5, p. 178, via Internet Archive). Before, and especially after this summer of 1816, Mary experienced many traumas which left her with severe depression, and so she romanticized that time, ignoring all of the many ongoing problems surrounding it.

1816 was extraordinary fun for all of them, but it was not paradise. The summer was littered with actual storms as well as emotional storms. In the 1831 preface Mary makes no mention of Claire’s existence, though Claire was the only reason they were even there, since Claire wanted to visit Byron who she was having a horribly drawn out affair with. The two dramatically broke up that summer, made worse by Claire then revealing she was pregnant with his child. There was also a lot of drama with Polidori (writer, and Byron’s doctor) who fought with Byron and Percy, threatening Percy to duel him over a sailing race.

Mary was also in denial about Percy’s many problems. Shelley was mentally and physically ill, perpetually on the run from debtors who had imprisoned him, disowned by his family for being kicked out of Oxford due to atheism, publicly notorious, had a wife and children back in England, and more than likely had an ongoing affair with Claire, causing Byron to briefly wonder at their child’s paternity. Still, Mary was madly in love with Percy from the time she met him until her last moments on Earth when she died staring at his preserved heart which she requested to be buried with. She shared his struggles and spent much of her life defending him, and she's the reason he achieved posthumous fame thanks to her relentlessly promoting, annotating, editing, transcribing, publishing, and republishing his works.

She occasionally does hint at the drama of that time, and how hurt she felt at times, but generally Mary ignored these things, as well as their many other flaws, so that she could remain on good terms with all of them (especially Claire and Byron after their break-up). Despite the drama, she had felt the good times at Lake Geneva were the best times of her life thus far. She was in the most beautiful place in the world, she loved traveling, she felt inspired to write, her baby was healthy and had a good nanny, her own health improved, she spent fun times with her lover who was happily preoccupied with sailing, Claire (who she loved but also found annoying) was preoccupied with Byron, and she found Byron fascinating.

Not even a year after the trip, she was already painfully reminiscing about her good memories: 

“that time is past, and this will also pass, when I may weep to read these words, and again moralise on the flight of time. Dear Lake! I shall ever love thee,”

“We may see [Byron] again, and again enjoy his society; but the time will also arrive when that which is now an anticipation will be only in the memory. Death will at length come, and in the last moment all will be a dream.”

“why is not life a continued moment where hours and days are not counted — but as it is a succession of events happen — the moment of enjoyment lives only in memory and when we die, where are we?”

Frankenstein was started in the summer of 1816 and first published in 1818. Then there was an 1831 edition, the most commonly read today, which is slightly different (slightly less radical for Victorian audiences) and which includes the preface which refers to the “waking dream.” Scholars have noted that Mary’s recollection is partly based on her mythologizing and romanticizing her youth. This is even more obvious considering all of the traumas she had experienced afterward. In her journals (via Project Gutenberg) she often refers to her youth as being like a dream before Percy's death. She was seeing her life through rose-tinted glasses to cope, and possibly experiencing depression-related derealization. 

Condensed timeline of Mary’s traumas to show what I mean about the Frankenstein period being a relatively happier time for her: Her mother died giving birth to her. June 1814: her and her step-sister Claire run away with Shelley. Problems with her father for years after (though they eventually rekindle). Feb 1815: 1st child dies, becomes pregnant a few months later. Jan 1816: has 2nd child who is healthy. Summer 1816: Geneva summer, begins writing Frankenstein; Claire in love with and pregnant by Byron before their relationship dissolves. Oct 1816: Mary’s half-sister Fanny kills herself. Dec 1816: Shelley’s wife kills herself; Mary marries Percy to protect their kids & so he can gain custody of his first 2 kids. Mar 1817: they stay in Marlowe; Mary described this as maybe their happiest residence, and this is where she wrote much of Frankenstein. 1817 misc.: court denies them custody of Shelley's first two kids due to his unorthodoxy; Percy self-exiles from England, they move to Italy, move around continuously, & suffer illness. Sept 1817: 3rd baby is born & dies. Jan 1818: Frankenstein published. June 1819: 2nd child dies while Mary is pregnant with 4th child. Nov 1819: has 4th & only surviving baby (Percy Florence, who lives a long life). 1821: Polidori dies from suspected suicide. April 1822: Claire & Byron’s baby Allegra dies. June 1822: news of Allegra’s death. Mary almost dies from a miscarriage, Percy saves her life. July 1822: Percy dies in a boat accident. Their social circle splits up. Claire moves to Russia. After comforting her, Mary’s closest friend Jane (whose husband died with Percy; the two couples lived together) breaks up their friendship & moves abroad. Mary suffers multiple social conflicts which are largely not her fault, & becomes socially isolated. 1823: Byron & their mutual friend Trelawny join the Greek War. 1824: Byron dies. Mary writes her apocalyptic novel The Last Man as a tribute to her broken social circle & it’s members.

From her journal, Oct 2, 1822: “Father, mother, friend, husband, children—all made, as it were, the team which conducted me here, and now all, except you, my poor boy (and you are necessary to the continuance of my life), all are gone, and I am left to fulfill my task.”

Several times, she wrote that the only reason she didn’t kill herself was because of her son Percy. However, note: Her life did improve after The Last Man. It's a bit of an outdated view that she was just a stereotypical depressed widow forever after. She was a strong and determined woman, and she eventually had a full social circle, friends, married son, daughter-in-law, flirtations, a successful writing career, hobbies, and so on. She found meaning through motherhood, writing, and paying tribute to Percy. However, for all these reasons, she saw the period of Frankenstein and prior to be some of the happiest times of her life and a "calm before the storm" (literally, the storm that killed Percy), which explains all the above.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

It's Visceral And It's Cruel: Possible Moment ~ Part 2

Summary: Aemond's tired of laying in bed all hard and bothered thinking about Rhaena, so he goes to her chambers and tries to seduce her. He wants to fuck her, but he wants her to want it.

Warnings: Smut and some angst!

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Ao3 |

P.S: PLEASEE I don't even know if this is coherent! Aemond's just a little slutty simp in this. He's DOWN astronomically, Rhaena has all the power and she doesn't even know it! This is also like twice the length of the first part, so enjoyyyyyyy!

Aemond pulled his sheets off his body violently. Pulling on black breeches and a black silken shirt. He tugged on a pair of boots, fastened his leather patch over his sapphire eye and then made to slip behind the tapestry wall of his chambers. Slinking into the Maegor's hidden tunnel system. 

He knew where Rhaena's chambers were by heart, they were the only chambers connected to his directly without him having to take any turns. 

He'd walked this path before, night after night standing by her chamber's entrance just leaning against it to feel closer to her. In hopes of hearing her, maybe hearing something that would validate her equal need for him. 

But tonight, he would not wait for such an occurrence. He had no intention of waiting patiently this time. He wouldn't be deterred, he needed something tonight, and he would get it. He knew her feelings for him were true, he'd felt them. Whether her intensity matched his, remained to be seen. But he would uncover the truth tonight.

Aemond pushed the hidden entrance to her chambers open slowly, much as he'd like to pounce on her, ravish her...his approach needed to have some sort of tact. They'd only kissed three times before, humiliating as it was that he was keeping count. He figured he should keep that in mind for her sake, for while he wanted more from her, he'd wanted more for ages…he'd have to coax her.

Seduce her.

Stepping inside, he took a brief moment to take in her chambers. For, while he had thought of countless filthy things he'd imagine doing to her in these very rooms, this was the first time he'd physically stepped foot inside of them. 

And there it was, that overwhelming sweet scent of lavender and something warm, a sort of spice, it hit him instantly. 

Her scent. 

Rhaena's chambers were neat, well kept, not to his minimalist extent, but he expected as much. Most nobles were not as precise as he was. What he hadn't expected was for her room to be both adorned ornately and with a variety of green plants and vibrant flowers. It seemed slightly odd at first, but in all actuality he found it quite fitting for her. He'd learned that she'd had a fondness for plants from his sister Helaena only a few days prior, and seeing how she cherished being surrounded by them now, he'd certainly make it his mission to gift her something rare. 

He could see her book shelves adorned with floral vines that snaked around the angled joints, while the shelves themselves were filled with volumes of what he was sure were her favourite history accounts, historical Targaryen diaries and most certainly dragon bonding scripts.

A loud crackle of burning wood broke the spell he was under.

His eye followed the sound, and there he spotted her. Finally, off to the right, he saw his Rhaena curled up on the chaise near a roaring fire in the hearth at the centre of her chambers. Her dragon's egg sat in a half opened incubator case near the flames, while she read a book in kind. Her long silver locs were free from any elaborate styling, falling over her shoulders, framing her face beautifully. As the light from the fire gave her tawny skin a luminous glow. 

Surely it was a privilege and a pleasure to view her so serenely like this. He might've dropped to his knees and called her a living goddess if he was so inclined.

And he most definitely would be if it finally granted him access to her.

He felt his simple glance fall into a hazy gaze. Surely he'd observed Rhaena countless times before, watching her exist in her own world without the knowledge of his presence. And part of him liked seeing her like that, she would never know just how truly captivating it was to watch her. As if she existed in a completely different realm from the rest of the court. Even from him. 

Annoying it may be, he knew exactly why the realm's bachelors sought for her hand. 

She was singlehandedly the fairest woman he'd ever known, a graceful dragon Princess in all her glory. 

But as he saw it, dragons were meant to be with dragons. He knew this to be true, he claimed the largest dragon in the world as a mere child. He should be able to claim her, his sweet little dragon. His mother and grandfather's wishes be damned, he would not settle for anyone else. 

He deserved a Valyrian bride.

His own heavenly Dragon Princess.

She would be his. He'd make it so. 

Aemond closed the passage door behind him before stepping forward towards her. Every step closer to her shot a fiery heat to his lower belly. When his boots clacked against the stone floor, her eyes finally shot up to meet him. Her expression seemed stunned, her pale violet eyes shot wide, long pale lashes fluttering as her tantalizing lips fell open right before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She clutched the book in her hands to her chest as if she was using it as a way to cover herself. 

"Sweet cousin," Aemond had smirked devilishly at her as his greeting, "I figured we might continue where we left off earlier today. Before you ripped yourself from me and dashed away."

The closer he got to her, he'd realized that the pale white night gown she wore was indeed nearly transparent. Causing his eye to linger on the length of her smooth long legs for a beat too long. 

Aemond swallowed deeply at the sight, licking his lips. 

"Aemond," she breathed, "what are you doing here? How did you...ugh, Maegor's hidden tunnels," she groaned, pulling her book away from her chest so she could close it and place it down.  He was starting to think maybe she hadn’t realized just how thin her nightgown was. His eye hadn't missed the opportunity to quickly snap down to her chest, though. His jaw had clenched at the sight, he could just make out how perky and shapely her breasts were. Even the faintest impression of her sleek brown nipples... pebbling against the fabric. Every breath she took drew in more of his sharp attention. 

His own breathing had become these rapid bursts that strained his chest. Making his cock twitch within his breeches, tight and trapped against the leather.

Aemond didn't wait for Rhaena to tell him to leave, instead he made big steps over to her. Kneeling himself down in front of her, to her obvious surprise, he gauged from the way her eyes had widened down at him. 

He was acting on impulse now, his body willing his decisions more than his mind. Whatever plan he had when he'd entered her rooms had faded the moment he saw just how unbelievably bare she seemed to be underneath that flimsy nightgown. 

And how here he was kneeling before her like she was a goddess he intended to pay tribute to. Which in all honesty, if she'd only spread her legs and allow him to…he would.

He locked her in place with his hands planted on either side of her legs on the chaise, "are you not tired of running from me, because I am. I know you feel for me, I'm tired of pretending otherwise." He held her in place with his gaze, both burning and unyielding. 

Rhaena's lips parted for just a moment then closed. Her fingers gripping into the hem of her nightgown as she seemed to be thinking of her response. Agonizingly slow as she was, he was too busy willing his mind to stay pure for the moment. Watching as the muscles along her elegant throat worked to swallow as she all but audibly gulped, "Aemond, you know we cannot. I'm certain my parents mean to make an alliance if not a more…proper…suitable match. Lord Cregan Stark or a noble knight" 

"Fuck the Stark hound or a fucking knight. And how are any of those options a more suitable match than me?”

“Aemond,” she sighed.

“I didn't ask you about your parents intentions for you, anyhow," he sneered, she was avoiding the obvious, "I want you to admit it. You’ve enjoyed our time together."

Rhaena's face twisted into a small scowl, "whether I've enjoyed our time or kisses matters not. We have duties, I thought you held duty above all else,"

It was true, he did. 

But clearly when it came to Rhaena…he found himself willing to risk quite a lot. But in either case, she hadn’t denied it.

Aemond moved himself closer to her, a rakish grin forming on his lips, "so you do admit it." 

With another sigh, she pushed herself up from her laid back position and scooted closer to him. His jaw clenched as she slid her legs under his arms, letting him sit snugly between her thighs. The warmth of her close proximity caused his cheeks to burn a fierce deep red. That lavender scent of hers permeated all around him now that the source was seated right against him. And that warm scent...some sort of spice...he'd die to know its name.

He kept his hands where they were, so incredibly close to caressing her thighs. He hadn't expected her to be so bold. He figured he'd have to lure her to him, coax her into giving in to him. 

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd thought so, she'd never been afraid to verbally fight him when she thought him cruel and monstrous. When he threatened her and her step-brothers upon their arrival, she'd gladly held a dagger to his throat and threatened him with equal venom. Though he'd easily batted the weapon away from her in that encounter, he still found the heated moment commendable. 

Rhaena Targaryen, she was truly a dragon incarnate. Bold, fierce and beautiful. But only when it came to him. These were sides of her he was certain were only reserved for him, for he was the only one who could draw them out of her.

She only feared him when she started to feel something for him, he was showing her parts of herself she hadn’t known existed. So she thought it’d be better to avoid him, but he wouldn't let her escape. He wouldn’t let her run from her own desires…not anymore.

Especially now that she was seated so openly against him, he hoped she'd never leave.

Aemond raised his gaze to her beautiful face, those hypnotic pale violet eyes of hers already scanning his. This was a challenge and Rhaena seemed up for it, she held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, burning him in place. He was certain she had no idea what she did to him, how she tormented him day and night with just the barest bit of effort. 

When her incredibly soft hands reached for his shoulders, slowly sliding up his neck, it drew shivers from him. His muscles tensed from her gentle attention.  

But Gods was his patience thinning, he genuinely had to fight himself just to stay still. The need to shift his breeches for they felt unbearably retraining against his hard cock. 

Aemond wanted to snap, pin her down and take what he wanted...it certainly sounded appealing. He was actively willing himself to remain calm and not tear off her nightgown. He couldn't help but wonder if she was completely bare underneath it, he couldn't tell if she'd had her small clothes on. For if she didn’t and she was bare underneath…that would mean…pressed against his abdomen, the warmth emitting from her.

Fuck...her bare cunt could be pressed against him at this very moment.  

He tried to be subtle as he glanced down at the lack of space between them. Although the moment he had, he found himself gazing straight down the opening of her nightgown. The sight of her full cleavage nearly brimming over the neckline lace caused his cock to twitch yet again. 

This was ridiculous, truly, his body was reacting as if he'd never glimpsed a pair of breasts before. 

The image of her luscious full breasts bouncing with every deep powerful thrust he delivered, flashed through his mind. He'd have her on her back, her lovely body splayed before him. The fire light making her tawny skin glow as it did now. He'd prop her hips up with several pillows, gripping into her smooth skin as he brought her curvy hips up to meet him. Sinking his thick length deep into her softness, he imagined her drenched for him, he imagined her wanting and writhing, and god how he imagined the way her breasts would sway in the momentum.

Rhaena's sigh pulled him back to reality and out of his own fantasies. He bit lip, squeezing his eye shut to will the images away. 

The warmth from her hands gently caressed his scarred cheek, coursing a path of fire along his skin. But her fingers were aiming for something, for his leather patch. 

It was instinctive, the way his body tensed and jerked back. Losing Rhaena's warmth as he did so. 

It was a truly annoying displeasure, this blasted eye was always in the way of what he wanted. A constant self conscious wall that screened everything in his life. 

Aemond turned his good eye towards her, "I promise you, it's not something you wish to see," his voice had shifted gruffly. He didn't wish to repulse her, in all honesty he hoped she'd never have to see it. He supposes in most of his fantasies with her, he'd imagined himself with it on. Though, on a few occasions he imagined she'd want him even without it.

The blasted thing, back when he hated her, he thought he might just rip off his patch, reveal his sapphire just to prove to her how she'd been the one to ruin his life. How he'd spent his life perfecting every other possible asset he had, while this one thing…this was the one thing he could not fix. Could not change. 

It wasn't the kind of thing most women would find bearable. Most ladies at court already found him frightening because of it. Though he supposed his overall demeanour did not do much to dissuade them. Maybe he didn't care to dissuade them. 

But Rhaena…she'd somehow burrowed her way into his chest, and he wanted her…he needed her…he needed her to still want him…all of him. The way he wanted all of her for himself. 

The power she held over him was unlike any other.

Glancing at over at her, he noticed her soft expression hadn't changed, her brows furrowing deeply, "I do, show me,"

"It's not...ladies are usually frightened or... disgusted," his voice had lowered at the latter half of his admission. He hated how weak it was making him feel, he came here on a mission, "I did not come here to show my eye," he hardened his voice once again.

"I'm not so easily frightened, Aemond. You know who my father is, I'm certain I've seen worse," Rhaena replied, with a sigh, "and I know what you've come for...but I wish to see all of you first."

Aemond growled lowly, he'd be no coward then. She wished to see him fully, then she would. And if her expression faltered he'd remind her of how she very clearly felt something for him. How she'd moaned for him the last time they kissed. He wouldn't have her evade him anymore.

He ripped the patch off in a fury, his jaw grinding with tension, his violet eye glaring into her pale lavender eyes. He watched as her eyes had widened at the sapphire embedded in his left socket. He had a stinging remark ready and barred on his tongue, but she'd only pulled him closer. Causing his chest to clench, his heart felt like it was in a free fall, like when Vhagar would drop into a deep dive with barely any warning. 

Rhaena's head tilted, there was no hint of repulsion in her eyes, it was as if she was examining him. Gazing at him with awe or wonder as her caressing hand returned to his scarred cheek, "Aemond, it's...beautiful. What a lovely sapphire. Haunting in a way, yes. But...one could easily get lost within it's beaut-"

He took her lips right then and there, his hunger for her finally beating out whatever sliver of propriety or sanity he had left in him. He was not gentle this time, he could not be. Especially not when she gasped and then moaned against him, her hands gripping onto his shirt before wrapping her arms around his neck. 

This opportunity would not be wasted, not this time. 

Letting his hands glide along the length of her legs, slipping under her nightgown to feel the heated smooth skin beneath. Causing a series of soft whimpers to fall from her lips, he swallowed all of them eagerly, and Gods how they sent shivers through him.  

Rhaena's hands sunk deep into his long pale hair, nails scratching at him lightly. He hissed, fuck, it felt heavenly. 

While his tongue explored her mouth with delicious need, drinking her in, devouring her truly. He felt her legs wrap around his waist and he knew he finally had her. She was melting into him and he could feel his fantasy finally becoming a reality. 

He kept her pressed close against him as he lifted her with ease, her weight against him felt so perfect…so right. As if the Fourteen Flames themselves had made her just for him. He stepped towards her feather bed, his lips never leaving hers as he crossed the room. Once he reached her bed, he dropped her down onto pale blue sheets and furs that coated it. The abrupt drop caused Rhaena to shriek his name as she panted. 

Aemond didn't waste a second, covering her immediately, peppering kisses along her cheek, then down her jaw and the gentle slope of her neck. One of his hands held one of her thighs tightly against himself, his large hand and long slender fingers were able to wrap around it almost easily. 

Aemond slid his palm along her soft skin, up along the curve of her hips then gripped into her soft waist. Her curves were driving him insane. The fact that he hadn't torn her thin nightgown from her body was a miracle. It was the only thing blocking him from having her completely bare body pressed against him. It was taking an incredible amount of restraint to leave it on her.

His other hand held her slender neck by the throat, her tendons pressing against his palm as he squeezed only lightly, drawing soft whimpers from her kiss swollen lips. 

Then he ventured further, Aemond only knew he found a sweet spot in the crook of her jaw, when she moaned sweetly for him. He smiled against her skin, continuing his exploration. 

"Aemond," Rhaena half moaned half panted, "what if...what should happen if we are caught?"

He didn't stop, he wouldn't stop not unless she begged him to. Not unless she truly wanted him to. 

By now he'd kissed his way down to her chest, so close to revealing her bare breasts to him. But he held himself steady, long enough to gaze up at her. To see her heavily lidded eyes filled with desire...desire for him. 

"Mmm, my sweet little dragon," he pressed a kiss to the peak of her soft chest, her supple skin drawing him in further, for even her skin tasted sweet, "if they catch us, they'll just have to wed us," 

Her fingers deftly combed through his silky hair, "surely our parents would fight against it. My father would sooner attempt to kill you than wed us and your grandfather would probably start a smear campaign to label me a 'whore seductress' or 'unworthy' to be your bride." 

"Our mothers are the ones with power and they want peace. My father, useless as he is, he's always wanted peace. Even if my grandfather and your father are against it. We need only convince my father and our mothers, and it could be done. Our marriage would do wonders in that regard, mending the two sides of this broken family," he smirked, undoing the buttons of her gown. Finally baring her chest to him fully, his breath shuddered at the exquisite sight, "in either case, you're far too lovely to be given to anyone else. I plan to keep you all to myself," he groaned, leaning his lips down to lavish her breast in due attention. 

Her grip on his hair tightened as he dragged his tongue across her taut syrupy brown nipple, suckling and grazing his teeth along her to draw those desperate needy sounds from her sweet lips. He slid a hand underneath her other breast, cupping the soft weight of her before massaging her other nipple in tandem, switching afterwards to lavish her other pebbled nipple with equal attention from his lips. 

Rhaena's head had fallen back against her pillows. She'd bit lip attempting to quiet her soft whimpers as her hips bucked beneath him and he relished the feeling. 

It took nearly all of his willpower to lean back onto his knees, reluctant as he was to pull away from her, he had to if he wished to see more of her. 

Gazing dreamily down at the goddess beneath him. Her plump breasts now slick with spit, her nipples now softly engorged due to his ministrations. 

Gods, she was perfect. 

He slid his shirt off in one fluid motion, satisfaction beamed through him as her cheeks burned a faintly rosy colour at the sight of his exposed skin. Her mesmerizing lavender eyes drew wide as she propped herself up on her elbows. Her fingers ghosted over his toned abdomen, trailing the line of soft pale curls that lead down his navel and beneath the waistline of his breeches. His muscles tensed under her soft touch, as he grew even more impatient for her. 

Claiming her lips hungrily yet again, his hands working to slide her night gown further up her legs and over her hips. He was aiming to pull it off her entirely, he finally had her right where he wanted her.

"I want more," he groaned against her lips. Feeling her bare breasts against his chest made his whole body burn, fueling the fire that already coursed throughout. He lowered her back down, his hands gripping her hips against him, reaching and feeling the soft plush swell of her bottom.

Rhaena's hands slid along his muscular back, giggling against him, "I know you do, I can feel it. Hard and wanting against my stomach," 

"So why won't you give in to me," he hissed, kissing down her slender neck once more, biting into her skin, marking her, before licking the bruised skin, soothing her.

She moaned softly, her nails digging into his back, "because you mean to ruin me, Aemond. Who would have me after this," 

"Me," he growled, tugging her closer, "but if you'd prefer that hound from the North or that fucking pitiful excuse for a knight, Corbray. You need only say the word, my Lady." 

He could feel Rhaena smiling in the crook of his neck, "are you jealous, my prince?" 

It only spurred his annoyance.

She found this funny.

As if he was joking.

Pulling back he growled down at her, gripping her legs unbearably tight, "I'm fucking a dragon, I have no need to be jealous of anyone. I can simply cut them down if they choose to remain in my way,"

He hoped to wipe that ethereal smile from her face, but it wouldn't budge, "oh Aemond, you're not nearly as frightening as you think yourself to be," 

"Clearly you've not been paying attention, sweet Rhaena. Most people would think otherwise. But if this is an invitation for me to be rough with you," he quirked a brow.

She only hummed sweetly, it wasn't necessarily a yes, but she hadn't refused the offer either. 

"You once called me a monster," he grinned, "I could give new meaning to the word here in this bed."

"You could, I know you wish to make me succumb to you, a blithering mess screaming your name," she reached up, holding his chin in her hand, pulling him back to her lips. Kissing him slowly with an unbelievable softness and a painful amount of care and control. "It’s not fair, really. For a monster, you are far too beautiful," she murmured against his lips.

Something within her response had made his heart soar. He knew he wasn't anywhere near the sweet pristine level of existence she glided on. She was far too good, far too just and pure for his black hearted soul. He was everything dark and macabre. Everything vicious and cruel. The nicest he could be still required violence and blood. 

But even so...he knew she belonged with him. 

Maybe he knew it all those years ago as well. 

She wanted him, she just didn’t think she could have him. As if she couldn’t see how or feel just how willing he was. If they needed to run from Kings Landing just to be together, he would. He’d steal her away to Pentos if need be, just as his namesake uncle had done with her mother. 

Funnily enough, it seemed Rhaena was doomed to fall for a man as fucked up as her own father just as her mother the Lady Laena had, just as her stepmother Princess Rhaenyra had. 

But Daemon could love, he'd seen it. 

And with Rhaena in his presence, Aemond knew did too.

-

This is honestly like 50/50 on the angst to smut ratio, BUT part 3 our boy will FINALLY get some! I mean he kinda got some here, but he'll get everything he wants in part 3, and we'll be smutting it up. Like he wants he eat her out SOO badly, and I think he deserves to get some pussy.

I've also got another short smutty fic idea, this time from Rhaena's POV. Might write that one out after this one. Part 3 will probably be the end of this one.

[elgascreamslikehell]

So, inspiration Saturday i was tagged by sweet precious @911-on-abc and @pirrusstuff i missed cause time zones)

So we unite it with something something Sunday

About inspiration part, i actually use as inspiration voices in my head and if you follow the news it's a disaster.

Also i use music!

So, there's a list of the songs i use to get into the mood:

Diary of dreams - Flood of tears

JubyPhonic - Miss wanna die

Die Ärtzte - Junge

Jaymes Young - Infinity

Sunrise avenue - I don't dance

Andy Black - We don't have to dance

The last goodnight - Pictures of you

Ashes Remain - On my own

Jam& Spoon - Set me free

Shane Alexander - Feels like the end

And for the something something Sunday - a little fluffy piece before my brain decided to ADD MORE GLASS. Can't help it.

'So, you kissed him, and?', - Maddie mixes her coffee with sugar and Buck smiles. Not that she sounds impressed. Or even slightly surprised. 'And… well… and we kissed and…and then…', - she laughs: 'Okay, Evan, I got it, stop, you're getting more red with every word. I never thought you were so shy in this. I just don't understand, what's the issue? You broke up with Natalia, you told me he also broke up with Eric… you're both single adults, why not? Not the best way to relax taking into account you two work together but' 'You don't get it, do you? It's not that. Fuck, Maddie, it's not like relax thing. It's more like.. hell i can't say this, what should i do?!' Maddie sips her coffee and chuckles: 'It depends. What do you want to do?' Buck knows for sure what he wants to do. He wants to spend the rest of his life here, with Eddie and Chris. Grow old together. Have a family. But not that there's only him to decide. 'Evan…', - Maddie looks at him and he can feel her sight: 'Usually people talk in such situations, did you try it?' 'Well… he left for work before I woke up',- and that could be strange, really, Buck is a morning bird. If he doesn't spend the night, silently checking every now and then that Eddie is still here, he's fine, he's sleeping calmly, as close as he possibly can be to Buck. 'Than you two talk after his shift. It's easy. And, to be frank, I really think you will be surprised by the outcome of this… okay, wait, Chim is bombarding me with texts', - she takes her phone and starts laughing. 'Eddie came to work in a good mood in the morning! How can he stand your brother so well?' 'Hen asked about Eddie's friend and he said they are not a thing so you need to pay, how did you ever fall for 'he was nervous on the 911 call', they're all nervous' 'HEN SAID I'M AN IDIOT WE'RE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE DELETE HER FROM GUESTLIST' 'What's that? Should I ask if he got into trouble?' There's a little smudgy picture of Eddie's back instantly followed by text 'DON'T BOTHER HEN TOLD ME' 'I just don't get it. He said he's not a thing with Eric' 'WAIT A DAMN MINUTE' And texts stop. Maddie is still laughing 'What?', - Buck is curious as a cat sometimes and well, he has this right 'Well, it would be better if you just gave him a hickey' 'What do you mean?', - Buck is just sitting here with so confused face it makes Maddie even more laughing 'Nothing, Evan. But you two really need to talk otherwise your thoughts stop fitting your head'.

And tagging, as always

@krayfish @blackberry-l @kaseysgirl86-blog @brightlyprofiling @idealuk @1stbonesfan @angryangeldreamsalad @criminally-obsessed @amelia9bl @silvergold-swirl @itsamaaaadworld @vasudharaghavan @livingonzenstreet @nothingbutmande @spanishrose6 @sunflowerdiaiz @fanf98 @logicloveandsense @simply-mev @ronordmann @still--not--over--merlin @z02fl @vanjalen @thatshroomintheforest @steadfastsaturnsrings @cagdahl @newtalot @dreamforrest @fionaswhvre

[ginneke]

for the fanfic end of the year asks, number 3!

(Fanfic end of the year asks available here: link)

Oh, thank you for the ask! And there’s really one passage that stands out to me as a favourite of 2023, which hails from Corrigendum – the self-indulgent, entirely unnecessary third part of my series Keepsakes.

But first, as single lines go, it has to be this:

"Why," says Revali, his voice lifting in shrill distress, "do you never pay the slightest bit of attention to me?"

(from A Study In Patience. Part 2 coming soon!)

(…What, did you think it would be that line from the end of A Seed of Song chapter 4? While that is certainly a favourite line, it was technically my favourite line of 2022 – it was already written all the way back in Feb ‘22, even though it was another 16 months before you would see it.)

—

Anyway. Corrigendum. Chosen passage and a brief recap/rationale below, under a cut for length and for varying degrees of spoilers for, somehow, all three of Keepsakes, Pinesong, and Moonlight:

Keepsakes was originally a two-part meditation on the piece of cloth Revali tied to the Great Eagle Bow, which always remains on it no matter how many times you break it and have it rebuilt, and the following line of Harth’s in the first Keepsakes story, Memento: “Where things are kept, what they are kept with, that has a meaning.”

Memento and Lacuna were both set within the boundaries of canon, focusing on Link’s possession of the Great Eagle Bow and more than a small dose of headcanon about the Paraglider; Corrigendum, meanwhile, played on the famous amnesia plotline of @ghirahimbo’s Pinesong, with a little of my and @heleentje’s answer to the Alive!Champions scenario in our Moonlight series baked in: if there were stasis chambers in the Divine Beasts, just like how the Shrine of Resurrection was revealed to be part of a Divine Beast in the Champions’ Ballad DLC, then was it not possible that the revived Champions might suffer a similar level of memory loss as Link did: i.e., total?

That’s the context with which the following scene between Revali and Zelda needs to be read. (A small section relating to Zelda’s personal feelings of guilt and regret has been cut for length.)

There was one person she hadn't mentioned, of course. Revali wondered whether she would comment on it of her own accord, but she seemed willing to speak only of others. If he had to pry the words from her, so be it. "I cannot help but notice someone missing from your account, pri- Zelda," he said, correcting himself at the last second. It felt strange to address her without titles: a hundred years and his memory removed from such formality, and yet it still seemed like an overstep. Next to him, Zelda went very tense. "What do you mean?" Honestly. Must he spell it out for her? "You," he said, as though it should be obvious. To him it was: it seemed its own sort of hellishness, to have so many memories that nobody else shared. "How are you faring?" Her look of surprise – had he truly shown so little concern for her in the past, that she was taken aback by his questioning now? – faded into something more sombre. "I... cannot complain," she said at last, which seemed to be all she was willing to say on the subject. [...] Zelda inhaled a steadying breath. "...About Li–" Her words lodged like ice. Revali cut her off: "Don't." He couldn't bear to speak of Link. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Certainly not while he was so incapable of reconciling the words in his diary with the roiling confusion left in their wake. Even thinking of that knight brought a wave of weariness over him. Though Zelda had done nothing wrong, Revali no longer had any wish to continue the conversation.

Revali and Zelda come into this conversation from incredibly disparate positions, and they're on completely different pages. Firstly, Zelda has the advantage of memory, but in some ways Revali has a clearer view of what their relationship from 100 years ago was actually like, thanks to his diary (the contents of which are alluded to or outright paraphrased in the opening part of this scene). Secondly, Zelda has full knowledge of what happened to Link -- at least up until he disappeared after the thought of re-boarding Vah Ruta (as Zelda wanted to do in the 'true ending' of BOTW) proved too much for the Keepsakes version of Link. (Yes, Link’s disappearing act is another small nod to Pinesong.) 

But Revali does not.

From Zelda’s point of view, Revali’s comment about ‘some[body] missing from [her] account’ sounds like a not-so-subtle dig at the missing Link. I actually tried to thread this idea through even in his narration: 'she seemed willing to speak only of others', is meant to tread that thin boundary line of which person he's actually talking about, Zelda or Link. 

Her reaction is therefore wary: she wonders how much Revali now remembers, and how much of his comment is a continuation of his century-old dislike of Link. — After all, she wasn’t privy to the scene in Lacuna’s flashback; and despite that interlude, Revali and Link’s relationship didn’t change all as much as they might have hoped. (Or as much as Link wants to believe, by the end of Memento/Lacuna—the true backstory there was one of might-have-beens instead of let’s-do-betters.)

She’s surprised, then, by Revali’s question being not about Link, but about herself. And this is something that I would have loved to delve into a little, but the nature of the story kept me bound tightly to Revali’s perspective: Zelda is doing well only in that she’s throwing herself into distractions, trying to adjust to the circumstances of being a hundred years displaced from the world she’s familiar with.

(Sidenote: I toyed with that dichotomy of the post-Calamity world being utterly uncanny to her – at once familiar and yet also somehow alien – in another story I wrote this year, catharsis, which had Zelda finally reuniting with Impa after a century.)

And she has ample distractions with the other Champions, who – as her recounting of events implies – she’s spent rather a lot of time around, and considerably more time than she has with Revali. She wouldn’t even be at Rito Village now if it wasn’t the home of Kass, the only person she thought might be able to find Link. 

Perhaps, if she had taken a little more care to visit him, Zelda would be aware of the narrative Revali has been constructing, piece by piece, while he’s been left to fend for himself…

To an extent, Revali's own diary was held against him. His words are taken as a primary source of insight into his character, rather than at least part of his writing being a continuation of his attempts to define and shape his future legacy (his 'legend', as the diary's forepage none-too-subtly declares). 

Yes, Harth did come to the conclusion of something existing between the Rito and Hylian Champions of a century ago (incidentally, that's why he makes the offer of showing Revali the same sheaf of papers he shared with Link in Memento – providing an alternative source of information), but Teba has a different focus. Harth is interested in the truth of the story; Teba is protective of the people involved, and with only circumstantial evidence to suggest that Champion Revali had at least some positive feeling towards that knight, and significantly more evidence to suggest Revali didn't care at all for Link, he deflects and puts it off for now. 

Nobody expected Link to be AWOL for months.

And that brings us back to this passage, the first real opportunity for the truth to come out; and so Zelda takes the initiative, trying to bring up Link. 'If you want to know how we're all doing,' she's thinking, 'then I should tell you about him as well.'

But Revali is of the belief – entirely logically, based on the facts he knows! – that Link is long dead. Whether 100 years ago, or at some point in the decades since. Hylian lifespans just aren't long enough for him to still be around. We only need to look at the oldest Hylians living in Hateno, who weren't born until after the Calamity during the Era of Burning Fields, to know that 80-90 seems to be the Hylian limit.

—

Here's another thing: In the time since writing Corrigendum, I saw a post here on tumblr suggest that grief is a topic that's fairly impossible to write about, because grief doesn't end as long as you remember it, and it's the sort of thing that hits you, over and over, in often mundane ways that look bizarre to the outsider. Yet -- not to put too high a declaration of quality on my writing, but I honestly do believe that I achieved that in Corrigendum, while staying true to the character in question. 

Yes, it was deliberately under-written, circled around instead of facing it head-on -- even the early use of the word 'grief' was shied away from, declaring it only 'something like grief'. That felt far more 'Revali' than giving in to sentiment. So far, most of this emotion has been in the gaps where he's confronted with knowledge of the past, of something missing, of something more to Link; he's seeing Link better in this patchwork recollection, able at last to look beyond '[the] sword that drew the eye and distracted from the man that bore it'. And it's in these moments that his true feelings linger, even if he can't (or won't) give voice to them.

—

Link has always been a touchy subject. Once, they might have been on a similar page regarding that (their mutual complicated feelings about a boy around their age to whom things seemed to come so easily).

In reality, they still are — and it's a different page to the one they shared before, of resentment and frustration and trying to figure out their own place. Link has long become a person to them—Zelda openly, as seen throughout the original game; Revali less obviously, but still apparent through his post-Blight dialogue and particularly in the DLC content, as well as the additional background and memory/ies I created for Memento/Lacuna.

But this Revali – a Revali who still has only a partial sense of his own identity, who doesn't necessarily like the person he'd been even if he can't figure out who else he could be – this version of Revali can't yet acknowledge or confront the truth of what he's experiencing.

What I wanted was to challenge Revali to say it out loud and admit to it — "I am grieving." This, here, is the closest Revali can currently get... Ice. Roiling confusion. Something unbearable. Weariness. Within his narration, the raw, aching wound of grief is clear, but aloud, the only thing he can think to do is to cut Zelda off and prevent her from saying what he cannot yet confront. 

"Don't." Don't bring him up. Don't make me hear this. Don't make it real. 

Characters frantically back-scrabbling away from open and frank communication, in the interests of protecting their own fragile hearts, is something that can be so delightful.

—

Zelda, who isn't privy to the struggle Revali is going through, can only hear this rejection at face-value and back off, assuming that things are as they were 100 years ago. This is something that can only be repaired by finding Link himself – and so she'll continue with her original plan, enlisting Kass to help track the wayward swordsman down.

(And Revali will finally give voice to what he's been feeling… when a certain someone arrives in Rito Village :3 )

[keithisbae1]

Modern Sasuke X Shippuden Sakura - Part 2

Sakura learns to adjust to this new life but she keeps getting excited over the smallest of things. She’s in awe at all the cars and trains and Sasuke would either have to kick her lightly for her overreaction or in some instances like when their traveling by train and Sasuke uses the ticket to go through the gates, Sakura is still standing there in awe at how this technology works. So, he has to go back through to drag her with him because otherwise, they’ll never get anywhere. 

It’s not her fault that they have such advanced technology, she doesn’t even know how to make posts for social media and unfortunately, the Sakura in this world would post a lot. So Sasuke has to help or be the one in charge of her social media accounts to make them look less suspicious to their friends. During all this, he accidentally discovers his Sakura’s alt-Twitter account where she would either rant about her bad day, what she's been doing or about him. More specifically about her feelings for him. 

Things like how she struggled to be so close to him now when her feelings never changed. How nice it was that she felt confident enough to call him a friend but that her remaining feelings would ruin it.

It was true they had gotten closer over the years, Sasuke was the only one who knew of her nightmares that still plagued her when the three of them were ambushed by the group from Sound. How vivid they were and that's when he found her underneath the cherry blossom tree. How she felt content and peaceful. And it was no secret how much she liked him over the years, even if her fawning over him had died down. He wouldn't have imagined that she was feeling like this and it felt wrong to scroll further and pry into what was essentially her diary, but he needed to know. Then when he looked at the other Sakura, who no doubt had been through a lot worse than any of them here could imagine. Sasuke found himself missing her. ‘She’s right here.’ He tried to tell himself but that wasn’t the truth. “I need to go.” He told her leaving Sakura by the cherry blossom tree. She looked sad but let him be, knowing there was no point in talking to him.

Sakura wasn’t any different. She misses her friends, her family, she knows Naruto needs her to get their Sasuke back. Wondering if she would get something like this with her Sasuke, but then when he has his moments like this of leaving her without warning. Without saying anything as to why… again. She gets flashbacks from the night when he left the village… and she hates it. No matter where she is, Sasuke always leaves. Why her? What did she do? Maybe it was best to be the first one to go? 

It’s not like this place was her home, that they were her real family or friends. And spending time with them takes time out of her day to get back home. 

~~~

She goes to school the next day, like she usually does except she left without Sasuke asking ‘her parents’ to tell him she’ll meet him there. This had never happened so when Mebuki tried to ask if they had a fight Sakura laughed it off and just mentioned she needed to get to school early. Her parents didn’t pry further.

~~~ “You could have waited for me.” Sakura wouldn't have imagined he'd be able to get here so quickly. She hadn't even gone through the school gates. He was panting too, did he really run all this way to catch up with her. 

Regardless Sakura had made up her mind. “I think it’s best if you don’t get involved.” This was not what Sasuke had imagined. He had an inkling something was bothering her, that she was angry but where did this come from? 

“I appreciate your help and everything you’ve done for me so far but… this isn’t my home. I can’t keep pretending to be her. I need more time to look for clues, something anything. To go back home.” “I can help, it’s better to have two heads than one-” 

“NO! I mean, I need to do this by myself. You need to focus on your own life, I’ll figure out how to get back to mine.” Leave him before he leaves you. She brushed past him before he could respond back, leaving him by the school gates. What sweet irony. 

The image of his confused and hurt face made her falter but she didn't look back. Don't look back, or you'll only cave in. She’ll put distance between herself and Sasuke, then her friends and stop going to school thus giving her time to start digging for clues. 

~~~

In class Sasuke couldn’t stop looking at her, she wasn’t even paying attention to what Kakashi was saying and yet still was able to answer any questions he threw at her with ease. Her eyes were either focused on the window, the notebook, their teacher or Ino when she was happily gossiping but never at him. Something ached in his chest, a feeling he had never felt before. 

Was this what it would have been like with his own Sakura? If it became too much. Did she plan to put distance between them and never look his way? Why did it bother him so much? He unknowingly snapped the pencil in his hand.

~~~

Sakura mindlessly doodled on the notebook. A habit she picked up on thanks to Sai. Trying to remember what 'he' looked like when she last saw him. Where is he now? Has Naruto found him yet? Would they ever see him again?

[evintide]

You did say that adapting to Twilight’s atmosphere makes you feel more comfortable. How did you and your people manage to handle it?

" magic, obviously. " with a beckoning motion a tome glides out from a nearby shelf to come and flutter open just above her grasp. the pages turn on their own to a passage that the queen has deemed relevant to her interest, eyelids lowering in temporary concentration to pick something from its contents.

" 'lo these so called fields can nary be considered a pasture akin to that of the realm of light. no sustenance can be brought forth from their ashy soil, nor any light to bring our seeds to fruition-' blah, blah, blah... " with a derisive tsk the woman rolls her eyes, the pages flipping wildly to another passage, though she barely gives it a glance before a mordant smile creeps across her face.

" on it’s own the Twilight Realm isn’t particularly harmful, but living here without having been… let’s say, an ‘original resident’ wasn’t easy, " the still floating tome lifts along with her hand, a gesture to indicate why she had brought the apparent diary out. " if you didn’t adapt, you didn’t survive. simple as that. as the queen i have the honor of having access to these personal accounts… very few of which are pleasant, hehe. "

her snicker is equally as skewed as her expression, though its sharpest edges dull oh-so slightly when her gaze returns to the book. the once hard curl to her lips softens to hide her fangs, the sight of which had only offered a dangerous edge to her smile. despite her obvious derision towards it's previous owner, the twili seems incapable of maintaining disgust. or, perhaps, she has more history with this tome than one might automatically assume.

with a hum she finds something else that grabs her attention inside, but it's contents remain a mystery to all that do not hold it.

" but our ancestors were tenacious. what couldn’t be found was made, even if it was feeble. and over time their new home changed us as we changed it. " her other hand lifts so that a finger may trace something across the book's pages, as if following a line to one side to the other, dipping occasionally to follow a possible turn or curl. once it reaches the other side, the corners of the queen's mouth lift again, though it lacks the severity of it's earlier iteration.

the hand below closes, and with it the book snaps shut with a slap of finality.

" of course, all of that took place a long time ago. not that light dwellers would find our home unpleasant, but we twili have made the most of our realm, and it to us. "

[fideidefenswhore]

It's traditionally said that as no provisions had been made for a coffin, the queen's remains were 'placed in an elm chest which had contained bow staves for Ireland.' The original source of this story is 'an old diary...or journal' of one Mr Anthony Anthony, surveyor of the ordnance at the Tower of London at the time of Anne's execution. What modern historians rarely note is that the diary has been lost for centuries and is only known through marginal notes made by one Thomas Torneur in his eighteenth-century copy of The Life and Reign of King Henry VIII by Herbert of Cherbury. A contemporary Italian account, possibly written by a Venetian diplomat, states that one of Anne's attendants covered her remains and placed them in a 'coffin' that was by the scaffold. He makes no mention of an 'arrow chest', therefore it's possible that a simple coffin was provided by Tower officials.

The Final Year of Anne Boleyn (Grueninger, Natalie)