#which disappears into thin air with the nun

[finsmultiverse]

I like thinking about the little characters who interact with Ava once and what they must think. Like imagine you’re one of the guys that tried to talk to her in the street in the first episode. You see this strange girl who’s acting drunk and she tells you she thinks she’s dead, then she throws up on you, gets hit by a truck, and disappears through a wall, like ???? How do you move on from that??

[insomniac-dot-ink]

I can’t go home. There are only a few places open this late and I am walking. I leave a trail of footprints in the powdery snow. The music hall in the middle of town is playing a local band no one has heard of and a single popup store sits outside. I go to the window. The clerk is on her phone in the small cramped cart. Her screen goes dark and she looks up. Her hair is deep brown and tied back so neat and boxy you’d think it was a nun’s habit.

“Hot chocolate,” I say.

The clerk is nonplussed. She takes my money. Her habit-like-hair is stiff and doesn’t shift as she nods and counts my ones. She moves from one end of the little cart to the other with a Styrofoam cup. 

She carries the sugar-thick hot chocolate in one hand and it lets out a thick steam. I am sure she made it too hot. She stops. Her gaze draws up and over my shoulder. Her pupils expand and shoulders rise almost to her ears.

She glances at my face and then away again. Her lips are thin and uncolored. She mouths the words like an unskilled ventriloquist, “do you need me to call someone?”

I shake my head and take the cup and the texture is squeaky and flakes off in my grip. I walk. My footprints mark the powder-white snow and my city only has a few places open at this time of night. My legs are numb with cold and my eyes ache from lack of sleep. I am grateful for the street lights which are all a pale blue color that is supposed to help the birds. I am a bird person, I think, if I was going to be anything.

Cars pass and I am grateful for those too. I reach the street of little cramped stores, one after the next. A fabric store. A second-hand book store. Florists and boutique shoe shops. All too charming to be supportive. The Walmart is just outside our small town limits and I can’t go home.

Across the street, the pub has lowlights on and voices rumble like a thunderstorm from within. I don’t think the rest of the town likes the pub. The bar has one long window made up of colored glass in muted reds and blues and yellows. It reminds me of church windows and leaves the impression of making up for it. Making up for being what it is.

I square my shoulders and push my way in. The air is warm and floor a good type of dark wood. The tables are full enough to be considered a party–or, what I imagine a party to be like. I hadn’t noticed the dusting of snow on my hoodie, and shook it off like dandruff.

The man behind the counter gives me a cursory look. He is a big man with a large mouth and wears frowns like he’s making up for something too. “Mark isn’t here,” he says in a further cursory manner. I shake my head and make my way to the counter. I hadn’t finished my hot chocolate and clutch the Styrofoam cup in both hands.

“Warm up?” I ask but Steven Plyer, the barkeep, is looking over my shoulder. He mouths to himself silently like he’s working out a math problem under his breath.

Two men, big and strapping, move away from the bar’s church-like window. They take seats at the end of the bar and Steven Plyer, the barkeep, leans over the counter. His pupils are ink-dipped coins. I fiddle with the ends of my sleeves. He looks over my shoulder just as I push my hot chocolate closer over the counter.

“There’s a whole world out there,” he says.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“You don’t have to go.”

I shake my head and Steven Plyer takes my hot chocolate and disappears behind the swinging doors to the back. The rest of the men have moved away from the window and sit on either side of me. They murmur in voices too low to hear.

The oldest of them, a man that smells like leather, stands. His voice has a vibrating quality, unsmooth, dragging out the “a’s” like a regal sheep. “Do your parents know?”

Steven Plyer returns with my hot chocolate steaming and passes it to me with both hands. I get up because the old man needs my seat, I think. The first two men huddle by the front door, coats on and heads bent together like prayer, and I leave without them. The snow is no longer powder but inch-thick fluff. I kick up the fluff with each step and the silver hangs about me like fairy lights, I imagine. I take a sip of hot chocolate and it is too hot and too sweet and you can be grateful for that too.

The sidewalk ends and I walk alongside the side of the road just on the edge of the white line. I think I can see the lights of the Walmart beyond the lights of the city. Trees gather on either side and I miss the blue glow of the street lights and the concerned gaze of the clerk in her tiny cart. I wish she had come with me. I wish Steven Plyer had called me by name.

A solitary car passes and its stark white headlights blare against the night, more violent than kind, and I have to shield my eyes. The car is red and large and pulls to stop on the other side of the road. The window rolls down and a curly-haired woman sticks her head out. Her face is small and elfish and mouth pinches together at the corners. She wears a tight shirt buttoned up all the way to her throat like it might hold her in.

The head beams glow perpendicular to me and I regard the woman as she regards me. She is slow to speak. Slower than the men at the bar had been.

“Get in,” she says, buttoned-up to the throat and with eyes more tired than sad.

“No,” I say and take a sip from the hot chocolate. It’s cold.

Her windshields wipe away the snow and she looks over her dashboard. Her voice is breathy in the way of a Hollywood actress from a bygone era. “I’m worried.”

I nod. They all are. “That can be enough.”

Her mouth zips together into an angry line. She sticks her head out the window, close to a snarl, looking past me, and honks her horn in one long blast. I shy away from the noise and the too-brightness of her head beams. She drives with her head out the window, honking her horn over and over again as loud as she can.

I walk and there are no more cars. The snow settles over my shoulders and I don’t bother to dust off my hood or warm my hands. I leave the white line and walk in the middle of the road. The lights of the Walmart warm the night just outside of town and I can make out the outline of parked cars in the distance. They’re aren’t that many places open this late at night. 

I slow to a stop and sway a bit, like I'm drunk, I think, if this is what that's like. A second pair of footprints mark the snow in front of me. When had that happened? I tilt my head all the way back. The clouds are bright like daylight and snow growing heavy. I think it will all be glittering when the morning comes.

FIN

My book! 🐈 Newsletter

[vxsellie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

[atinystaypixie]

Talk to Me

Warning: Pussy slaps (we love those), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), sexual content nun too crazy it's sex

18+ MDNI!!

Ony walked into your shared bedroom to see your figure tangled in the sheets. He knew you weren't sleeping which gave him the confirmation that you still weren't in a good mood. On a normal night, if you had gone to lay down before him you would turn to greet him to the warmth of the bed with open arms ready to cuddle. However, tonight wasn't a normal night. You had been giving him attitude all day which eventually led to an argument between you two.  Ony was trying his hardest to understand why you were upset to begin with, but you wouldn't take the time to explain. Instead, you decided to give him a "fuck it, I don't even want to talk about it anymore," and storming off.

You weren't one to express your emotions easily and Ony was always understanding of that. He was one to take his time with you and maintain clear communication. It was part of the reason you loved him so much. You felt bad for acting this way but putting your thoughts into words was harder than having an unjustified attitude. 

"Baby," you hear the handsome man call out to you as you feel the weight of the bed sink. He is now sitting behind your back. "Baby, I can't know what's wrong unless you tell me. I've been trying, but I can't figure out what's making you so upset." He says in a soft voice still trying to be gentle and patient with you. 

Again, he is met with silence from your side. Now he lightly shakes your shoulder and you respond with a shrug strong enough to throw his hand off of you. This causes the man to become agitated, that patience that you valued so much running thin. He had been at this with you for hours. After all the space and room he gave you to voice your problems, the man didn't know what else to do with you.

"Ma, Imma give you five seconds to fix yourself before I do." The way his voice dropped an octave caused your breathing to still for a second. The second being too long because you felt his weight disappear from behind you. All too quickly, Ony snatched the cover off and wrapped his hand around your ankle. Your world suddenly speeding as he drugged you to the edge of the bed and sat you up. Curling his finger around your chin and staring directly in your face as he now stood in front of you shirtless with only his sweats on. The intensity of his close proximity makes you avoid his deep glare. He didn't appreciate you not looking him in the eyes causing him to tug your chin before speaking. "Look at me," you shyly met his glaze making him hum in appreciation at your obedience. "This gone be the last time I ask you so don't make me repeat myself. What. Is. Your. Problem?" He punctuated every word to get his point across that he wasn't playing with you.

You start mumbling your response, making him cut you off. Pulling closer to you so that his mouth was directly to your ear and his cheek was pressed to yours, "nah. Nah. Speak up like you did earlier when you lost your mind and cursed at me, baby". Your bottom lip started to tremble, “Daddy,” you whine almost inaudibly. Ony let out a small laugh in a breath of air before pulling back to look you in the eyes and dropping his slight smile. “That was yo chance, ma.”

Ony removed his hand from your face to wrap both arms around your thighs and move you to the center of the bed. He spread your pretty, chocolate thighs giving him access to your clothed pussy. “All day, ma. Chance after chance. Yet you still acting up on me for,” suddenly you felt a sharp slap straight between your legs, “nothing!” Ony finished his sentence harshly after he delivered the slap to your pussy. You tried to pull your legs closed but failed due to his large frame being there, “Daddy, wait-” another slap given to your clothed cunt stopped you from finishing your sentence. “Nah, you didn’t want to talk, remember. Keep doing what you was doing. I don’t want to hear it right now.” Ony slapped your pussy three more times before moving to take your booty shorts off revealing your bare pussy to him. You weren’t wearing panties which gave him the sight of your slick starting to spill from your aching cunt.

He rubbed his thumb down your slit then around your folds spreading your arousal. “Giving me attitude for nun then get wet for me? Cute.” This time Ony gave repeated slaps to your exposed clit making you whine in pleasure and pain. He reached his hand that was now covered in your juices and stuck his fingers in your mouth. You started sucking them as he rubbed them on your tongue holding eye contact with you. “That’s my good girl. Why couldn’t you be like this all day?” He removes his fingers and shoves his ring and middle finger into your dripping hole letting his palm stimulate your clit as he roughly rubs your insides. You grab his wrist trying to slow his actions which causes him to take your hand and pin it above your head. “Move, baby. I haven’t even started with you yet so just take it like a big girl.” He says soothingly, the opposite of the assault he is doing on your leaking cunt. Your voice sounds throughout the room as you moan out from the pleasure he is giving you. Squeezing around his fingers, juices dripping down to the bed. Orgasm nearing you start speaking,”Daddy! Baby, please. I’m going to cum.” That’s enough for Ony to halt his actions and lick your wetness off his fingers.

“You’ll talk for that, huh?” He says unamused. He goes to remove your shirt admiring your brown skin, the perkiness of your breast, and your slightly darker, erect nipples. He runs his large hands up and down your sides to sooth you after the ruined orgasm before bringing one hand to the back of your neck and giving you a kiss for the first time tonight. It’s nasty. Tongue on tongue, saliva swapping, smacking sounds. It’s got you drunk off of him, so drunk you almost don’t hear him say “open your mouth, ma”.  When you do, he grabs your throat and spits into your mouth. He starts kissing you again then trails down to your neck sucking and biting at the skin. Ony takes one of your nipples in between his fingers and squeezes it causing you to throw your head back giving him more access to your neck. Your mouth hangs open letting out gasps and moans which Ony takes notice of. “Oh? Now you can open your mouth? Good, let’s put it to use.” He removes his sweats and leans against the headboard with you now infront of him. Dick hard with a slight curve, vein running down the side, and precum dripping from the tip.

He moves your goddess locs hanging in your face behind your ear and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. In his other hand, he grabs his hard dick and strokes it a couple of times, making you drool at the sight. Ony knows the look in your eyes all too well. You’ve never been one to resist his cock. He bites his lip as he slides his leaking tip over your lips before parting them and slowly guiding the head in. You happily wrap your lips around him excited to have him on your tongue. He pulls back out before pushing your head down on his cock completely. Taking a moment to enjoy the warmness and pulsing of your throat as it adjusts to his intrusion, Ony moans and lovingly rubs your cheek. “Yea, baby. This is a much better use for your mouth.” 

After a moment, he pulls your head off of him and watches as your saliva strands disconnect from him. Ony moves you to lay on your back and aligns himself with your pussy. Rubbing his dick between your wet slit causing you both to moan. Your hips moving against his seeking the pleasure he always gives just to be met with a strong hand stopping your movements as he continues to tease you. “You’ll get what I give you. Closed mouths don’t get fed, but you ain’t never heard that obviously.” He taps the heavy member against your bud and slides it to your opening. Circling the entrance and pushing just the tip in making you suck in a breath. He grabs your legs and puts one over his shoulder and pushes the other one open. 

“You gone start talking now?” He asks starting to feed you slow, deep thrust. Pushing all the way in and pulling almost completely out before starting again. “Come on pretty girl. Tell Daddy what’s wrong.” He kisses your ankle keeping his rhythm, making your brain foggy. You try to speak but it comes out scrambled due to him hitting your deepest parts and being able to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, bae. Please!” Was your response, only focused on being split open by his dick. It wasn’t what he was looking for. Speeding up his strokes, watching you say incomprehensible sentences Ony presses his weight to you and grabs your hands. You squeal out at the way you can feel him rubbing at your sweet spots even more at this angle. He interlocks your fingers and talks with his lips brushing against yours, “come on, ma. Talk to me.”

He suddenly starts giving you harsh thrust. Rough enough that your body jerks and the bed shakes. You can feel him everywhere. Against your lips, between your fingers, pelvis to clit, walls to dick, and his large frame wrapped between your legs. The stimulation is too much. You can’t help but to squeeze around him and squirt, wetting his abdomen and the sheets. He pauses, “now you just pissing me off.”

Ony pulls out and flips you on your stomach with your ass up and face down. He doesn’t give warning, just sliding back in and giving quick, mean strokes. He brings his hands down, slapping both of your ass cheeks at the same time. You’re screaming into the sheets now due to overstimulation. Ony is merciless. Tired of pleading with you and patience gone. He reaches around to rub at your puffy clit causing you to try to move away. He pulls you back, “stay fucking still.” He doesn’t care to hear you begging him to slow down. The only thing he cares about is when he hears your broken rushed out sentence, “missed you!” 

He pulls you up to him, back to chest, “what was that, mamas?” He questions slowly his thrust slightly giving you room to speak. “I just missed you, Daddy. Just wanted your attention.” He turns your head and captures your lips. He smiles and says, “there you go baby. Keep talking to me.” He starts to speed his thrust up again making you moan as you speak, “Just needed - shit- just needed you. Missed ahh spending time with you.” You feel another orgasm approaching, “please let me cum, Ony” you plead with him.

“Go head, ma. I’m right behind you.” He kisses you through your orgasm. Your cum leaking down his shaft as he fills up your clenching hole. Ony lay you both on your sides without pulling out. “I’m sorry, ma. I didn’t know you felt that. You know I would have made more time for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know, baby. I just felt clingy and didn’t want to annoy you.” The man had been working more lately and you were feeling the effects of the extra time spent away from him.

He kisses your cheek and tightens his hold on you, “don’t ever think you annoy me baby. I love you in every way possible. Next time just talk to me.”

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

This was longer than I expected. Ending was bleh. Tbh i didn't even know what was gone happen next

ENJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist

[spookieloop]

Alright, so in honor of Sherlock Holmes becoming public domain, I’ve accidentally spent the last hour (as of the time of writing this I have been awake for an hour and four minutes) just RAPIDLY spawning my own Sherlock Holmes Meets Dracula story out of thin air on accident by a series of What Ifs that Spiraled out of control. The Crux of the story revolves around Holmes and Dracula(not exactly canon OG Dracula, but portrayed heavily as a fucking loser—I cannot stress enough WHAT a fucking loser he is) teaming up to take down Jack The Ripper—as The Ripper was my PRIMARY hyperfixation through my childhood and teenage years, and I feel I can finally use all that weird background knowledge.

I’m going to bullet out points for the story, apologies if it doesn’t make perfect sense—I am putting it under a cut because it will get LONG.

• Sherlock is an autistic He/Him Lesbian; specifically He/Him because I want him being a woman to fly under the radar of Victorian Cops who would disrespect him for being a woman(I want them just to hate him for being smarter than them, and have NO idea that he’s a woman).

• Mary Kelly will have been Sherlock’s best friend, through whom he became acquainted with her estranged half-brother, John Watson, a gay war veteran who vehemently hates the monarchy and is prone to “Wild” conspiracy theories about Queen Victoria harvesting the organs of the impoverished for lavish and perverse purposes.

• Holmes and Watson team up to solve the murder of his sister and hopefully stop her killer from continuing his rampage through the streets of Whitechapel.

• This is how they will have their first run-in with Dracula, who disappears mysteriously when Watson straight up pulls a gun on him. (Much later at a crucial point in the story the gun will be revealed to be unloaded, as Watson’s PTSD deters him from actually using firearms; I do think he’ll get to bludgeon The Ripper to death with the gun toward the end of the story though)

• I think the gun should belong to his lover who was killed during the war in a “Friendly Fire” incident, which led to his own discharge.

• Dracula will be in England SPECIFICALLY because he was forced out of Romania by fed up Romanians and a particularly ferocious Convent of Nuns. Dracula will be copycatting a VARIETY of local serial killers in the Whitechapel area to lay low and feed—this is to account for the strongly held belief that The Ripper had an active copycat DURING the Ripper Murders.

• A convent in the area will be absolutely enthralled by Sherlock—the most important to the story nun will be Liska, a transfer from the very same convent that wrecked Dracula’s shit, and he will rightly be terrified of her.

• Dracula and Holmes will end up teaming up when it becomes clear that The Ripper is doing his killings/collecting the organs for some kind of fucked up supernatural purpose that would be Very Bad for Dracula and also perhaps The World(I have not decided what this is yet) and perhaps will be payrolled by The Crown, but that detail wouldn’t become clear until later. I will take any opportunity to dunk on the British Monarchy.

• Holmes will consult the convent OFTEN, much to Dracula’s horror, and Liska will be ACHING to join them.

• Liska was transferred to England in the first place because she had a “Dangerous Inflation of The Ego” after chasing Dracula from Romania and was accused of being “Too Bold in her Actions”, so she was sent to England because she had become too much of a rockstar to the local WLW population.

• Holmes has no idea he’s seduced Liska until she’s kissing him and locking the door, because we LOVE clueless lesbians and I am a SLUT for historical lesbians who enter convents to avoid marriage.

• Also BECAUSE The Ripper murders where my primary hyperfixation back in the day, a SIGNIFICANT portion of the book will be dedicated to Dunking on George Lusk—the fucking Moron British Chief of Police who refused to use the more advanced Forensic Techniques the French had because he considered it “Voodoo Witchcraft”(likely why The Ripper was able to get away with his killings in the first place).

• Dracula will sweat BULLETS when one of the cops fearfully suggests “Maybe it’s Vampires”, but Lusk will react like “Don’t be a fucking idiot”, to highlight that his superstitions about Forensics are less about ACTUAL belief, more about a smug conservative arrogance against using modern techniques, and science in general.

• Sometimes, a friendgroup can be an Ancient Bisexual Loser Vampire, an Autistic He/Him Lesbian, A Monarchy Hating Gay War Veteran, and a Rockstar Nun. And they ALL hate the cops.

• If I mention the OG Dracula Squad at all, it will be a brief cameo of Lucy Westenra living her best life, because she deserves an adaptation in which she simply gets to be happy.

• UPDATE: I have decided what the ritual The Ripper is attempting is. He is “Sacrificing” the wombs of his victims to creating a “Birthing Pit” for the apocalypse. Queen Victoria herself is behind this because she wants the world to end with her reign. Perhaps there will be an absolutely horrific scene toward the end where we see Victoria still alive but with the open gory wound of her own womb having been Rippered, where she will have a monologue about the Glorious End to a World that was Hers.

[yostresswritinggirl]

The One The Bard Once Loved

NEW Vibe check (appropriate song to cry to while reading)

"The bard, the sprite, the archer. The trio of young dreamers that wish to witness the blue skies past the raging winds that lock their freedom. But those are more than mere dreams, for it requires the sacrifice of those you love, to grace the courage to fight a God. And Barbatos, poor Barbatos, sacrificed more than he wanted."

Pairings -> Venti x Fem!Reader x Bard (Gale)

Word Count -> 4,337

Theme -> Angst, Backstory, Long Fic

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> Spoilers to Venti's story, character death

"Oh little sprite, from whence beyond

Does thou reminiscent of a vagabond?

Curious to which it whisks upon

Trapped now in desolate, forlorn"

Venti the wind sprite had always been curious, the single whisk of air that always goes the opposite way, hanging behind from his fellow currents to be distracted by a curious thing. So it was no surprise to anyone that he had gone lost once more in their rounds swaying but when he'd not return, long ago has his current passed the nation of Mond. Yet there was no way he can fly by his family of winds, for he finds himself trapped within the walls of a grazing storm that cages the stone walls of the city, of winds that he could not control nor agitate.

No matter how hard he tries the wind does not part, and so little Venti was stuck inside brooding skies and angry blasts. No mere sprite can go against the mighty strength of an archon.

So he resigns to his fate and wanders in this new place. Of a city wide and barren, why dare the Decarabian hide such dwelling? And even with the raging howls of the walls of wind, Venti couldn't help but wonder the silence it traps within.

A tiny ball of white in an expanse of gray. The thought scares the little sprite enough to make him scurry for the smallest bit of sound he can decipher. The loneliness creeps into his core—

And his little body bumps into that of a soft material. "Oh! Goodness, one should not run off without looking like that-" the figure turns and finds itself face to face with a floating blob, deep blue eyes wide and mouth hangs with wonder. Venti recognizes this creature in one of his endeavors as the wind, a human being, the true wanderers of Teyvat. Yet what is one doing trapped? "Such a peculiar being! What could you be?"

Yet it is not frightened by Venti's rarity, well, given he is not the most frightening wonder in this continent this was no surprise.

The sprite did not mind being found out. No, no, quite the opposite honestly, as he flies closer to the young boy and hides in his upturned hood. Nuzzling against the junction in his neck as he expresses gratitude in the company and presence of another in this desolate world.

The young boy chuckles and it reminds him of a song. "Perhaps you do not understand what I spoke?" The sprite shakes its head and the ticklish spot is tickled again. "Or do you not know how to speak?" A nod. And another giggle.

Without another word, the human slips back into the alleys of winding yet thin roads before making his way inside what looks to be a cathedral of tall composition. Glass windows of the same length tinted in kaleidoscopic patterns of color. There is a light in them you would usually bask in during the 'outside world', but in here it replicates that of an oasies in the deserts of Sumeru.

Underneath the artificial haze it beams a seeming spotlight at a figure clad in a dark ebony cloak. Venti felt the vibrations of an elated gasp as the human rushed over with a smile and frantic waving.

"My fair muse, how you've brighten my day, bestowing your presence tonight!"

The cloak tenses before immediately relaxing, the 'muse' he speaks of turns with its loose hood falling as it bundled around the shoulders, and Venti the sprite couldn't help but gasp too at the sight!

Fair is lacking, no words can describe the essence of bloom and beauty at the beholder as you stood there almost sparkling, hair catching the twinkle of light. Your plum lips caught itself smiling yet your eyes twinkled double the amusement at the sight of the human before you, "Gale." You murmured with an undertone of annoyance as you trudged over, flicking the boy's forehead so suddenly he'd voiced his hurt loudly. "Where have you been?! You've never been late to our daily rendezvous, you had me worried-!"

"Oh, such a cutie when you worry!" The young boy, Gale, cupped your cheeks in the middle of your spiel as he softly pats it with his fingers. Venti had never seen such creature change colors as fast as you, not even a chameleon, or an octopus in hiding. "I've simply found a new companion while I was out and about!"

As if a spotlight was caught unto him this time, your blown eyes wandered to the sprite floating by your company's neck. And oddly he'd found the attention appreciated.

"Who is this? An elf?"

"Venti!" There was a distant jingle of imaginary bells in his squeak of a voice.

"It/You can talk?!"

(Y/N) Lawrence.

Gale the Bard.

Venti the El- Wind Sprite.

Gale was a bard that resides in the cathedral of Mondstadt, homeless and without blood and kin, the nuns had took him in and lead their choir in turn for their hospitality.

You, on the other hand, lived with a clan of hunters that once ruled the mountains and forests. But with the emergence of the inescapable walls of wind, your family had been on the forefront of the protection of the citizens.

There were a lot of struggles in communication between you two and the lil sprite. He only knows his name and how to copy words (not so fluently) so questions had to be foregone, teaching the little one took priority. And Gale being the weaver of words took it upon himself to teach him frequently as you had your duties and family to go to.

Venti would sometimes disappear for a majority of the time and you'd figured he finally found a way to pass through the winds without shredding himself among the blades of current. And then he'd pop back in to listen to the merry tunes Gale had come up with, both of them waiting for your return.

"Ah Venti, is she not a beauty? The youngest daughter of Lawrence, as divine as that of incense. Oh tell me those dotted eyes could see it too!" The little sprite eagerly nods as he follows the bard's stride across the aisles in the holy cathedral, once again barren of other souls except for them. Whenever his human friend finds time to muse, it would be most about the maiden he fancies, the muse of most of his songs. Venti had been captured by his delicate tunes and savory lines to the point that he too had been overly enticed by your grace when your presence shines.

Your strength, your smile, your laugh, your hair. Your gait, your poise, your eyes, your glare. You had caught their stares dozens of times in silence before and it was always up to you to put them back to present time.

Venti simply basked in your warming aura and indulges himself outwardly, often you'd find him dozing off on the crown of your head. And often times you'd find a little pout on Gale at such a sight that you had no choice but to tease. In those moments, the wind sprite knew he had come out triumphant.

The cathedral doors open as quickly as they had closed, your windswept and frantic form appearing from the storm outside. The two boys in your life immediately lit up on your appearance but you'd know most of it was directed at the numerous scrolls and books you currently cradle in your shivering arms.

You offered them a grin, one of victory, and you'd all cheered at your success.

Soon, your merry trio made its way to the second floor of the cathedral in front of a faraway hallway that looks over the vast floor of the first yet still had the glow from the looming illuminated glass windows. Beholden in front of you are illustrations of a world beyond, filled with colors and shine, a world you had only imagined from stories now pictured perfectly.

Venti would hover over the illustrations at random intervals and giddily point at some of those he recognized, squeaking incoherent noises yet reflecting happiness and familiarity. While you fancied with indulging the sprite in his incomprehensible stories, Gale sat beside you with adoring yet distant eyes upon the images laid before him. Looking through them, and projecting himself in such a world. The books of the outside world you'd stolen from your clan's sacred libraries will be the start of a spark of desire to be free. And with it the start of a new era.

"The true sky, and songs that cageless soar...

Were they not wishes worth fighting for?"

Long had you gone and abandoned your stolen goods for them to admire more, at least until the day your clan finally realized the missing materials in the vast expanse of the bookshelves they own. There was more to marvel at yet you feared if you linger longer, your sister would look for you and find your little crime all too soon.

Venti quietly watches the familiar illustration of a beach littered with creatures of the sea on its glittering sand before he'd lift his tiny head up, witnessing the intense stare his bard friend had on the scroll where lies an overgrown tree and a stone structure. The sprite noted he had not seen this one.

"How marvelous it would be, to celebrate the most joyous moments under this tree," Gale mumbled in a quiet lilt of longing in his voice, "Imagine (Y/N) and I, with you by my side, as I finally pluck the courage to get down on one knee." Venti bumbled in slight jealousy, buzzing in front of the bard that could only cast a laugh. "Oh hush, dear friend, is it not appropriate to take an arrow to the knee for an archer such as she?"

Yet even with his desire to be by your side, the little sprite knew that he would be there to support his friend for the happiness you two deserved. In a land where you are free. Still, Venti hopes his cuteness would be enough to prolong you just a little bit more.

Drunk in passion and dreams, the next day the bard was scheming. And when you'd come to his cathedral of a home, he finally poured out his plans to you with a Venti quipping with cheers on the side.

The Mondstadtian had predicted your hesitance, even your disapproval on the notion, and were ready to chip in to persuade you once more— yet you gave in. Immediately. The same fire burned in your eyes at the thought of being unshackled and caged from the world begging to be explored. Your sentiments together with the bard fueled the desire between you three, and through the brainpower of a trio of young minds, you had drawn your plans.

Gale aided by Venti would try and coerce with the Ragnvindr clan's leader, and you would work on convincing your eldest sister Amos for the help needed to coerce the whole Lawrence bloodline into the battle. You knew there was an undeniable hatred within her against Decarabian and you wanted her to fuel that fire once and for all, for one great cause.

And soon enough, the strings of fate had come into play, and the one who shall record this momentous history has taken its seat by the balcony of war. Only the last piece of the puzzle is left in this grandoise play—

"Gale, Venti, are you sure this is the right direction to the hideout? We're taking a route longer than usual, surely you're not making last minute pranks..."

Your bow smacks at your back as you made your way inside the dark closet. It was two cycles before the fated ambush would come and in your nerves you had not realized how amiss things had been for the others. You were more than ready even if your fingers were to tremble everytime it holds your bow and arrow, predictions of the war that shall come floats within the expanse of your mind.

In your limited vision, your bard friend and sprite shared a look that did not pass by you. The tension had only caused you to gulp in your nervousness, were you found out? Did the participants of the revolt suddenly back down? "There has been a change of plans, but worry not for history still pans. My Muse, it is best you stay to assure you will not be caught in the storm's disarray-"

A hand flew across the bard's pristine white skin and his dark ocean hues could not help but widen. Is he... telling you to not participate in the war?! What kind of— a sob left through your gritted teeth despite your best efforts, and you're not sure who was more broken between your friends upon the sight. "How could you, even think- Gale, you carry no arms but a lyre! And Venti still has no means to go against the Archon that controls the winds! What kind of absurd idea is this?!" In the middle of your rage, your friends had already wrapped you in their sentimental hug, expressing their own misery with free-flowing tears." I'm supposed to protect you... t-the three of us were supposed to lead the path of freedom..."

"You've always protected us, (Y/N). Now would be the best time... to return the favor," and as your friend stepped back to give a parting smile, your whole world suddenly engulfed in black as the door shut with a slam and a final lock.

"Gale! Venti! No, please no! Let me out! Don't do this, PLEASE!"

"Please hear us out, our dear (Y/N)," Gale leaned his forehead against the thick door that separates you two, shedding the last bit of tears he could muster before the end of an era. The desperation in your every bang against it, breaks apart a hole in his own heart, "For your own good, and your own future."

When Gale described love to the little Venti, the latter was certain that he felt the same way for you. Yet the human ever so jokingly laughed at how he was still too young to fully understand the implications of such words. But he desired just as much to protect you, to be by your side, and to see your smile. But the human was right for he did not truly understand the reasons WHY he felt like so...

So he asked instead, dear friend Gale of Tales, why have you come to cherish this human in devotion? And quite so the other was happy to indulge!

"It starts with young Mondstadt when the walls were young and the people still knew the tales and what they sang. I was a poor little bard with a broken lyre, when living alone was nothing but dire.

Without a home, without a bed, I was ready to starve to death. But an angel clad in white suddenly lead me to bright light. My muse had brought to me a cathedral, yes the one we are in now! And since then I've lived a proper choir life, always wondering how...

just how things would be without (Y/N), my angel? Continuing to live in the dark alleys, would I have been able? Even now I have yet to repay her act of kindness. But one day, for sure... " Perhaps, this act the young boy now follows, was the payment he had been waiting for.

How long you had stayed there, you had no clue but by the sounds of war cries and clashing steel had told you enough. You'd been there for too long.

Blessed with some luck that a crowbar had found its way in this janitor closet in a cathedral no less, you had immediately set out to join the battle: beyond the holy doors flames had lit up from the torches the revolt has carried, many bodies lay by the stone grounds of the city, some moving and struggling while some... you spare them not a second thought as you rushed past the stone pillars to where the heat of the war should be. If the battle plan had gone as it should then—

A hand gripped your arm with such force it had you cry out before you even registered you were being slammed to the floor. A shadow of a knight that serves the God of Storm looms over you with a glare blazing past his helmet. "You're one of them, I recognize that face! You're not winning today-" yet another blade suddenly pierced through his chest, and your shirt had been splattered when it was pulled. The now lifeless body falls past you and another replaces him.

"Sir Ragnvindr!" The knight shared the same shock and relief you wore before it steeled, immediately pulling you up and away from the on-going exchanges of blows. "Everyone- how's the war looking?"

"Men had fallen from the green-tipped arrows, but we are making progress," the redhead gestured to the tower where the greatest enemy lies, taking note of the cracks and crumbling structure, a sign of his coming doom. A very good sign. "Amos took it upon herself to climb the tower-"

"What?! That's beyond the plan, she- she could get herself killed!" You brought your own bow from your back at the mention of your sister archer, bringing the strings back with an arrow at the ready, your intention clear. The redhead had shown a glint of worry but his gaze had been resolved once again at the hope of freedom, and he leaves you to your chase as he fends off the guards that dare go after you.

You expertly evaded blows and parried kicks with your bow and arrow, yet no sign of the heads of the resistance had caught your sight. The longer you climbed, the more you feared for the worst. By 2/3 of the tower you had scaled you managed to poke your head out to see the scale of war. Of red and orange floated below as the razor winds felt more violent than it had been ever since you had been born within its impenetrable walls, even from this distance high up you could still hear the clash, the warmongers held up in the central square where all battles now takes place.

And within that chaos you managed to single out a lump of black and a dot of floating white. Miraculously, your scream had reached their faraway ears and looked up, just in time to see your aerial shots of support.

"(Y/N)?! What is she-!" His words had been cut with an arrow wheezed past his head to bring down a foe that had sneaked behind him. Right, battle. Many of the immediate threats had been neutralized and the resistance had found the upper ground thanks to the archer's barrage. "How-how is she up there!"

Another body had fallen next to him with a cut on its back, a certain knight rushing past him to hit another. "Watch your back, bard! Now's not the time to monologue, she's going to backup Amos."

You were too far to hear the horrified gasp and the fearful expression your two faithful friends adorned. But the ground you were on began to shake, and you know you had to go on. "Venti! Gale! Focus, I'll be there with you two soon!" You screamed at the top of your lungs in hopes that it will reach them before continuing your ascent to the most treacherous area you had to be in—

You barelled towards the woman with silver hair with a pace you've never seen and a strength you'd never thought you carried, exchanging the shot you felt lodge into your left side as you sent one right through the guard's neck. You fell on your bottom and clutched the wounded area, but kept it there, if not to make sure the blood does not pour if you were to take it out.

"Sister!" The familiar voice cradled you as gently as she could with a fear-stricken face. But you assured her that it had not hit anything major, the way her worry didn't dissipate seem to hide a kind of anguish she couldn't name. "We must get you to safety, the clerics- the clerics could-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you grunted as you pried yourself out of her grasp to prove your point, still able to keep your stance. You see Amos struggle from fatigue yet about to bite back, "We're so close, sister, any moment we linger is another body on the list of deaths." Painfully she'd bitten on her own tongue, finally relenting as you ascended the last few steps.

Normal arrows are nothing but toothpicks against the mighty God of Storms, the Anemo Archon, who easily flicked your futile attempts to graze him. And yet Decarabian was losing power just from fighting off not only your barrages but those even from below. His walls were thinning and his heart crumbles, from the thought of his once devoted followers turning back on him.

With one last strength the Lawrences gathered every piece of energy and power they could into their shot, and Decarabian looked at them with tired eyes and a raised hand. "Finally, I shall hold his gaze." The voice next to you spoke before your charged shot, swirling with beaming light flew past the sharp gale of wind and pierced through the God's core. Your ears had picked up on a violent crack before you were hit by the razor breeze upon the dying breath of the archon, sending you and Amos off the crumbling tower to free fall to your deaths.

In the edge of your peripherals the bleak gray walls of storms dissolved into rays of natural light, giving way to a hue of blue you had never seen before. As the wind wheezed past your ears, you smiled at the face of death—

When a jingle of little bells suddenly slowed your descension, and you were softly met with the hard floor on your back. With tired eyes you'd found yourself next to the pioneers of freedom, conscious and unconscious. You had felt Venti nudge your hand to those of another's limp ones, soft palms yet calloused fingers, you intertwined your hands with that of the bard's.

"We did it, we finally... did it..." A pulling force drains the consciousness from your mind and body in laboured breaths, and despite your protests to keep staring at the beautiful sight of the true sky, your eyelids were pulled shut by an unknown exhaustion.

Past their closed state, a flash of light was the last thing you had thought. Bruised and beaten, your warm hand did not register how the ones you clung to... did not squeeze back.

...

The next time (e/c) orbs flew open their eyes the world felt that of a lucid dream, with silk of the cleanest white donned their body, and the softest breeze of a sweet flower you had not smelt passes by you. Teal orbs looked down at you with a gentleness you've felt from the artificial light from the cathedral. Speaking of- your eyes unfocused shifted its gaze to the light blue skies.

"You're... awake." Your bard friend breathed out in disbelief and another emotion your brain can't quite place. The cotton of clouds float above in painted beauty, and you had pried your sight away from it almost painfully just to spare your companion a look.

"It's..." your throat grated and ached at the attempt, coming out so weak and breathless, "It's very beautiful... out here, free... Have- have you gone to explore?" Your face twisted in numbing pain from talking, and the bard started to quiver yet stood strong with a smile.

"I had, it's - it's just like how we imagined, even better than we've taken for granted," wet spots adorned your cheeks in short successions, you couldn't help but smile. "I only wish you were there to see it first hand, the flowers, the sunsets, the land-"

"Yet I fell asleep," you laughed in mirth yet there was no sound that escaped. The grip around you tightens as you loll your head to the side; there lays a new city kissed by the huge orb of light in the blue veil of a sky, lush green grass of health you've never seen before shone with a moistness on it, and around its glory lays a beauty of a moat that mirrors the one above. Beautiful, you whispered under your long-awaited breathe.

"The people of Mond had done their best to rebuild, for the promise of freedom they had not wilt," a hand on your cheek, flawless, urged your gaze once more to lay upon the bard. "We've devised a festival to celebrate named Ludi Harpastum. Tell me... my muse, will you accompany me in this new custom?"

A new breeze had lulled you in your ears once again to sleep, and a flash of fear had passed over your companion's features before it dissipated when you opened your eyes once more. A festival, you haven't heard that in years, "I would love to. But maybe... tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow."

"Mhm, I feel tired... the sun invites me to sleep, will you wait for me tomorrow?"

"T-Tomorrow."

"Good." Your eyes were covered by darkness again as you felt a pressure against your forehead. "It's... a date..." And your tired heart finally found peace, after battling for 15 days restlessly, desperately.

Venti picked you up from where you laid on his lap, setting you down on the grass bed besides the giant roots of the Windrise tree. Nearest your left, a stone plate carved with words you never dare see lies next to you. And for the first time in fifteen days, a God cries again.

¹The green-tipped arrows were coated with poison.

²Reader's bow is designed after the Raven's Bow.

³Gale is not the bard's official name but was used to avoid too many confusion.

⁴This had a different, more painful and hatred alternate ending where you hated Venti for taking Gale's form, but I changed it so I could rest my own heart.

*in honor of your contribution to Mondstadt's freedom, the maiden who throws the Harpastum is made for your grace.

@boxofteenageideas @creation-magician @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Neither of them said anything for a long minute. Murky water dripping carelessly into a puddle somewhere. 

Asivus looked Astor up and down, taking him in. He then nodded, before kicking his legs back out and resting his arms behind his head, resuming his entertainment of staring at the wall. This time he put on the smile.

“Welp! I was kinda hoping a couple decades imprisonment would do the trick, but execution is fine too, I guess. Swiftness and punctuality and all that.” He let out a fake yawn. “Though you’re wasting your time if you’re looking to give a prayer. I intend to go out without asking the gods for anything.”

“I’m not a priest.” Astor said bluntly.

Siv cocked an eyebrow. “Uh…...n...nun—?”

“What happened to you, Assivus?” 

“Ahhhh…And interrogation…” He nodded up and down again. “Then I’ll tell you what I told the other guy—you can goooooooo suck my dick.”

Siv turned to the side, fiddling with something metal in his right pocket, the rattling echoing on the stone floor.  He finally pulled out an old flask, shaking it back and for, the sound revealing a little less than a third of alcohol left in the container. He shook it again and looked at the seer. 

“Snuck this bad boy in, earlier! I know my way around a pat down or two, heheh…” He took a swig before gesturing towards Astor again. “How ‘bout you, choir man? Got any sorrows to drown?”

“A kind offer, but I actually value my health,” he replied. “You got any other contraband keeping you company, then?”

He tensed, but recovered so quickly Astor nearly thought he imagined it. Asivus then let out a laugh before taking another drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—which despite the grime, was probably the cleanest part of his person. 

“So they took the nearest homeless looking pal and sent them down to ask me shit...that’s certainly new.” He studied the seer again. “What? We supposed to bond over our greasy hair? Lack of fashion?” Another beat of silence. “...I’ll admit, it’s working a bit!” He laughed, leaning back against the wall. 

Astor sighed silently, before cutting to the chase. “You’re being charged with manslaughter—the rampaging Guardian that destroyed part of the castle. But I know it wasn’t you.” Water dripped in the back end of the cell. “I want you to tell me about the malice.”

One of the cells down the corridor rattled, some Lizalfo shifting in it’s sleep. The echoing metal left a sense of unease in the air. 

“Listen…” Assivus’s voice dropped to a dangerously quiet tone. “I’m not looking for a defense attorney, and I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. So you should probably get on your way before you miss your sermon.” He glared at Astor, blue eyes seemingly a shade darker. 

“There were timelines where the world ends today, you know.” He stepped closer to the cell bars. “The princess far too weak to awaken her powers, the Calamity having grown just strong enough to erupt around the castle, infecting stone and flesh alike.” 

“Well whatareya doing here, then, Mr. Doomsday?” Assivus cocked his head to the side. “If the world’s supposed to end, shouldn’t you be...out there? Maybe holding an ���End is Nigh’ sign or something?”

“It doesn’t end for us, though. I’ve spent my life studying the endeavours and feats that await this world and the next. We’ve luckily still got a few years before hell starts to walk.” Astor stepped closer again, unwavering to Assivus’ gaze. “I’m merely curious about how your little disturbance—or perhaps, failure of a disturbance—coincides with the Calamity’s potential return.”

“I fucked with some Sheikah Tech. Guardian got funky. Brat nephew saves the day. I get arrested. Don’t remember running into any ancient evils on this little joy ride.”   

“You and I both know the official report is made-up bullshit. I imagine your spite is derived from the unfairness of the situation.” He tucked his hair behind his ears. “Guardians can’t be corrupted through mechanical means. They’re forces crafted to take on ancient magical forces, and as such are engrained with magical components. They don’t just break out into violence over a broken gear, much less be purposefully made to go against their ancient purposes.” He scoffed at the smirk on Asivus’ face. “Especially not by some idiot like you.” Asivus placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. 

“In addition,” Astor continued, “I imagine your father didn’t have purple and gold slitted eyes. So that trait you occasionally have is certainly suspect.”

Assivus blinked, and the creeping colors in his eyes faded along with his confident smirk. He rubbed his blue eyes and sighed. 

“Hey well that’s just rude,” Siv said, playfully. “Maybe I got it from my mom.”

Astor clicked his tongue, before clenching his jaw.

“Welp, you’re certainly a smarter cookie than I gave you credit for, purple man.” Asivus crossed his legs—criss-cross-applesauce—and turned completely too Astor. “But the fact of the matter is, I don’t really care anymore. And I don’t know why you care. Knowing doesn’t change anything for your little predictions, does it?”

The prophet’s face remained unreadable. Siv started scratching his head. “You know I do remember you now...I’ve seen you around. You used to pester the Dick-Rhoam a bunch. Walking around with your little maps and star charts or whatever...yeah, yeah. The weirdo that would tell the rich bastards around here that they were useless. Very bitter insults, I respect it! Suppose some heroes wear robes over capes.”

“It’s not about insults, it’s the truth.” Astor narrowed his eyes. “I’m trying to help you, but rest assured, we all are doomed to be consumed by the Calamity.”

There was silence between them again, but the slight smile on Siv’s face didn’t fade.

“You know, this whole dark and edgy doomsday act is great and all, don’t get me wrong. But since it’s just us alone here there’s no need to keep up the act. I mean, I’m pretty sure I saw you left that anonymous gift of exotic bird encyclopedias in Larc’s office last year.” Astor’s jaw tightened and Siv winked. “And I know because he claimed he saw me leave it—and I don’t buy books, ever. Might wanna change your wardrobe, you wouldn’t wanna be confused as the homeless orator—”

“The Malice.” The seer cut in. “How’d you get it?”

“Ah, it all started when I was born in Rauru Settlement to Lord Ligero Arist—”

“I mean how did you manifest it?” He articulated.  “Everyone has malice, yes. But it takes something else to make it a physical power. Much less enough to infect Sheikah Technology.”

Asivus tapped his chin for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t I just perish in peace? The ol’ axe seems for sharper conversation.”

“Look, I just want...I want to…” Astor shook his head, restarting. “Any information I get is something I can use to make our future demise just slightly more bearable for whatever unlucky generation lives. Don’t you care about that?”

“Nope! Got no kids. Larc and his brats either didn’t care to look at me, or Larc’s too much of a spineless brother to care about me over the rules. Soooo, I’m all for looking out for me, myself, and I, thank you very much.” He tapped his foot against the stone floor. “Plus, I had an ex that used his kids to scam me of 6k rupees in a pocket monster match a while back, so I’m still recovering from that.” 

“Can I trade you then? What do you want? If I come back here with a good wine, will your lips loosen?” Astor was already mentally planning who he could buy a bottle from without a paper trail, already expecting Siv to say yes.

Water continued to drip and drip and drip. Asivus sighed.

“...Nah.” Astor raised an eyebrow. “I’m good...you can’t get what I want, anyhow…”

The seer looked at him for a long moment. Siv had gone back to staring into blank space, deep in thought about something that had caused his smirk to fade.

Let’s see...What would a dead man value? He’s got a rough relationship with his family, he’s got no friends, he’s tainted by a crime of his past…

“Are you interested in the past?” The prophet finally asked. “I know stuff about your mother. If the material doesn’t mean much to a dead man, then I’m all for a trade of information.”

Siv’s eyes suddenly shot up, specks of gold appeared in his pupils before disappearing.

“Wh..*What...?*”

“I’ll start. We’ll both trade details bit by bit, alright?” It was his turn to smirk at the look on Asivus’ face. 

“I’m a bastard child.”

Asivus scrunched his eyebrows. “The fuck does that have to do with my…” His eyes suddenly widened, his mouth opening and closing. He quickly checked his flask to see how much was left, and took a swig. He stared back at Astor. “Explains a bit but...What the actual fuck.”

“Her name was Serenity. Serenity Lior Astor, from Deya Village. There, I think that’s adequate, yes?” Astor gestured down to him. “Your turn.”

Asivus scratched his chin, before standing. He drank the rest of his flask, before dropping it to the ground. “How’d she die?”

“Your father is Lord Ligero. You know how this game works.”

Siv bit his lip, for a moment, before shrugging. Suddenly, purple started to creep at the edges of his eyes, pupils thinning to gold.

“OK, magic man. But don’t be a snitch, alright?” Assivus raised one of his hands open in the air, and for a moment, Astor wondered if he was supposed to take it in a weird sideways handshake. 

Then, the air swirled, a sensation of mixed euphoria and misery tainting the corridor. Cell occupants were rustling.

A glow of magenta swirled up Assivus’ forearm, before swirling in an orb hovering over his palm. The sound of it forming was like the thick, suffocating scream of hot metal as a smith plunges it into water.

The malice left as quick as it came, and hovering in Assivus’ palm was a strange, and beautiful astrolabe. It’s alluring faint glow nearly made him reach out between the bars to touch it.

“Your turn.”

[lo-55]

Playing With Fire

While playing a perfectly innocent video game you get thrown into a dangerous world on the brink of incineration! At least you’re surrounded by a bunch of hot people. If nothing else you can shower them with copious, well earned affection. 

You come awake with a start. 

Everything is just a little off kilter. Like your eyes aren’t focused or you're wearing someone else's glasses. It takes you a few long minutes to realize that you’re staring down at a piece of paper. 

It’s listed one through eight, with a check box next to each number. 

At the top you see ‘Company Preference List’, and beneath that is your name scrawled in your own handwriting. But, when did you write it? And what was the list? You look up to find yourself in a library, surrounded by a bunch of other people all dressed in orange uniforms. You look down and find yourself in the same one. You recognize it as the Fire Force boiler suits. 

You touch your cheek slowly. Then poke the corner of your eyes. You’re not wearing your VR visor. And you’re not holding handles either. Are you hallucinating? You were playing the game, in the middle of some side quest. Did the game reset? This looked like a scene from the start of the game. It followed the beginning of the series, but through the eyes of a random side character researching Haijima on their own. There was some kind of revenge plot and a lot of stuff about their big sister, but you hadn’t gotten to the full reveal of the tragic back story yet. They interacted with the main characters plenty, but mostly they spent their time in their own squad, the fourth. 

You were halfway through the game, and now you were back at the start?

You look around for something to tell you what’s going on. You try to poke the menu button, but you’re not holding controllers. So all you really end up doing is poking the air between your hands with your thumbs. You’re starting to panic, when something shiny catches your attention. 

When did you get that ring? 

Plain silver on your forefinger. You poke it and gasp when the world shifts minutely. 

A flicker of fire, a figure dark against the light. It warps in and out of your vision in a split second. 

Right. Tragic back story. 

The ring was from their (your?) older sister. Now disappeared a-la-infernal fire. You were like the reverse Shinra. 

Wait. 

Shinra. 

Your head snapped around quickly from one person to the other. Most of them were boring background characters. No, no, no. Boring. Lame. Basically grey blobs. 

Were you going crazy and you couldn’t even enjoy it?! 

“Uh, hey? Are you okay?” 

Your head snaps sideways to find bright red eyes peering at you in concern. 

Red eyes. Black hair. 

You stare hard at him until the corners of his mouth start to twitch and curl upwards. 

“H-hey. Why are you staring at me?” 

Abruptly you reach over and cup his cheeks. His face is hot beneath your hands. You can touch him. You can feel the heat of his skin. He’s blushing something fierce. 

“You are… adorable,” you declare. 

He turns bright red and squeaks at you until you finally let him go. 

“What?!” 

“Did I stutter?” you prop your chin in your hand and look him over. Yep. Definitely cute. You just wanna squeeze him. But, you should probably do other things first. Like figure out what exactly is going on. 

Not that you can come outta the gate with ‘hey I was playing a video game and now I’m stuck in it, also I thought you weren’t real? What gives yo?’ 

Even you aren’t that impulsive. 

Actually, in real live you’re not very impulsive at all. That was what made games so fun, especially open world ones where you could do basically whatever you wanted. IRL you were more withdrawn than anything, even when you wanted to be social. 

Now… You could be whoever you wanted, right? 

Did you even have to follow the plot? Could you put a preference for another company and go there? Or would you still end up in the forth? And what about your abilities? In the game you’d had a choice at the beginning between a second gen ability and two third gen powers. You’d ended up picking at random, since they all seemed cool and you hadn’t been very far into the anime yet at the time. 

How would you even use those powers here, assuming that you could? 

“Sorry, I was spacing out,” you finally said, “What were you saying?” 

“Oh uh,” Shinra looked away, his grin still pulling at his face. “I was just asking if you were okay. You were looking at the form for so long, but whenever you talked about joining a company before you always said you would go to the fourth. Not that we talk a lot, so I wouldn’t know if you wanted to go to the fifth or the sixth or the seventh or-” 

“Babe, you’re rambling,” you cut in, starting to smile yourself. Even though you’re beyond confused something about Shinra puts you at ease. Everything about him seems so… warm. And yeah, the smile could be off putting. If it wasn’t so damn adorable. 

“O-oh!” aaaand he was blushing again. 

You look down at the paper, your brows furrowing. What are you even supposed to say to this? 

“I dunno,” you said at last, “I guess I was reconsidering. There’s a lot of companies, and a lot of options out there. I might end up going a totally different path if it’s not too late… What about you?” 

“Me? Well I didn’t really have a particular preference, but I heard that they’re trying to send more people to the eighth this year. Since its such a new company, and so small.” 

“Mmmm. That’s true. Maybe I’ll go there,” you muse. It would put you smack in the middle of all the action, and you could see the sweet Iris, and the too-hot-to-be-fair Maki. You could stay with adorable Shinra and the well meaning dumbass that was Arthur. Not to mention the two guys in charge. If you could get Obi to bench press you- 

Nope! Bad! Focus on the task at hand. No thirsting over captains right now! 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Shinra admitted, looking down at his own paper. 

“Yeah? I guess such a small company would make it easy for you to stand out and come a hero, right?” 

Shinra looked startled. You offered him a sweet smile and turned back to your paper and picked up your pen. 

You marked your preferences. 

Eighth, seventh, fourth, second, fifth, sixth, third, first. 

“The eighth and the seventh?” Shinra asked, peaking over at your sheet. 

You shot him a grin. “They both sound like fun to me. Hey, Shinra?” 

“Yeah?” 

Your grin grows wider. “Let’s both do our best, and save lots of people okay?” 

Shinra’s smile is small, but true. 

“Okay.” 

You bump your fist to his to seal the deal. 

~ 

It had taken you a couple of tries to find your dorm room. 

Your body seemed like it knew what it was doing, even if your mind didn’t. You had to explain away your frazzled state to the woman in charge of your wing, a nun who’s name you couldn’t recall to save your life, as nerves. She had looked dubious, but hadn’t questioned you when she pointed you to your room. 

Probably thinks I’m hung over, you thought as you stepped inside. If I didn’t know better I’d think I was drunk enough to hallucinate. But it’s all way too real. Just what happened? One second I was playing the game, and then my phone went off, and then it was all dark. After that I was in the library. 

 It was making your head hurt thinking about it. 

You poked around the room. If you remembered right you’d had a roommate, but she’d already been assigned her company a week early. Her dad was some top brass in the military, so off to the second company she went, 

You made sure the door was locked before you started riffling through your things. 

Books, papers, clothes. Personal items. 

You had a collection of antique keys for some reason, and a blanket shaped like a tortilla that was warmer than most space heaters. There was an old lighter with a hawk engraved on it in one drawer. When you touched it you got the sudden smell of pipe tobacco and a man laughing far in the back of your mind before it was gone. Just like when you touched the ring earlier. 

Memories that weren’t yours. You had stepped into someone else's life. 

When you looked in the mirror you found the face that your had designed for your character staring back at you. There was a thin ring of white in your eyes, cutting through their color and marking you as a pyrokinetic. 

Shit. Each of those abilities had a different eye. Which one was the circle? There was a circle, a pointy cross, and teardrop because the designer was some edgelord. Which power does this mean I have? Wings? Magnet sand? Or the spear torch thingy? 

You wished this could have been more like Fate/Grand Order. Then you would just have to keep track of your teams abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. Not your own. 

Fuck. 

You spend a long time in your room, packing up all of your belongings. None of them really belong to you. They belong to your character, and they’re only familiar in the sense that you’ve thrown them over your shoulder when you were looking for something specific before. Only now if you throw them they won’t puff back to where they were before eventually. You’ll actually have to put this stuff away. 

Damn it, you’ve never liked packing. 

Still, you carefully rolled your new found clothes into baggage burritos. They were pretty plain, all in all. Oh well. You could make adjustments later if you really wanted to. Was it a game mechanic you haven't unlocked? Full customization? You could pick gender and hair, and the eyes depended on your pyrokinesis. Maybe at some point you got to change clothes too. 

You’d figure it out. 

You hoped. 

Your head was still reeling the with the idea of what was going on, but for now, with nothing else you really could do, you decided to go with it. 

Once you had everything all packed up you left your room to do some exploring. You tried to keep track of where you were going in the big fire station/training academy, but before long you were hopelessly lost. 

You stumbled upon a training room, where a familiar boy with a dorky pony tail was slashing a glowing blue sword through a training dummy. The poor dummy fell to the floor in pieces. 

You watched him for a few minutes before he noticed you. 

“Oh,” he said, “It’s you.” 

Which was… pretty lame, if you’re being honest. 

What, did you one pop his delusional bubble? 

“Yep,” you popped your ‘p’, “It’s a-me.” Mario. “What did that guy ever do to you? Try to challenge the great Knight King Arthur on a troll bridge?” you meant it to be a joke, but Arthur actually lit up. 

“Hardly! This was merely training. A Knight King must always be ready to defend his people!” 

“Of course,” you nodded along, playing with him. “And soon you’ll be embarking on a great quest to your new company, right? Do you know which one?” 

“I didn’t bother with those silly preference sheets. Let whichever company requires a knight most vie for my presence.” 

You were honestly impressed Arthur even knew the word ‘vie’. Wasn’t he kind of a loon? 

“Mhmm, mhmm, I see,” you nodded seriously. “Then in case, I might see you in my own company.” 

You wanted to ask him to spar, if only to see Excalibur in action more, but you still weren’t sure what your power was or how to use it. So you ended up bowing out. 

It took you another hour to find your way  back to your room. 

Whoops. 

You don’t really sleep. You lay down and try to wake up, and hope that come morning you’ll be back in your living room with a vr stapped to your head and this whole thing will have been a (not so terrible) dream. 

Keep Dreaming. 

~    ~

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH130

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

----

Chapter 130: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XX)

"Because it hurts too much," Qi Leren replied seriously. "But it doesn't hurt now. It doesn't hurt after drinking the antidote."

"Really, that's good." Su He sighed softly and took the antidote to give to Dr. Lu.

"Please look after Dr. Lu, I’ll go back to find Ning Zhou," Qi Leren said.

Su He shook his head: "Well, you should send Dr. Lu back to the Lord's castle first and I will go to the old site of the Vatican first. If Ning Zhou is in trouble, I’m always more experienced than you."

The ground was still shaking slightly. With the death of Witch of Nightmares, the demon energy she had accumulated for so many years seemed to be going out of control. Qi Leren was very worried that her former companion would be in the former site of the Vatican and regretted that he hadn’t bring insisted on Ning Zhou coming back with him - although he knew that Ning Zhou would definitely choose to stay there just in case - but if Ningzhou met any danger…

"Okay, you go first, I'll be right there," Qi Leren agreed.

Su He smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, it will be over soon."

Qi Leren helped Dr. Lu, who was still unconscious: "Yeah, it will be."

Su He nodded to him with a smile, then turned and walked into the darkness.　

　　&&&

The night wind blew quietly through the branches and leaves and the site of the Vatican, which had been closed for more than 20 years, was as quiet as sleeping in a grave.

Ning Zhou went up the stairs, walking the same steps Maria had taken so many times, and headed for the church at the highest point.

Along the way the earth continued to shake, and it became more and more frequent. The scattered demon energy rampaged under the earth's surface, awakening the sleeping birds.

A gust of wind blew and a large number of dead leaves and fallen flowers swept past Ning Zhou. The eagle's voice came from overhead and it circled and landed, throwing a small piece of blue and white petals in Ningzhou's hair. Ning Zhou picked off the petals. The blue and white petals should have been blown from the Garden of the Holy Tomb. He deeply remembered that the petals had fallen on Qi Leren’s lips as he slept, and the memory soaked in the afternoon sunshine was as gentle as a dream... He touched the eagle's head and moved on.

He had never been here before, but when he walked here, his heart was filled with an unwarranted kindness… and a strange fear, as if this was both his holy land and his hell.

The Witch of Nightmares had died not far away and the memento brooch had fallen to the ground. Ning Zhou picked it up. The one-time trap attached to it had been used up, and the debris and ashes on the ground proved it all.

It was just a simple trick, but sometimes winning is as simple as that.

Ning Zhou touched the ward in front of him. This ward set by his mother still dutifully protected the deepest secrets of the Vatican even after she’d left more than 20 years ago. Although it had begun to become fragile because of the erosion of demon energy over so many years, it had still blocked the footsteps of the Witch of Nightmares.

The field memento was once again raised in front of the enchantment of the Holy Nun. Golden ripples flowed away from the brooch and slowly spread out. The enchantment of the highest church of the Holy See began to blur and finally disappeared.

Further down was the cathedral that has been isolated for more than twenty years.

Ning Zhou looked up at the half of the churches that had been turned to ruins, where Maria had killed the Devil.

The black bird on his shoulder let out a cry and NingZhou turned around. From the distant stairs came the sound of high heels on the stone steps, getting closer and closer.

Someone was coming.

The blade rubbed the scabbard as he pulled it out. Ning Zhou stood on the steps and waited quietly for the person to come. The demon's energy, which was left unchecked by the other, came flooding in from the deep night, full of evil thoughts from hell.

A woman wearing a black veiled hat and a black evening dress walked at an elegant pace, and the evening dress inlaid with pearls and precious stones shone brightly in the night. She pushed back the brim of her hat and behind the black veil was a face with delicate makeup and her eyes flashed with demonic brilliance, which was quite different from the ordinary village girl from that year.

"Long time no see," Isabel nodded slightly to Ning Zhou.

Ning Zhou looked at her with a complicated mood.

Deep in the underground palace, Isabel had volunteered to become a witch of the Devil of Fraud and walked onto the altar. However, after more than half a month, she appeared in front of him again but was no longer the ordinary human girl.

The raging demon energy was fueled by numerous killings. She had become a witch completely.

The most terrible thing was, how had she crossed this closed field and come to him? She couldn't have a field memento, so she couldn't enter Maria's field by herself unless…

"To introduce myself again, I am Isabel, the Witch of Jealousy. At the order of my Lord, I came to compete with you." Isabel, wearing black silk gloves, lifted her skirt and graciously bowed to him.

A holy light shone on the knife and Ning Zhou looked expressionlessly at the Witch of Jealousy: "Ning Zhou, the exorcist of the Holy See, is the one who will kill you."

In the dark and silent site of the Vatican, the power of faith and the power of evil suddenly collided in the void and a raging billow of air broke out, where the trees fell and the stone steps broke.

The witch smiled lightly: "I won't let you pass."

　　&&&

After settling Dr. Lu in, Qi Leren immediately left the Lord's castle and hurried towards the former site of the Vatican.

Residents who had been transformed into demons had been restored to their original state. After dawn, these demons would end forever. The night watchmen had also restored their human identities. From now on, they wouldn't have to struggle on every night of the new moon - they had been freed, forever.

As long as they got Maria's memento of destruction, they could reopen this field and let the people who had been trapped here for more than 20 years ago leave.

In the quiet night, Qi Leren's footsteps went faster and faster, and at last he started to trot all the way and soon came to the former site of the Vatican, but Ning Zhou had disappeared and Su He was not here.

Shining his flashlight on the road ahead, Qi Leren walked along the steps to the higher buildings.

The ground was still shaking intermittently, so Qi Leren had to be careful with his steps so as not to fall.

The mountain stone path had broken in front of him into a pit with a shocking width of more than ten meters, and the surrounding trees had fallen down. It looked like there had been a fierce battle here and Qi Leren’s heart went into his throat. Judging from the trees, this was not a remnant left by the demon invasion more than twenty years ago, but was fresh. Although it wasn’t clear whether Su He or Ning Zhou had a conflict with people here, there must be danger ahead.

The space seemed to be distorted ahead, and the deep darkness could not be illuminated by the flashlight. There were no figures, no sound, only pure darkness, frightening and disturbing.

The road was also broken and the Qi Leren hesitated, circling another stone staircase, and soon he came to the cathedral at the top of the hill.

Under the starry sky, this broken church was still majestic. The round stone terraces and all the stone pillars along the road have been broken, but even so as he passed through, he found that these broken walls still exuded holy and solemn beauty.

Along the way, there were all kinds of angel sculptures, some having lost their heads, some having had their wings cut off, and some even having only their legs. They surround the center of the square where there was a disk with a diameter of four or five meters, which seemed to be the base of some giant sculpture. However, there was no statue that should exist on this base, and there was no statue wreckage around it. It was like it had disappeared into thin air, making this group of angels around it extremely lonely in the night.

Going further, half of the church had been destroyed. The front hall was almost completely destroyed. Even the dome had disappeared. After the wind and rain, it had become covered with weeds and shrubs. Qi Leren walked carefully on the weeds, passed through the rows of stone pillars, and came to the stone door of the main hall.

These were two doors that could be pushed away from the center, almost ten meters high. The exquisite reliefs on the doors had been covered with moss, but it was still faintly clear that the reliefs were about the magnificent scenes of wars between angels and devils in heaven.

Behind this door, what could be there?

Qi Leren's hand had been placed on the door. His heart beat faster and his breath was short. He retracted his hand and adjusted himself.

[S/L Data], [Rain-Day Clothes] and [Primary Fighting Skills] have been equipped.

If there was a battle later and S/L skill entered cooldown, he also had the [Countercurrent Sand] item. This exquisite hourglass item could reset the cooling time of one skill card at will. If he still couldn't defeat the enemy by then... He also had the Easter Egg.

There was no need to be afraid, the Witch of Nightmares who was polluting this field was dead. If she still had allies, they should have stopped him on the road.

The ground shook again and this time it felt stronger than before, as if the church was the source of vibrations. What had happened inside, and what would happen if the earthquake continued like this? He couldn't wait any longer…

Once again, Qi Leren put his hands on the cold stone door and pushed forward hard.

Save completed.

To his surprise, this giant door was not as heavy as he imagined. Under his touch it opened almost automatically, fresh air swept forward, his flashlight lit up the marble floor, and Qi Leren looked at the starry sky exposed by the huge collapsed wall of the church. He took a step toward the darkness ahead with his dagger.

A light suddenly lit up in the deep shadows, as if lit by the hand of God.

The darkness was dispelled and the light in front of him became more and more bright until finally it was as bright as day.

Qi Leren looked at the temple in front of him for a while in wait, just in the deepest part of the hall. A huge Maria held a sword high, piercing the flesh of a ferocious roaring black dragon, crucifying it in front of a giant cross.

This shocking scene showed the tragic battle that had occured here many years ago, but this was not the reason why Qi Leren was stunned. After a moment of shock, he looked at the throne belonging to the Pope under the huge cross.

On the throne decorated with reliefs and gems, Su He leaned on one hand and looked on at him with a smile.

His expression is still peaceful and gentle.

Except for those red, evil eyes.

-----

Editor’s Notes: You didn’t think it would end that easily, did you?

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[candlelight27]

Chapter 3: I Chase Your Shadow

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: ATTEMPTED ASSAULT (!!!), Alcohol drinking, swear words, kissing

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4907

AO3: I Chase Your Shadow

A/N:  I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading and sticking by. And, as always, leave a comment if you have any suggestion, request, question or just feel like it! My asks are always open, too!

Sylvain 18:35: What are you wearing? 😉

Sylvain 18:36: Just kidding hahaha

Sylvain 18:36: Although I want to know what’s your costume

You held back a laugh reading Sylvain’s messages. He was truly something else.

You 18:37: Top secret

“Is he texting you again?”, Dorothea asked, mascara in hand. You couldn’t see her expression, but you certainly knew the corners of her lips were curling upwards.

“So what?”, you answered feigning weariness.

Your brunette friend was applying the finishing touches to her makeup in front of your bathroom mirror. There were cases, brushes, pencils, shadows and liners everywhere, all varying shades of red and nude. The living room was in the same situation because Mercedes and Annette had insisted on helping Ingrid get her Halloween costume ready. Ingrid complained, of course, since ‘knights didn’t wear make-up’, but who could ever deny Mercedes? Not you, and not Ingrid either.

You were sitting upon the lid of the toilet, observing Dorothea’s carful movements. You weren’t going all out like she did. You had a black dress that you liked and cheap fake blood you found on a trip to the supermarket – this hectic year you had no time to prepare.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just…” She turned around, her emerald irises glistening. “You are totally at his mercy.”

“I’m not”, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I thought I taught you well. But I guess that’s what happens when your first love strikes you…” She took the brightest shadow of red lipstick she could find in her purse and began applying it.

“That’s totally wrong!”, you protested, putting your phone a way to prove your point.

However, Dorothea was painfully right, as always. You had developed a soft spot for a certain redhead. In fact, you’d dare to say you hadn’t felt anything this intense for him before.

Had it been any other person, it wouldn’t be a problem. But it was Sylvain. The root of all evil. You didn’t trust him at all. Wasn’t it very suspicious that he all of a sudden was paying you attention? He might just want to hook up a couple of times and then disappear, because he had just ended his available catalogue of other women. Was he really like that? You’ve certainly seen him act like that. You’d better stay away from him. But what you felt around him had you addicted.

“So now you are telling me that if tonight he gets you cornered in a room at Hilda’s…” Dorothea lowered her voice, a husky whisper, to avoid the other girls from hearing her. “If he presses his – rather hot, not going to lie here – body against you and leans in all bothered… and then kisses you… you are going to say no. And then remain friends.”

“Yes!”, you lied with all the dignity you could muster.

“I don’t believe you!”, she shouted. In between laughs you threw at her a roll of toilet paper that moved her fake horns. “Stop! Don’t ruin my look, I’m almost finished.”

Dorothea faced you and fixed her cleavage. She was wearing a tight-fitting red dress made out of a velvet-like material, along with headband topped with red horns and a fake tail. The only thing she was missing was a trident.

“You make a good demon”, you commented, tilting your head.

“I’m a succubus. It’s not the same”, she pointed out.

“Of course.”

“Wait, what are you going to wear?”, she stepped closer to you. She inspected you from top to the bottom.

“This”, you stood up and gestured your own black dress with both hands.

“What?” She crossed her arms. “You need a costume!”

“I’m going to put on some fake blood too”, you answered. “I didn’t have time to prepare something else.”

“I’m already seeing the disappointment in Sylvain’s eyes.” She shook her head and tried to reach the doorknob. Then it hit you that you had been meaning to tell her something entirely different.

“Wait, Dorothea.”

“Yes?”, she seemed confused.

“I’ve been having nightmares lately. A lot of them.”

“About what?” Her tone was serious.

“It’s kind of weird.” You scratched your head. It was hard to put together all the scenes that appeared out of thin air at night. “The atmosphere is… like those movies Ingrid watches. But the characters are us. And there’s a war going on. There’s blood, death… I see everyone dying. And I dream that… someone with a speak goes right through my chest and I wake up with this unsettling pain where it hit.” You pointed the exact area.

“That’s worrying… Maybe you’ll have to see Manuela in the clinic.” She looked in deep thought. “Could it be the pressure from university?”

“Perhaps…”

You both went out of the bathroom to meet the other girls. Dorothea was watching you with the corner of her eye, and you feared that you might have worried her over nothing.  

“Dorothea, you are breathtaking!”, said Mercedes as she saw her.

“Thank you”, the brunette smiled. “You are not so bad yourself as a …nun?”

“I love this costume! It always scares all the kids”, she laughed. And you wouldn’t have expected less of the queen of ghost stories.

The sight of her was unsettling. There was dark paint all over under her eyes and her lips that formed a stark contrast with the white base underneath. On the other hand, Ingrid was dressed as a knight, as she did every year. No surprises there. She looked ready to go jousting in any moment. Annette was dressed in a black outfit, completed by car ears and whiskers.

“I love Halloween!”, Mercedes exclaimed. “It’s my favourite holiday. Should we try an Ouija board session?”

“No way”, said Annette with wide eyes.

“I’ll pass too”, added Dorothea.

“What a shame. I’m going to get a glass of water,” Mercedes announced. She then said your name. “Care to join me?”

“Sure.”

You could hear the muffled sound of the conversation in the living room from the kitchen. Your hand reached for a glass in the cabinet. You filled it with water and offered it to Mercedes. She politely muttered a thank you, and drunk it slowly, not taking her eyes off you.

“I wanted to talk to you about something”, she paused, prudent as always, waiting for your response.

“What about?” You leant against the counter.

“It’s about Sylvain.”

The fact was not unforeseen at all. However, the fact that it was Mercedes carrying the message was unusual. You hadn’t seen her step in anyone’s affairs, so it must be serious. You gulped.

“I’m all ears.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. He hates women.” You remained silent, waiting for her explanation. “I’m her friend, and I’ve been for a long time. And I’ve had a lot of conversations with him… When a woman shows any interest in him, he thinks they’re after his family’s fortune, that they just want to brag of their relationship.”

“And what should I do with that information?” You said sceptically. You already knew all of that – you weren’t blind – but you didn’t see where she was going.

“I think you should be aware in case you are pursuing a romantic relationship with him.” She breathed in deeply. “I’m not saying he’s a bad person – I don’t think he is –, but he isn’t precisely nice when it comes to his girlfriends. Apparently he hasn’t always been like this… There were a few girls who took advantage of him, confirmed his fears, and now he feels entitled to use people as he wants. He can be the worst. And I’m afraid your feelings are pretty serious.”

“I’m not-”

“I don’t want him to break your heart. Even if you are made for each other, even if he seems completely in love with you, be careful. Anything can happen, because people who have been hurt often hurt others too.” She diverted her gaze.

“Are you telling me that I should just forget him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, I just can give you my point of view. I don’t think he’s incapable of love… When he talks about you, he’s all happy and true. I’d never seen him like that. But I’ve also seen so many girls that tried to change him and failed…”  

“That’s… hard to process,” you replied as you let out a nervous giggle. “But I think I can’t just move on.”

“Whatever you do, I’ll be here, okay?” Mercedes touched your shoulder lightly. “Let’s head back.”

 The sky was dark and the moon was full. Your group walked down the main street to go to Hilda’s home, which was the closest to the campus. Her parents weren’t home, so she and Holst thought it would be a great idea to throw a party. None complained. Almost everyone you knew in high school was invited.

You weren’t exactly nervous. But Sylvain was going to be there and, even though there was some excitement within you, your mind was too busy second-guessing yourself and arousing doubt.

“What did Mercedes say?”, Dorothea whispered when the other three girls were distracted. She was always on the lookout for some gossip, just like Claude.

“She just wanted to warn me about the fact that Sylvain hates women,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, it’s not untrue.” She smiled. “I’m sure she had good intentions.”

“I know, Dorothea. But it only makes me feel worse hearing it from the only person who had ever defended him.”

“Did it change anything though?” She placed her hand on your back Sympathetically.

“That’s the problem, it didn’t.”

“My poor baby.” She caressed your arm. “You look tired.”

“It must be the nightmares”, you concluded. “I couldn’t sleep that much yesterday.”

“Have fun today, will you? Everything will turn out fun if you do what your heart tells you.”

“That’s unexpectedly non-cynical coming from you”, you remarked, a smirk forming.

“Shush. You love me.” You hummed in agreement.

“Dorothea?”, Annette called her, turning around to locate her. “Where is Petra?”

“I still haven’t met her!”, exclaimed Ingrid.

“She must be already there! She went with Edelgard and Hubert,” answered Dorothea. “At first I wanted her to spend more time with other people but now I’m starting to miss the first few weeks when we were always together!”

As you arrived, Hilda opened the door. Her long, pink hair was tied back in a pony tail. She wore a white, lacy dress, and despite the beautiful eyeliner, she was kind of blue and had scars drawn all over her. You guessed she was a zombie bride. She had that sweet and satisfied smile of hers and a beer can on one of her delicate hands.

“Welcome, welcome! Come in! There’s a lot of people who will come later but we’ve already started. Ah, Petra’s waiting for you, Dorothea,” she said as she let you in the house.

“I’ll find her,” she said as she disappeared into the luxurious house. “Thanks!”

Mercedes, Anette and Ingrid entered too. Hilda was waiting for you, the last on line, on the doorframe. She winked at you.

“And you… Sylvain is coming in half an hour…”, she coyly remarked. “He’s coming with Felix, Dimitri and their brothers.”

“And that’s important because…?”, you played dumb.

“Not my business. Claude said that I should let you know”, she smirked. “Come in, let’s have a drink.”

 Hilda hadn’t lied. The music was roaring, and all the rooms were filled with people occupying themselves in the entailments of a party. Right after you greeted everyone, when you were the tiniest bit tipsy, you saw Sylvain arrive, along with Dimitri and Felix. He commented something to his brother, Miklan, who went away with Glenn, leaving the trio alone. Sylvain’s brother looked angry and aggressive – the opposite of the atmosphere of the place, and you had a bad feeling about him. He was known for causing trouble, but you hoped Glenn and Holst could keep him at bay.

Felix and Dimitri weren’t wearing anything remarkable. Dimitri, a white shirt on his torso and a plastic sword on hand, took advantage of his eyepatch to look like a pirate, while Felix had a scary-looking mask on. Quite the opposite was their redhead friend. He was wearing a cliché vampire costume, cloak and fangs included. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway. It was totally in character for Sylvain.

“Admiring the prey?”, Claude’s voice resonated on you back, startling you.

“Claude, are you a furry?”, you laughed as you saw him.

“I’m the big bad wolf!”, he deadpanned. “You forgot to say hi to your sweetheart, by the way.” He whispered, then yelled. “Hey, Sylvain!”

“Claude!” Sylvain waved him. However, when his eyes met your form, he turned serious. He acknowledged you with a nod. You wanted to approach him, but you were unsettled.

Right before you could do anything else, the Almyran grabbed your arm and muttered a ‘let’s go’. Both of you disappeared into a corridor filled with portraits of Hilda’s family members that led to the kitchen. Right before going into your destination, you stopped.

“What are you doing?”, you asked.

“We’re going to play never have I ever with Hilda in the kitchen”, he smiled.

“What’s with all the rush? She’s not going anywhere, it’s her house.” You withdrew from him. “Besides, I thought you wanted me to greet Sylvain.”

“We’re setting the trap, don’t worry,” he winked. “Sylvain’s going to fall onto your arms tonight.”

“No, no, no”, you stated. Mercedes’ words resonated in your head, which further entangled all your thoughts about anything related to Sylvain. “No romance today. It’s a bad idea,” you said unconvinced.

“I think you are not telling everything to me, but it’s happening. I have a sixth sense for that.” You grimaced. “Don’t believe me? Then let’s bet! If by 2 a.m. you have kissed him, you’ll give me your dessert for three weeks.”

“And if I win?” It seemed easy, right? Just stay away from Sylvain all night, and there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“I’ll take you on a date”, he affirmed without hesitation. It shocked you that he wanted a date.

“It seems like a win-win for you.”

“I’ll also give you my dessert, okay?” he sighed.

“Seems fair, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Are you sure about that?” He smiled mysteriously, went into the kitchen and, being the natural at social gatherings he was, took a shot glass and filled it to the brim.

There were a lot of Hilda and Claude’s classmates partaking in the game, while your other friends were scattered throughout the multiple rooms. Holst, dressed as the zombie groom to his little sister, popped in from time to time to either get more booze or control the situation.

The hours passed by and you lost track of all the people you were interacting with, but everyone seemed very cheerful. There were a lot of sweets – it was Halloween after all – and pizza. You remembered that at some point you shared a conversation with Petra after those booze games, and she talked a lot about Brigid and how she missed it.

Another highlight was when you heard a ruckus about someone trying to contact spirits with a makeshift Ouija. You suspected it was Mercedes trying to scare anyone. And Hilda held a costume contest where the only judge was herself and the main price was helping her with her homework. Many people participated. There were films playing in the living room and techno music coming from upstairs. Petra and Dorothea were stuck together all the time, which was a little weird for you since your brunette friend used parties as a way to find a good catch. All in all, everyone seemed to be having fun.

Perched in the safety of a sofa with Claude and Dimitri – who, by the way, didn’t dare to speak with you out of shyness -, you were having a marathon of the worst gore-horror-sci-fi movies you could find. As time passed, you observed there were couples sneaking away, going to Sothis-know-where, and some of them came back dishevelled, others simply vanished.

You watched the clock. 1:56 a.m. No sight of Sylvain. You wanted with all your heart to look for him and talk because you hadn’t interacted with him yet. Maybe there was no harm in that. Claude had been following you like a lost puppy all night, so it had been easy to ignore the urge, but now… The youngest of the Gautier brothers had been talking to older girls, passing right next to where you were. You almost dared to say he was trying to make you jealous.

You stood up and went to another lounge where there was music. Incredibly, Felix was dancing with Anette. You guessed Sylvain could be there.

But then you stopped in your tracks. You spotted your prince charming. He was with a blonde girl who caressed his cheek with her fingers. He whispered something in her ear, she took his hand and led him outside.

Your heart flopped. That was it, wasn’t it? Game over.

Dorothea came out of the room and bumped into you.

“Did you know I haven’t seen Ingrid in like an hour? I think she left with Ashe and-”. She cut her sentence. “Are you okay?”, asked Dorothea, focusing her attention on you. Petra was behind her.

“Yes, why?”

“You look like you are about to cry,” the girl from Brigid said.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” you lied. “I’m going to the bathroom. Be back in a minute.”

“May I go with you?”, Claude, who had followed you, intervened.

“No, I’m fine”, you lied again. You were tired of lying. “Don’t worry.”

You went away and tried to navigate to the bathroom. Maybe you could spill some tears or at least splash some water on your face. You traversed the enormity of Hilda’s home, your mind a bit cloudy with the drink and the disappointment, yet overall you were sobered up. Keeping it together in a crowded place was a real challenge, more when you had to smile to the people you knew as you passed them by, but you managed just fine.

You bumped into some shoulders, did what you could to reach the white door at the what seemed the most remote corner of the hall.  

Once in the bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

What were you going to do? You were ready to go home. Or you could take what Dorothea once said literally and ask Claude to sneak away with you. Yet, you scratched that possibility right away. It wouldn’t be fair for any of you. If you just could have gotten into your head what Mercedes said and sticked to your original plan, you’d be fine, having the time of your life with your friends. Instead, your doomed heart yearned for him in a way you couldn’t undo.

There was a black hole in your stomach. It seemed that your desperation grew the further he was from you.

Why were you surprised? It was inevitable that it happened. Everyone said so, everyone thought so. Were you for real harbouring the empty hope that he would choose you? Or that he even wanted you? He was just being nice. It seemed clearer now.

As you sunk in your despair and confusion, the door of the bathroom opened.

“It’s occupied!”, you exclaimed. Still, the figured entered without any care and closed the door with a loud hit.

“You were taking too long.”

That rough voice… You turned around. It was Miklan. He wasn’t wearing any costume, and had the same expression than before. His eyes were cold, his stare calculated. His presence was eerie, turning on all your alarms.

“Miklan, get out.” You were still, as if treating a wild animal. “I need to use the toilet.”

“You know me?” He said very pleased with himself.

“We were in the same high-school,” you reminded him

“I see.” He smiled, and you got goosebumps. “I’ve observed you all night.”

“Why?”

“My bother hasn’t got his eyes off you. So, I took an interest in you.”

“If you haven’t notice, he’s gone away somewhere with a busty girl,” you passed him, trying to get out of there. “So, it’s quite useless to play now the dutiful older brother or-”

“You could have some fun with me instead.” He grabbed your arm. So that’s what he wanted. “I’m not an asshole like him.”

“You are acting like one right now.” You tried to force your arm free, but it was useless. “Let me go.”

“Why Sylvain and not me?”, he grunted. His breathing was becoming heavier as his irritation grew. “If it was him and not me, you’d gladly fuck me here.”

Suddenly, you remembered your last nightmare. It was about Miklan. He had turned into some kind of black monster before your eyes. It had horrified you, and everyone who was around you. Sylvain was next to you during that dream, trembling, as his brother’s features were consumed by darkness. The dream had felt so real. You woke up in panic, cold sweat, breathing with difficulty.

“Go away, Miklan”, you said with anger. He leant in.

“Or what?”

Then, out of instinct, you punched him in the face as hard as you could. As he covered his scarred nose, which was then bleeding, you run away from the bathroom.

“Bitch!”, he yelled.

You run a few meters before crashing into a solid body. He was talking to you, but you were focused on escaping. You assumed he was your Almyran shadow for the night.

“Claude, let’s go. Now.”

“Claude?” Oh shit. It was Sylvain’s voice. You turned around to see his confused features. Why did he look so sad for no apparent reason?

“Sylvain?”. You were disconcerted. Wasn’t he gone?

Thereupon, his brother appeared around the corner. He had blood smeared on his face and he was red with anger. You had done a good number on him. You felt safer, because you were surrounded by people.

“Go away, Sylvain. I’ve got some unfinished business with that whore”, he said as he came closer to both of you, slow like a predator. Sylvain pushed you behind him, but you could see the gleam of fear in his eyes. Miklan terrified him.

“Fuck you,” you retorted to Miklan.

“I swear if you did something, I’ll-” Began Sylvain, but thankfully he didn’t have to finish.

“Time to go away, buddy.”

You had never been gladder to see Glenn, the only human who had been able to control Miklan – or so it was said. Behind him, Holst and Balthus, a school drop-out you had only heard about, stood like two bodyguards.

Still, the older Gautier considering fighting them. You could almost hear his thoughts. But, in the last moment, he relaxed.

“Goodbye, losers”, he huffed, then made a beeline for the exit. “Not like I’m going to see any of you fuckers ever again.”

“Are you okay?”, Holst asked you, worried. “You have a red mark on your wrist. And your knuckles have blood.”

“I’m fine. It’s his.” You were so relieved.

“That was a really good punch! A piece of art on his face,” told you Balthus with pride. He seemed like a good guy, but way too violent for your taste. “Take that as a compliment from the King of Grappling!” You nodded politely.

“He’s going to a military school tomorrow. We thought he’d do the least harm if he felt…included. Not the case. If you need anything…” Glenn explained with a serious tone.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Can I speak to you in private?”, Sylvain got into the conversation.

“I’m fucking done with the Gautier brothers today, thank you.” You escaped from the men to look for the backyard to get some fresh air. Yet Sylvain, not giving up, chased you.

“I’m sorry”, he said. He was suffering too, but you chose to ignore that. “Really. Miklan just tries to take everything from me, so he must have thought-”

“That I was your girlfriend? That’s ridiculous.” You didn’t stop, your aim right in front of you. You didn’t see that his lips formed a straight line as soon as the words left your mouth.

“The thing is, he wanted to hurt you in order to hurt me.”

“That’s unfortunate then! Had he known you were out there fucking anyone that crossed your way, he would have left me alone!” You felt the cold breeze when you stepped out of the building. “I don’t understand why he didn’t bother any of your flings!”

“For your information, I wasn’t fucking anyone.” Sylvain closed the doors behind him. You moved to face him, since he didn’t seem to be going away any soon, so you’d better get everything out of your chest. It might do the job and reconcile your emotions.

“I don’t need to know, Sylvain. It’s your life, enjoy it as you want.” There was poison in your voice, but you couldn’t contain the raw emotions that controlled you.

“I want you to know! She was shitfaced and wouldn’t separate from me, so I called her a taxi.” He crossed his arms. “Why are you acting like that anyways? You and Claude seemed to be having too much fun to notice anything I did.”

“What are you talking about?”, you replied with indignation.

“All those touches and laughing. He does the same in class and you let him do whatever he wants. And then you come and text me as if you were interested in me! Do you kiss him when you’re alone?” He was approaching you, seeking the confrontation. You didn’t yield.

“You’ve lost it Sylvain.” You were so close, you were almost touching. Your faces were mere inches from each other. “I’m not the one who uses people as he wants and then leave them! Why are you so jealous? I’m just another girl in the count, you can easily replace me!”

“You have no idea what you are talking about!”, he shouted.

“Then explain it! Is it that fucking difficult?”

“It is! I’m trying to tell you, but you won’t listen! I could never replace you!”

At last, you surrendered to your heart.

You moved towards him and kissed him. It was like a weight lifted from your body. His lips were soft and warm, a hearth during winter. You clung onto his cheap costume, for you wanted to feel his warmth as close as you could.

It took him a few seconds to get back to his senses, but when he did, he turned the kiss into a fierce one, tainted with desperation. He placed one of his hands against the back of your neck, the other around your waist. You were perfectly anchored to him. His touch was exquisite, soft, as if you were a porcelain doll. You opened your mouth, caressed his with your tongue. You decided he was your favourite flavour, and that you’d never get tired of kissing him. He was experienced, determined, and knew what to do to turn you on beyond limit.

He lifted your body and pressed you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He muttered a blasphemy. The next thing you felt, was his tongue back in your mouth. He was desperate to try your taste, to satiate the hunger that had been consuming him. You moved your hips, just in the slightest manner, because nothing he did was enough.

“We should stop,” he said, your taste lingering on his lips.

“Why?”

“We’re drunk. We were arguing.” You giggled. He wished he could hear that sound every day of his life. You disentangled your members from him and placed your feet on the floor, although he didn’t let go your waist.

“Don’t mess with me anymore Sylvain. Be clear. Don’t lie to me,” you pleaded.

“Okay.” He closed his eyes. “I tried to have sex with that girl before.”

“Oh”

“I was jealous of Claude. But I swear I didn’t do anything in the end.” His light brown eyes opened and gazed you sincerely.  “I called a taxi for her, I didn’t lie.”

“What happened?” You asked softly.

“I was thinking about you. As I was crossing the door, I regretted everything and… Well, I put her in the car and went in again.” He sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You got me right here and now,” you reminded him.

“I don’t want to spoil this like I almost did.”

“You won’t spoil anything if you tell me the truth.” You sounded calm, but you were a wreck on the inside. “I can stand it if it’s just a one-night stand. Just… don’t lie to me. Tell me what I am to you.”

“Please, believe in me. Please.” You could hear now how he slurred his syllables. He was right, neither of you were in the best condition to do anything.

“Why do you think I will?”

“Because you’re here with me right now. No one else has ever believed in me. Not even myself.” You caressed his cheek.

“Sylvain…”

“I promise you I will explain everything tomorrow. My intentions, my behaviour… I’m just asking that you believe all that I say and don’t give up on me.” He stared at you, waiting patiently for your answer.

“Okay, Sylvain. I promise.”

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: The leaving, and a return

Or: feelings are hard.  In which Josiah travels to the city to see Silky, ill with pneumonia, for the first time since [redacted].

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals

The leaving aches more than the journey, even as every jolt of the train coach mule-kicks his leg, even as there are hours yet to go.  It scours him to think on it, how he had promised Davey, how Davey had hovered as he packed a change or two of clothes, his shaving kit, spare bolts and straps to his brace.  Davey had seemed to be holding his breath, there in the doorway - blinking and wary, as he had back in autumn at the County.  Questions caught up in his teeth like a slow, warm wind across dried leaves.  If he were a better man, perhaps, a more tender man like Eddy or a wiser man as Lufty, he might have known the things to say. 

A pad of paper and a half-book of stamps, into the case, then.  As the boy watched.

He'd looked for Davey that morning, early, when the youngest of them should still have been rousting himself with the rest, splashing water on his face and shining his boots (as he did) for morning bell.  Jules said he didn't know where the boy was, and Bertram said he was down by the pond, and Jules had given Bertram a look for that. 

But the pond - cupped gently in a curve of the land, and down a narrow, winding path - was where the boy went when he wanted to be alone, wanted his thoughts to float out serenely on the calm face of the water (still dense with ice) and not out into the sear-shot of others.  Josiah could've gone down.  He could've - but there was a train to catch.  And he wouldn't have known what to said except his helpless promise that he'd come back. 

At a stop in a little town called Selkirk, he'd gotten up to try and stretch his legs.  He was not used to travel, now, and no longer curled up like a beetle in his quarters while the rest of Wynantskill went about its day, and he did ache.  Standing up in the train compartment, he'd nearly fallen from the sand in one leg and the charley horse in the other, and he'd knocked his case off the rack shouting and clutching for balance.  The case had popped a latch, and, catching his breath and biting his curses, he paused to snap it shut again.  It was heavier than he had recollected packing, and when he looked again, there in the middle of his things was a small book and a blue pocketknife, tied up in twine.

That was Davey's knife, deep blue bakelite with stainless trim, a gift from Antoine before he'd graduated.  A pride of a knife, well-oiled, a keen balance, two blades, an awl, and a can opener.  The book is Whitman - Leaves of Grass.  Davey had dredged up recitations in him long left over from Hudson Classical, pushed him to read choice stanzas over and over.  A page was dog-eared: a bad habit of his that Davey had clumsily scolded him over, playing at being grown.  It didn't need to be - the book fell open, loose from many readings.  Josiah paused over the poem there, thoughtful.  Shut the book and returned it to the case. 

Many hours yet to the city, where he had arranged a room near the hospital.   From Selkirk south to Ravena, to Coxsackie, Catskill and Saguerties, down through the Hudson Valley, until the very edges of the city unraveled themselves toward the oncoming train, and he saw bridges and skylines and viaducts and things he remembered, stout five-story walkups like blunt teeth, the dull rust of railyards, at last into the belly of Manhattan. 

>>

He is so pale.

Silks was always fair, even in summer, when his skin would tighten and brighten like a lobster fresh from the pot, and the sun splashed copper on his auburn hair.  Fair, and strong-boned, his Jesuit manners a soft varnish over his city-boy laugh. 

But now he seems to disappear almost into the linens, nothing but soft twilight shadows, his veins trailing over his thin body like spidery blue cataracts.  Shadow, and breath, ragged breath that slows, then catches, into a dry cough that mule-kicks him half off the bed.

There are only a hand of men in the long white ward.  A police officer sits murmuring softly by another man's bedside.  A fellow with a busted arm reads a colorful magazine.  A few are asleep.  One, like Silks, has a needle in his arm and a bottle hung up by the bedside.  Josiah remembers that dreadful morphine sleep, the way it dragged him as if it had teeth or hooks, how his dreams caught on the secrets and the spirits of the city.  The days cracked like the spine of a dusty tome, and the centuries split like soft, fine vellum, breathless and translucent.  His breath and his blood blood flowed into the streets and her smoke and iron filled up his bones and every time a fellow came to see him he tumbled headlong into his shy or sorrowed heart. 

He would take the pain any rank and reeking day, over the poppy fields and the black smoke.

Silks, four beds in, across from a window where the evening light is just cresting the white-enameled iron of his bedstead, coughs again, and hard.  Struggles to catch his wind.

(They were young men.  Smoke-eaters, the Times called them.  Silks caught him against his shoulder while he coughed up ash that tasted like beef-gristle and blood, and vomited in the street.  Silks caught him, and steadied him, away from the clamoring press.)

He can't do this.  He can't, not even lurking in the safety of his long coat, his hat low over his eyes, he can't.  Silks won't even recognize him, probably.  It's been so long.  Been too long.  They had not even spoken at the promotion, when he had stood stiff and sweating with the pain of his leg - how it sang, still, the nerves sheared like feathers from a buck-shot wing.  He had stood the whole long ceremony, for the higher your rank, the nearer to the end, and he was there to get his captain's coat and brass for all the good it did.  Right to the cab from there, to Grand Central and up to Troy, his neck still alight with misgiving eyes.

Josiah had felt him there, Silks, like the tumult of a fire's breath, a sudden draft, the snorting of a horse all lathered from its run up the grand boulevard.  Felt him there at his side, across the room, as surely as he'd been there every off-day he had right here in the casualty ward.  Birchy, he would say.  Birchy, wake up.  Have some water, Birch.  Gotta eat, Birchy, your leg'll never patch up with you starved. 

(and as he drove, gasping, through the poppy fields and the dark morphine sea, Silks bowed his head and prayed, and said that he was sorry.)

He can't do this.

(The first steps he took out of bed, he fell, and cussed the nurses and the nuns.)

He cannot.

(When they fitted him for the brace, he felt its sheen and its click and its creak like laughter.)

He cannot do this.

(It held him upright, but it would never hold him on the boards.)

He is walking, as steady as he can, down the aisle between the beds.  He thinks, it's not at all unlike the men's ward at the county, the empty beds, the empty eyes, the soft weeping that might just be the sear at the back of his mind.  He is walking with a limp, he is walking toward the last door, he is walking down a dark hallway, he is in the smoke, he is under the give of the ceiling and he doesn't know it. 

Each bed has to it one hard, high-backed chair, and he collapses down and bows his head, taking his hat off, smoothing his hair, looking everywhere but the bed. 

Silks is coughing again.  He sounds like the roar of a train in a tunnel just beyond the light's reach, the way the hot, rank air drafts back toward the engine.

He lays his hand on Silky's shoulder. 

"Silks - "

Just that cough.  That godawful cough. 

"Deep breath, Silks.  Hold on to it."

Like they were back in the smoke.  Back on the cobbles.

He feels Silky looking in his sear before he feels the eyes, and he can't bring himself to look.

"I'm dead, aren't I."  Silky wheezes.  "I'm dead, you can't be here."

The fever is palpable on him.  The sweat.  He is so, so pale. 

"God would send me you, I do suppose." Quick gasps between each word, he struggles, and his eyes are glassier than Josiah remembers. 

"Your god would send you better."

"No," Silks whispers, and Josiah catches his flailing hand.  "No, it is you, isn't it."

"Hastings sent a wire.  Eddy told me."

"Oh." Silks breathes deeply - a struggle deep in his chest.  "Oh."  Looks sharply at once: "Where's the young fella?"

Josiah balks.  "At home."

"What a fool you are, my Birchy." Silks pats his arm, weakly, softly.  The fever has cracked his lips, and Josiah brushes the damp hair off his brow. 

"I've heard that."

"You gone thinking I'd die?"

"I came to be sure you didn't."

"Fool, Birchy."

"I know, Silks.  I know.  And I'm sorry."

Silks shakes his head wearily.  "Don't. Don't be sorry.  Nothing - " that gasp again.  " - nothing sorry.  Just here.  You're here."

"Yeah, pal, I'm here."

"That's good, Birchy.  That's good." 

It aches to watch him breathe.  Josiah finds his body, unwitting, matching each struggling inhale, each slow and rattling exhale.  He sees the pulse beat rapidly in Silky's long, pale neck.  Feels it matched in his wrist.  "Take a rest, Silks," he says.  "I'm here."

Silky nods, distantly, his eyes soft and glassy.  Turns his face against the pillow, and shuts his eyes.  

[spirit-of-vengeance]

After MONTHS, I was finally hit by something that made me completely piece together Rozália's story of what she is and why and I'm HYPER. Aka: here it comes the usual tragedy

Origins:

Attila Véghváry was a descendant of warriors whom protected Hungary throughout the Ottoman period of history, to be able to live up to his ancestors he joined to serve the Vatican as a Hunter. He had fallen in love with a half Italian, half Hungarian woman named Liliána, charmed by her ethereal beauty and kindness. His desire to have children, to continue his name bathed in blood was grand, after wedding they tried, struggled with the task; without success. Liliána was terrified upon her husband's devastation, fearing he will throw her away, back into the clutches of her father and that was a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. So she prayed, begged for a miracle, yet still nothing happened. In her despair and distress, she turned to a darker force; she had made a deal with the devil: she will be able to successfully bear a child, but the child will serve hell after his or her death.

Rozália was born in 1823 and Liliána was gnawed by guilt from her first cry for air; yet she found herself unable to tell anyone in fear of harm. Even though she couldn't give him a boy, Attila was thrilled to have her and began teaching, treating her as a son as soon as possible. He was a harsh teacher with little to no reward to pay off the hard work and Rozália soon learned she has to fight for her father's love and praise.

The Hunter:

It was no question that she will join her father in the quest of banishing evil, Attila couldn't bear to give his only offspring in the hands of Nuns. To everyone's greatest surprise, the young girl proved to be more capable than most of the men, including her own father: fast, fearless, fatal, brutal yet still a tactician. Despite the available arsenal of weapons she favored hussar swords above everything (+ a few must have religious symbols) with her unique twist: she wielded twin blades, instead of the traditional one, earning the title of Doom Duelist.

Rozália only saw the creatures as obstacles between her father's love and well deserved recognition. She never really believed the preachings, she hasn't came to do God's work but to seek her own glory, to carve her own path.

When she could visit her mother, Liliána started to worry upon listening Attila's tales of how efficient their daughter was, instead she saw it as a sign that the devil already begun his work with her violent personality. As a solution when she was home, she turned her attention towards arts and found out her thirst, passion and talent for dancing. Liliána had given her all the love she could in hope it would provide a tiny compensation for Attila's harsh ways. She didn't condemn nor stood in way of her hunt for the so called satanic creatures in hope of that will somehow lessen or even lift the curse she had bestowed on her before she was born.

The General:

The 1848 revolutionary war swept through the country like a wildfire, both father and daughter felt their obligation to protect their country, just like their ancestors did. Her talents shone brilliantly on the battlefields and despite being a woman, she climbed ranks in lightning speed. Eventually, Attila had fallen in a battle and the title General was given to her along with a legion of hussars, the Főnix Légió (Phoenix Legion). Her horse, Vihar (Thunder) was a wild, aggressive mare from the Herd Lipica, since they couldn't get her to accept any of the stallions, they wanted to get rid of the nuisance but Rozália has had other plans.

They understood each other from the very beginning, they moved together as one. Vihar was as quick and strong as if she was a stallion along with her rider. The name General Véghváry was associated with bravery, power and true Hungarian virtue. She often utilized the tactics of ancient battles like barrage of arrows when they were 'fleeing', used the environment to her advantage, quick, devastating strikes usually at the enemy flanks then disappearing into the thin air. She knew her army well, keeping many personal relations since most of the soldiers were almost still children. Strangely, no one ever questioned her command and the legion moved, fought as one.

Birth of the Demon:

The greatest heroes are designated to fall. Her mistake was that she believed fighting for their country, defending it from the Habsburg's rule unified everyone and didn't take betrayal into consideration. The legion was crossing the mountains of Vértes, advancing into uncertain territory when the ambush happened. Rozália knew they are all going to perish, they were in a valley, no space to utilize the hussar tactic, so she set Vihar free and issued one last command: die as heroes. So they fought like caged wild animals but the Habsburg army had the numerical superiority along with the element of surprise. Rozália watched her men, her friends slaughtered, executed the remaining survivors. Even at the door of death, bleeding from numerous wounds she stood defiant and unmoving, refusing to beg or kneel in front of the enemy general. Swords pierced her body, more than she can or want to remember, pinned standing like a grotesque sculpture of glory. Life left her body and sealed the deal. The ground cracked beneath her body, the flames of Hell itself soaring into the woman, resurrecting and possessing her at the same time. The first gasp for breath was ragged, she was confused, furious and lost. So she did what most children would do, immediately returned to her mother's house, only to find her dead with unmistakable evidence of her falling victim to a vampire. Unbeknownst to her, Liliána had written a diary she kept locked away, detailing why she accepted such offer, her sincere apologies and asking for forgiveness for bringing a cursed child to life.

Szerte nézett s nem lelé Honját a hazában*:

Even though she had no idea what she had became, Rozália knew she can't return to the Holy Order, but she no longer fit among humans and due to her Hunter past she wasn't welcome among other creatures. She lost her identity, the war, her home and her beloved mother. She did what she could: survive. Learn what she is and trying to control it. She soon realized her human face is only a mask, when the pendant is separated from her, her appearance shifts: skin cracks until it looks like ash, her veins are glowing orange in contrast, clawed hands, feet, wide jaw filled with razor fangs, crimson eyes with slit pupils and ink black wings curling from her back, almost impossible to tell when the flames morph into feathers.

Rozália is restlessly searching for her mother's killer while trying to figure out what and who is she, struggling to decide between warrior, demon or dancer.

After finishing off all the Habsburg officials (except for the general whom was nowhere to be found even though she tore through the whole country in her fury), she turned her special attention towards vampires in hope of finding her mom's killer. These encounters often ended with death even though the said creature wasn't the cause of her loss. Soon she learned the Holy Order wants to eradicate her from existence, without regard for her outstanding service; she understood she is truly torn between two words and she could never belong to any of them.

Rozália took part in both World Wars, the Korean war, the Vietnam War, numerous crisises throughout Africa and Middle East; to keep herself occupied, to not let the memories of the war pass even though she suffers from minor PTSD from it. When not occupied with bloodshed, she restlessly learned new styles of martial arts and dance styles, throughout the century she has lived many lives in many places: cage fighter, dancer, racer, pole dancer, acrobat, fitness model; anywhere she can get her rush of adrenaline and spotlight. Rozy can't nor want to slow down, she blazes to the utmost, running from melancholy and loneliness.

To save herself from the heartbreak, the must have 'why do you still look 25 even though we've been together for 10 years' talk, and the danger of being hunted by everyone, Rozy doesn't really date. If she feels a mutual spark between her and an another, she is totally down for a one night stand then disappear, leaving only the traces of overwhelming heat and pleasant memories behind.

Power & curse of the Hellfire:

Rozália needs to consume souls to survive. If she refuses, can't find someone unworthy of life, her 'gift' starts to turn against her. The pendant unable to keep up the false facade of a human, the insatiable demon clawing through the surface and ultimately, the Hellfire would consume her, resulting in a second death which would be hell of a record to beat but Rozy is not interested in that.

With the pendant on, the signs of what is she truly are subtle: Her teeth a little too sharp, dagger like stiletto nails as if she just had a manicure, her body heat feverish, candles leaning towards her or burning more eagerly in her presence. The most notable traits her almost overwhelming, smoldering aura and behind her emerald eyes occasionally a glimpse of Hell itself flash, brief enough to make humans believe their mind is only playing tricks.

She has fire under her control, high temperature cause no harm; her cursed flames able to burn through everything and destroy anything in their path including supernatural creatures for whom normal fire isn't fatal. Being destruction itself makes her unable to bear children, not like she would've wanted in the first place.

If she has the mortal remains, she can raise that being back into life for a few hours as an infernal creature, and at full power she can open a portal directly to Hell and reap all the souls nearby though she isn't aware of this ability yet watch her raise her dead army in heartbeat if needed. Both of these actions leave her drained for weeks, unable even to transform so she will only use these as last resort.

@count-v-dracula you might like this :D

@thxwxlf ...you said I am allowed to throw stuff at you😅

[thestraggletag]

Darkly Intriguing, Chapter 9

Rating: E (chapter rating PG)

Summary: (OUAT/Addams Family crossover) Belle French, antiques book dealer and restorer, find herself befriending and odd but compelling couple, Gomez and Morticia Addams. It is while she restores the family library that Cousin Rumple first stumbles into her, and the sparks are immediate. But the deeper Belle goes into the strange world of the Addams’s the more worried friends and family members grow.

Trigger warning for depictions of forced psychiatric committent.

For @iguessifinallygotone, who prompted “more Darkly Intriguing”.

She didn’t recall drinking too much the day before. It had been a boring Thursday night and she’d closed up the diner, after which she’d gone to her room and watched some forgettable war movie before falling asleep on her bed. Nothing that accounted for the pounding headache or the general air of ickiness she felt. 

“Good morning, Miss Ruby. Would you care for some water?”

She opened her eyes, trying to blink the blurriness away. When she could finally focused she spotted a small, serious-looking child, dressed a bit like a kid from a Victorian horror movie and holding a glass of water with a straw. It was then that she realised she was tied to a chair.

“Hey, what the f- what the hell, kid?”

She did not recognise her surroundings. They were in what looked like a dungeon of some sort, dark and appropriately dank. 

“Please, you mustn’t hurt yourself. This will be over soon.”

“Not exactly a reassurance, shorty.” She coughed, her throat feeling scratchy. “Okay, make with the water, kid, and with the explanations. Starting with your name.”

“My name is Baelfire Addams. And I wish to enquire after the whereabouts of Miss Belle French. You two are friends, I believe.”

There was something strangely charming about the child’s old-fashioned speech-patterns, but she did not let it distract her from trying to wiggle her hands free.

“Look, kid, is this about your dad? He’s dating Belle, right? Did they have a fight or something? Adults sometimes do that, sweetie.”

Belle had seemed happy, truly happy for the first time in a while, since she’d started dating an Addams. And though Ruby felt uneasy about it she trusted Belle’s judgement. Something she might have to reconsider, in light of recent events. There was quaint behaviour, there was strange behaviour and then there was outright criminal action. And the rotten apple was unlikely to have fallen far from the twisted tree.

“No, ma’am, they didn’t. They were happy. And then she suddenly went away. My father was told she went to visit and aunt in Australia but I don’t believe it.”

She was about to demand he untie her and also stop calling her ma’am when his words sunk in. Belle was gone? She hadn’t told her anything about going away. They were best friends, sisters from different mothers, she wouldn’t just up and leave without at least texting her. And besides-

“Belle doesn’t have an aunt. Her old man’s an only child, thank God. And she wouldn’t just up and disappear. The only time she did was years ago when her fa-”

Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare, surely. Not again. Besides, Belle was an adult. Surely no one would disregard her basic rights.

“Oh, that fucking self-righteous bitch totally would.”

She winced at the cursing a second later, but the kid, Baelfire, barely blinked. She leaned forward and caught the straw being offered, taking a few deep pulls of cold water. Her mind worked overtime, trying to come up with any scenario other than the one she was imagining it. But nothing else would account for Belle’s radio-silence, or Moe fucking French inventing excuses for her absence. She made a list in her head of steps to take.

“Belle’s in trouble, kid. Gonna need you to untie me pronto.”

She barely flinched when the child took out a bowie knife out of fucking nowhere and went behind her back to cut the ropes. She was too busy trying to think what her options were. Telling Granny wouldn’t help much, other than garner moral support. Emma, out of everyone, was the one with any power to do anything. But she would be constrained by the law, and the way she figured whatever she could do could take weeks, if not months. Mother Superior was a well-connected woman, after all, and a clever one. She would drag things on for months, at best. And fuck that.

“Okay, kid, I think I know where Belle is but if we’re gonna get her out of there we’re gonna need a whole lotta luck, a helping and a massive distraction.”

The boy smiled, helping her up from the chair.

“We got both of those. Come on, cousin Wednesday must be getting impatient.”

.

Cousin Wednesday turned out to be a lovely, though sombre, little girl with long black hair, pale skin, a can of gasoline and a book of matches. Her brother Pugsley was much more social and seemingly less of a fire hazard. And they were accompanied by an actual walking hand Ruby tried very hard not to stare at as she drove her red convertible towards Saint Eunice, the charity-run psychiatric hospital three hours away. It was run by the nuns of the nearby convent, and was the pride of the local community. It was spearheaded by Mother Superior, a demure and humble figure that scared the bejeesus out of Ruby, even as a child. Even before she’d done what she did to Belle.

The plan, as they devised on the way there, was frightfully simple: they would locate Belle, create a distraction and extract her with no one being the wiser.

“Thing is the best tracker there is, and he knows Miss Belle’s smell.”

“Of course he does.”

They parked near enough to have a good view of the facilities, and it was then that Ruby noticed a sleek Bently pulling up behind them. A mountain of a man got out, dressed like a corpse with the skin to match.

“That’s Lurch. He’ll do the extraction once the diversion is in place.”

In the interest of plausible deniability the waitress pretended not to notice Puglsey get out of the car with a bolt cutter, the walking hand scurry inside the hospital, or the little girl wander into the back of the facilities with her can of gasoline and her matches. Nothing happened for the longest time and she was almost at the end of her current Spotify list when she smelled something burning. Soon one side of the structure was visibly on fire, plumes of dark smoke dispersing into the air. She caught the faint sound of a fire alarm and soon women in nun habits, doctors and patients were being evacuated into the gardens. She tried not to focus on how haggard the later looked, how thin and out of sorts. Belle had been gone only for a few days, it wasn’t like last time.

A fire truck siren blared in the distance, starting Ruby out of her morose thoughts in time to notice the two Addams cousins running back towards the car, the hand creature perched on the boy’s shoulder. The hulking man trotted beside them, carrying a bundle that looked human-shaped. Belle-shaped.

“Oh, thank God.”

“We will take it from here, Miss Ruby. You must go home so no one will think you involved. I will take Miss Belle to my aunt and uncle’s, she’ll be safe there. She’ll call you as soon as she can, I promise.”

“You’re the politest little criminal I’ve ever met, kid. Please take care of her. And don’t let her father near her.”

He hopped out of her car, looking incredibly unruffled by the general chaos and mayhem around him. She watched him climb into the Bentley before it sped off, and took a second or two to pause and compose herself before she took out her cell and called her grandmother. Granny would give her hell for leaving her tending to the diner mostly alone for the entire day, but if it came to it she would die maintaining she’d been in the kitchens the entire day to whoever came asking.

.

It wasn’t the first time he was asked to supply potions and ointments from his own supply to his cousin. His children got into all sorts of colourful, character-building trouble that they couldn’t get out off scot-free, though it was mostly Lurch the one that got stuck with the consequences. At least this time he hadn’t been asked to supply an entire arm, like the time where Pugsley had miscalculated the reach of his “controlled explosion”.

Sure enough the moment the butler opened the door he spotted scorch marks on his clothing. He also appeared to have singed his eyebrows off completely.

“Well, it doesn’t look as bad as the time Fester brought the children souvenirs from his trip to Ukraine. No radioactive burns this time, at least. Nothing that a little bit of ointment and a few of Grandmama’s leeches won’t cure.”

Certainly nothing worth making him drag his potion collection over. Perhaps a rouse to get him out of his house, get him socialising again. Gomez had tried a hundred excuses to force him out of the comfortable nest of isolation and misery he had built for himself. He did not appreciate having been fooled into getting clean and debatably sober, but as the request had come from Morticia he had been inclined to distrust it less. Usually she was more respectful of his dark moods.

“Ah, cousin, so good of you to come.” Morticia appeared at his side almost out of thin air, slipping a hand on the crook of his elbow to guide him further into the house, in the general direction of the glass house.

“Can’t say I appreciate being lied to, dearie. But at least  I would have thought you’d want to cling to appearances and let me see to your manservant.”

“Mama has seen to Lurch. He’s been bled, exorcised and properly bandaged, never you worry.”

“Am I free to go then? Bae is likely wondering where I am.”

He had left fend for himself long enough. His wee boy was resourceful and independent, but he needed his papa. He had wallowed in self pity and bathed in whisky long enough. 

“Baelfire is here. He and the children got into some mischief, apparently. Burned down the kitchen of a nearby hospital.”

“That sounds like the handiwork of your youngest and brightest. Pretty little arsonist you got there.”

“Takes after her great-aunt in that regard. We’re all so proud.”

She kept walking in the direction of the glasshouse, which was puzzling.

“It doesn’t sound like Wednesday to leave the job half-done. Can’t imagine her settling for the kitchen when she could’ve easily set the entire place ablaze.”

“The fire was a distraction, cousin. Apparently they were on a rescue mission, spearheaded by your boy.” She tugged gently on his arm to get him to pause. Her countenance grew strangely serious, though she was difficult to read. “It seems that Belle was there. Against her will.”

His stomach dropped to the floor at the mere mention of her name, so it took him a few seconds to process the rest of her words, and even more time to notice Morticia was still talking.

“Usually I’m all for the peace and quiet of an insane asylum for a little getaway and a bit of pampering, but I gathered that was not the case here. Miss Ruby Lucas, one of Belle’s friends, seemed to imply that her father had her forcefully committed. And not for the first time.”

“Where is she?”

He tried hard not to focus on the last bit Morticia had confided, lest he be lost in a murderous rage.

“In the glasshouse. She was put in a room at first but it seems confined spaces do not agree with her at this time. Thing said she’d been locked in a tiny room, so that might explain it. Being able to see outside seemed to calm her.”

They entered the glass dome in question, and he noticed Morticia had opened quite a few of the panels, letting the cold night air in. Someone, likely Lurch, had dragged a chaise lounge into the room, the one from the library. He’d seen Belle asleep in it often so it was natural to see her thick brown hair cascading down the edge, or her small form swaddled by the thick cashmere throw she usually favoured. It wasn’t until he got close that he noticed her bruised under-eyes, or the sallow tone of her skin. She was dressed in an old-fashioned white nightgown, likely some Addams heirloom from some Victorian ancestor. 

“She wakes from time to time, but never for long. Mama has been trying to figure out how to counteract what she’s been given, but she’s too weak for bloodletting. We hoped one of your detox concoctions might work.”

He pushed down on the vile rising up his throat, taking one of her hands in his to check her pulse. It was sluggish but constant. He opened her mouth next to smell her breath, years of experience allowing him to identify the humours out of sorts in her body. It was easy to find the right combination of potions to lower the levels of phlegm and black bile and help the production of blood, Belle’s base humour. He put a dollop of honey to cut the bitter taste of some of the herbs and eased it gently down her throat, noticing as her eyes fluttered briefly before closing again.

“She’ll wake in a few hours, hopefully with only a minor headache and some tremors. Those are likely to disappear in a few days. I trust she’ll stay here with you.”

He looked at her again, feeling like someone had tried to take the light away from his little sun fairy. She looked more like an Addams now, skin unnaturally white and lips tinged blue, but it looked wrong, unappealing.

“This is my fault.”

He had doubted her, after all. Had wrapped himself tight in his self-pity and refused to trust in her good nature. Refused to see beyond his past experiences, beyond his heartache. He had left her there. It was all his fault.

But not only his fault.

“I trust you won’t mind Bae having a little sleepover, will you dearie? I have a sudden pressing matter that needs attending.”

“Of course not, cousin. I assume I don’t have to ask what that matter is.”

Her words were laced with a hint of approval and a heap of malice. It did not surprise him in the least. Cousin Morticia was, after all, a fervent believer in the family motto.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                     Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapter: 11/?

Read on FFN and AO3

Read a comic inspired by a scene from this chapter HERE (but read chapter first to avoid spoilers lol)

A/N: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE check out chapter nine of  "A Sun in the Night Sky" for an INCREDIBLE comic strip done by Mitsukatsu involving a certain scene in this chapter. She also did another piece which will be showcased in the chapter itself. So PLEASE check it out and give her some love! She's truly amazing!Anyway, thank you all so, so much for all of the love you've shown this story! It truly means a lot! -Jen

                                          Chapter Eleven

                               The Jonathan Harker Foundation

                                             Present Time

Without another word, the woman pointed the gun straight at Sorina and fired.

Involuntary and voluntary reactions are quite interesting-especially when given the situation. Sorina hadn't a moment to flinch when the revolver released its deadly blow. She tensed, her body's immediate reaction. But the bullet missed its target and instead embedded itself deep within the chest of the figure now standing in front of the halfling. Shielding the young woman from any harm that might've come from it. Zoe.

"No!" Sorina shrieked, mouth gaped in horror at the realization of her aunt's sacrifice.

The scientist stood there for a moment, a dark crimson blotch growing across her chest. She wavered, her eyes glancing down to the spot as if it hadn't registered yet that she'd been shot. Zoe wavered, a hand clutching weakly at the area before she collapsed into Sorina's arms, sinking them both onto the floor. Bloxham merely looked on perplexed, unaware that the halfling had grabbed the other woman's discarded weapon and aimed it at her.

"Fuck you!"

The gunshot reverberated in the room, Bloxham stumbling back as blood began to stream down the hole Sorina pierced through her throat. She gurgled, eyes wide, as she choked on her own life force. Before she could react further, Dracula, now freed from his confines, grabbed her by the neck and drug her out of sight. Sorina could only stare down at her aunt, unaware that both Jack and Agatha had joined her side.

"Zoe," Sorina swallowed thickly, her hands pressing against her the woman's injury in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. "It's going to be okay! You're going to be okay!"

"Sorina." The name sounded pained as it escaped from Zoe's dry mouth, her breathing frighteningly uneven. "It's alright. I'm not afraid."

"No!" The girl snapped. "No! Stop it! You're going to be fine." In desperation, her attention turned to Agatha. "Save her," she pleaded. "Change her like Dad changed you! Please!"

"Sorina." The scientist tried again, grunting when the girl's pressure deepened. "We knew this was coming." She forced a weak smile that only ended up with her coughing, blood speckling her chapped lips. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Sorina sniffed, removing one hand to push back Zoe's hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm…"

"Shh," Zoe soothed, reaching out with a trembling hand to brush her fingertips against the halfling's cheek. "Promise me, you'll make up," she paused, fighting a grimace. "Promise me you'll make up all of those years in the dark, yes?"

"I will," she whimpered. "I promise."

"Good girl..."

A strange smell began to waft through the air that momentarily tore Sorina's gaze away from the dying woman. From where Jack had smashed the panel on the wall, the sparks had begun to ignite into a flame, smoke spreading from its center like a dense fog. The girl looked back at her aunt.

"Zoe," she pleaded, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "Stay with me! Don't leave me!"

"I love you, Sorina," she murmured, sounding almost as if she were merely exhausted. "I'm sorry I didn't show it like you deserved." Her eyes traveled to Jack's, locking on his. "Take care of her. She can be...stubborn."

"Of course," Jack nodded, swallowing thickly as he tried to hold it together. For Sorina's sake.

The scent of blood burned Agatha' nostrils, the nagging urge to quench her thirst. To feed. Overwhelming. Yet as she knelt beside her daughter, watching as the light faded from her niece's eyes, she fought it. For a brief moment, she held Zoe's gaze.

"Thank you," Agatha said softly. "For being there for my daughter."

"We're family," Zoe's voice was now faint. "Care for each other…"

The woman's lips curved into a soft smile as she stared upwards, her gaze now empty. She looked peaceful. At ease. And as thick smoke began to fill the room, the realization that she was truly gone finally began to sink in Sorina's mind.

"Zoe?!" She swallowed, shaking the woman's shoulders. "Zoe, wake up! Wake up!"

"Darling," Agatha began, but Sorina pulled away from her mother's touch.

"Don't do this," she begged, tears streaming down her face. "Don't fucking do this! Dammit, Zoe! Don't leave! Don't leave me here! Wake up!" She knelt down, pressing her forehead to the woman's. "Please...please, wake up...don't go…"

The air had grown thin as the ever spreading dark plume of smoke blanketed the room. Jack tried covering his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, coughing violently as his lungs struggled for oxygen. Sorina remained hunched over Zoe's body, unable to tear herself away. It wasn't until Dracula rejoined the party that the next course of action began to unfurl.

"We have to get out of here," the young man rasped.

"No," Sorina insisted. "I'm not leaving her!"

Agatha knew full well if they stayed any longer, they'd be trapped within the inferno. Perhaps she and Dracula would survive, find a way out of it, but Sorina and Jack would surely fall victim to the flames. She swallowed, knowing her next decision would only cause her child more pain.

"Dracula."

The vampire didn't need another cue from his wife to know what she wanted. Without another word, he strode forward, lifted Sorina up, and hoisted the girl over his shoulder. She began to scream, fist beating against his back as she tried to wriggle loose. His hold only tightened.

"Let me go!" She demanded. "Let me go!"

"Take my arm, Jack," the former nun instructed, grabbing onto the young man. She could tell he was struggling, eyes squeezed shut from the burning sensation brought on by fumes. "I'll guide you out."

As they made their way down the main hallway, littered with the bodies of the fallen soldiers, Sorina's shouts of protest only weakened the moment they stepped back into the sunlight. What should've been a momentous occasion, learning that the sun truly wasn't an enemy, felt far from that. Dracula set Sorina down, the girl's fists now smashing hard against his chest.

"Let her," the count said, holding up his hand as Agatha stepped forward. "It's okay."

"You asshole," she spat, eyes brimming with tears. "You left her there! You left her to burn!" Sorina hit harder. "You. Let. Her. Burn. You…"

She trembled there, standing before her father as her hands finally unclenched. When his arms wound around her, she let out a choked sob. Anger melted away into sorrow as Dracula held his daughter close.

"Daddy." She cried, gripping onto him so tight as if she feared that if she let go, he'd disappear once more.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, knowing that perhaps she didn't realize the extent of those words. "I truly am. For everything."

In the distance, the sound of sirens pierced through the air, growing increasingly closer by the second. Jack, finally regaining what strength he had, stepped away from Agatha. He rubbed at his eyes, now red, but unknown if such was caused by tears or the smoke. Fumbling around in his pocket, he produced a set of keys.

"I'll drive."

                               Zoe Van Helsing's Residence

The commute back to Zoe's house was silent. Due to the destruction at Dracula's and Agatha's home, it only seemed appropriate to return to safe quarters. Sorina merely gazed out of the passenger's side window, trying to ignore the sensation as her aunt's blood dried on her hands. When they pulled up into the parking lot, she exited without a word and went inside.

"Let me take a look at you," Agatha frowned, noticing how hard Jack was trying to hide the fact that was in pain. Surely a rib, or two, had been broken. She was no doctor, but she knew not a lot could be done. At the very least she could make him comfortable.

"I'm fine," he insisted, though the way he winced with each step gave away his lie. "I'm more worried about Sunny."

Dracula, still uncertain of his thoughts about Jack, decided to leave the man alone for now. He gazed up towards the sun, marveling at the glowing orange orb as its heat radiated off of his cold skin. He wanted to enjoy it. To bathe in it. And yet, he couldn't find it in himself to. Lips curled into a frown, he entered into Zoe's house without an invitation. He neither knew or no cared why it wasn't an issue, his mind focused only on his daughter.

Unaware of everything else going on, Sorina numbly made her way into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She turned on the sink as hot as the tap would allow and waited. When the steam began to drift from the flow, she brought her hands towards the spray. Her eyes fell to the blood that stained them. Zoe's blood. And as she stared, her mind began to wander back to memories. Abandoned thoughts that she dared to reflect on.

"Sorina!"

The young girl's wail caused the halfling to sit up right. Hurrying fast to the child's room, Sorina yanked the door open to see Zoe cowering in her bed. The little girl looked at her, tears pouring down her cheeks as she held out her arms towards the young woman.

"I had a bad dream," she sniffed, crawling into Sorina's arms when the young woman sat down. "About a monster."

"It wasn't real," Sorina soothed, stroking the girl's hair. "You're safe now, I promise."

"Are you sure?" Zoe whimpered, burying her face into the woman's chest. "Really sure?"

"I promise," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of the child's head. "I'll never let anything happen to you."

Sorina held her hands under the scalding water and began to scrub hard. It hurt. Burn. But as the water began to turn red, she kept going.

"I'm sorry that it didn't go well."

She watched as Zoe threw her purse onto the bed, frowning deeply as she removed her earrings. It was the girl's high school prom and after Sorina insisted that she go, she went...and regretted it. The boy she went with was an asshole, anticipating sex once the night was through. An act, which of course, Zoe did not satisfy him with.

"It's fine," she grumbled. "Not like I liked him anyways."

"Want me to kill him?"

Zoe's chuckled, a small smile growing on her face as Sorina pranced over to her side. The two girls stood in front of a mirror admiring themselves. It was odd watching her grow up so fast, but Sorina was grateful for the time they spent together nonetheless.

"Hey."

"Hm?" Zoe hummed, looking at the smiling halfling.

"At least we have each other," the other girl replied.

"Until the end?"

"Until the end," Sorina agreed with a grin. "And then some."

She scrubbed harder, her palms beginning to become raw from the effort. Already, her eyes were beginning to sting from fresh tears. She bit her lip, tasting copper as her teeth pierced the sensitive flesh.

"I have cancer."

Sorina stared blankly at the woman who stood before her seemingly unable to process her words. For several days now Zoe had been feeling off and, after much convincing on her niece's part, finally set up an appointment with her practitioner. Blood work abnormalities led to specialist's visits and it wasn't long before the truth had been relayed.

"No, but your symptoms…" the girl stammered. "It can't be."

Zoe looked at her tiredly, unsure what to say next. Instead, she placed the mail on the dining room table and slipped off her shoes. Sorina watched her closely, trying to read the other woman's emotions.

"You're not going to die," Sorina finally said, addressing the elephant in the room. "You're going to beat this."

"Your optimism is charming, as usual," the other replied. "But we both know what the inevitable end might be."

"I promised you forever and I mean that," the halfling spoke firmly.

"And how long is forever, Sorina?" Zoe inquired, exhaling as she faced the young woman. "How long is 'forever' for me? For you?"

"You aren't going out like this," she shook her head, swallowing hard. "We're in this together. We always have been!"

"Then be with me," the scientist said gently, moving to pull Sorina into a hug. "Through the end. Together. Promise me."

Promise.

The word felt bitter on her tongue, and Sorina felt her knees give way. She knelt there on the cold floor, hands pressed against the side of her face. The sound of her sobs only muffled by the rush of water. Failed. A broken promise. After all this time, all of this, she'd broken her pact. Left Zoe alone in a literal Hell. And so she wept, allowing everything that was built up inside of her out.

"I'm sorry," the words came out broken. "I'm so sorry, Zoe..."

The door creaked open and Sorina didn't look up as her mother stepped inside. She didn't bother to pull away when Agatha held her in her arms. And she certainly didn't object when her father joined them. They sat there on the tiled floor, sink still running, as she mourned the loss of Zoe Van Helsing until the sheer exhaustion lulled her to sleep.

[emospritelet]

Confession

The first of the three Monsterfuckers’ Ball fics I have planned. I made it Father MacAvoy instead. Hope you don’t mind. 

Have some wholesome demon-on-priest smut *dodges lightning bolt*

AO3 link

x

Father Joseph MacAvoy was aware of three things. One, the church was cold: a bitter, bone-deep cold that had seeped into him and which would take substantially more than a hot cup of tea to drive away. The second was that he had not been paying full attention to the penitent in the confession booth for at least two minutes. The third, and this was by far the dominant thought in his mind, clamouring for his attention like the insistent ringing of the church bell, was that he needed a drink.

There was a bottle of whisky in the rectory behind the church, standing on the desk in his study, waiting for him. He imagined how it would look, the light from the lamps shining through it with a tawny-gold gleam, calling to him with a soothing, calming voice. He could almost smell it, rich and spicy with hints of smoke and peat, and his mouth watered at the thought of that first taste. It would burn on his tongue and in his throat, the heat mellowing with sweetness and a touch of salt, the aroma filling his nose before he swallowed. It would chase away the numbing cold and let his body relax as he drank his way down the bottle until sweet oblivion claimed him for another night. Perhaps it would even drive away the dreams.

“Father?” came a tentative voice from behind the screen, and Joseph started.

“Uh - yes,” he said quickly. “Five Hail Marys and an Act of Contrition.”

“Oh, thank you, Father!”

He listened to the prayers, the penitent speaking fervently. It was old Miss Ginger, he could see that, and while she had confessed to taking the Lord’s name in vain, and to envy over Mrs Lucas’s baking skills, he was well aware that she had other sins she had chosen not to unburden herself of. Perhaps she didn’t see malicious gossip as a sin, or perhaps she didn’t care. He found it hard to feel too strongly either way; the days of his youth, when he had been full of desire to do good, to spread the word of God and help comfort those in need of guidance, were far behind him. He was in his forties now, tired and disillusioned, a short, thin figure with brown hair falling around his face and catching on the stubble on his cheeks where he had neglected to shave that morning. It had been his intention to do so, but he had taken one look at his reflection, hollow-eyed and sweating as his body tried to rid itself of alcohol, and realised that he couldn’t stand to look at himself.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken confession while suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s drinking, and desperately awaiting the next hit of alcohol. Mother Superior often cast disapproving glances at him if she called at the rectory too early. It was something that she did at least twice a week, on the pretext of discussing some minor church matter which could easily have waited for a more civilised hour. He was almost sure she did it on purpose, just so she could give him one of those insincere smiles and make some snide comment about the communion wine, but he found it hard to summon much indignation, going through his days on autopilot until he could pour himself that first glass. The small congregation of Storybrooke deserved better.

He tried to pinpoint when it was that he had lost his way, and found that he couldn’t, only that it was after he had started crawling into the whisky bottle each night, and before the move to Storybrooke. Emigrating to small-town America from Glasgow five years ago had been something of a shock to the system, but the townsfolk were friendly and welcoming. All except for Mother Superior, of course, and the pawnbroker, who had never entered the church and who always seemed to eye him with an air of contempt. Joseph had hoped that a new start would inspire him, would rekindle his religious zeal, but with the passing of each year he seemed to grow more disenchanted with the world, and with himself.

He was relieved when Miss Ginger finally left, and shifted in his seat, hoping she was the last. Cold was sinking into his bones, not helped by either the black cassock or his thin frame, and he wanted to stand up, stretch, and head over to the rectory. He could light a fire and change into something that didn’t make him feel as though his balls were about to turn to icicles and drop off. The assigned time for confession was almost over, and the whisky was calling to him, an insistent prodding deep in his belly.

The sound of soft footsteps in the booth made him want to groan, and he looked through the lattice of carved wood, seeing dark hair and smooth, pale cheeks. The penitent had her head bowed, but he immediately knew who she was. Sister Belle, who had joined the Storybrooke convent less than a week ago. He had seen her the day she arrived, brought to the church by Mother Superior to make the introductions. They had entered with a bitter gust of wind, a flurry of dead leaves cartwheeling by their feet, and Joseph had felt himself shiver. He had told himself it was the cold. October had started out unseasonably chilly, and was getting worse as the month drew to a close.

Sister Belle was beautiful, with large blue eyes and full, pink lips, shining chestnut hair swept neatly into a knot at the back of her head. She had looked him over with surprising directness when they were introduced, the light of curiosity in her eyes, and it had made him nervous. There had been a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, but when Mother Superior looked back at her it had disappeared, her hands clasped at her waist and her head bowed, the perfect picture of demure humility. That tiny reaction had made him think that she held Mother Superior in a certain amount of contempt, which was as fascinating as it was shocking. He himself had always thought that the head of the Sisters of Saint Meissa was too inclined to be judgemental rather than to practice forgiveness, but he had never imagined any of the nuns would agree with him. Especially a newcomer.

He had seen Sister Belle in the church every day since then. Her slim figure was covered from neck to knees in the plain, dark blue dress that all the nuns wore, with thick tights and stout shoes beneath. The nuns always worked in the church, taking charge of the dusting and flower-arranging, but Sister Belle seemed to be there more than most. Joseph often found her alone after her sisters had gone, her eyes meeting his as she knelt to pray, that tiny smile quirking her lips as she passed him with arms full of flowers.

A scent hung around her, warm and oddly sharp like the smouldering wicks of snuffed-out candles, but he thought it suited her. There was an air of mischief about her too, in the twinkle in her eye and the quirk of her lips, as though she was always thinking of a joke that no one else knew. He couldn’t imagine what it was that amused her so about being in the church each day, but perhaps simply being away from the watchful eye of Mother Superior was enough to make her happy. She greeted him with warm tones, her voice soft, her eyes gleaming. It had made him nervous all over again, and he found himself stammering as he responded to her. He called himself an idiot for doing so, but there it was. The charms of a pretty young woman weren’t completely thwarted by the white collar around his neck, it seemed.

It had been many years since he had been distracted by thoughts of pleasures of the flesh, and he certainly had no intention of ever letting them take shape in his mind, even if she hadn’t been a nun. Yet if he was totally honest with himself, her beauty wasn’t what caused the nerves. It was more a sense of knowing, as though she could see to the heart of him. As though he was naked before her, all his secret shame displayed for her to study. As though she had seen every one of his faults. His weaknesses.

The thought of her knowing all his frailties was disturbing, but given that she had come to him to make her confession, he tried to push away his own feelings and concentrate on whatever she had to tell him. Some petty jealousies towards her new sisters, perhaps. Some uncharitable thoughts towards the less pious citizens of Storybrooke, or towards Mother Superior. Nothing more serious than that, he was sure. He watched as she made the sign of the Cross, and waited.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” she said, her voice clear and melodious. “It has been seven days since my last confession.”

Just before she came here, then. I wonder where she lived before Storybrooke. Why did she leave? Why come here, of all places?

“God is merciful,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Tell me your sins, child.”

There was a pause.

“I - I have not been chaste, Father,” she said. “I have had - impure thoughts.”

Right. Not impatience or lack of charity. Well, she’s young. Celibacy can be a hard path, for some. Joseph licked his lips nervously, his heart thumping.

“Ah - well - impure thoughts are not uncommon,” he managed. “The Lord understands that it can be hard to overrule your body’s - urges. The important thing is not to act on them.”

She was silent for a moment, and Joseph frowned.

“I take it no one in this town has been bothering you?” he said. “I know that some of the young men here can find it hard to take no for an answer at times, even from the nuns. If you’ve had any difficulties in that respect, the Sheriff takes that sort of thing very seriously. If - if you wanted someone to speak to him on your behalf—”

“Oh no, Father,” she said hastily. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

He sensed that she wanted to speak, but was holding back, no doubt out of some sense of shame.

“Go on,” he said gently.

She sucked in a breath, and he waited patiently for her to gather her courage. Poor girl. Probably mooning over some young pop star. One of those boy bands, or whatever they call themselves now. I doubt Mother Superior would approve, but it’s hardly the crime of the century.

“I’ve had the most terrible dreams, Father,” she said breathlessly. “I think the Devil must send them to me.”

“The Devil is always testing those that God loves,” said Joseph gravely.

“How can God love me, when the Devil has made me his!” she breathed.

Joseph’s head jerked upwards at her words, hissed out through her teeth. His heart began to thump hard, his skin tingling. There was a cold sensation flowing up the back of his neck, a creeping sense that something was very wrong, and he swallowed, his throat dry.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“He comes to me,” she whispered. “At night, when I sleep. He comes to me, Father. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me from the dark.”

A nightmare. Joseph felt himself breathe a little easier. She’s having nightmares. A new town, new sisters around her - hardly surprising. 

“The Devil is cunning,” he said. “But these are only dreams.”

“But it’s so real!”

“He will try to reach you in whatever way he can, to tempt you,” said Joseph, hoping his tone sounded calmer than he felt. “He can take a pleasing form to lure you in.”

“I doubt you would call his form pleasing,” she said. “He has golden eyes and sharp claws, Father, and his skin is covered in scales. Horns grow from his head, and he has a long tail and leathery wings. He wraps them around me, and pulls me to him so I can’t escape.”

“That sounds like a terrifying dream,” said Joseph soothingly. “Rest assured that God is with you, protecting you while you sleep. Say your prayers each night, hold Him in your heart, and you will be safe.”

“I’m afraid, Father,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I’m afraid of the things the Devil does, and - and how they make me feel.”

Joseph cleared his throat nervously.

“Wh-what things?”

She turned towards him, and he heard the soft thump as she pressed her hands against the wooden panel between the booths. The scent of snuffed-out candles was there again, drifting into his nose, and he felt his heart thump hard.

“He tears my nightdress from me,” she said, her voice somewhat breathless and almost eager. “He strips me bare and binds me to the bed by my wrists and ankles. My legs are open, ready for him. Ready to let him inside.”

Joseph swallowed hard, a vision of her leaping into his mind, naked and bound, those blue eyes gazing up at him and that tiny secretive smile curving her lips. He shoved the image away hurriedly, furious with himself, but the image lingered, insistent, inviting. She reached up, fingers sliding slowly over the latticework grill between the booths, slipping over the holes with small, rhythmic thumps of her fingertips against the screen.

“He - he puts his head between my legs, Father, and - and tastes me,” she went on. “He licks me all over, this long, hot tongue sliding all over my flesh as he growls in pleasure. I can feel his tongue inside me. Pushing deep inside me.”

He watched as the tip of her index finger pushed into one of the holes, pink flesh bulging outwards. A shard of arousal pierced him, shooting down his body to his groin, and he could feel his cock start to swell. His mouth fell open in horror.

“I - I understand this must be distressing to recount—” he began.

“Yes, Father, but you haven’t heard the worst part!” she said insistently.

Joseph closed his eyes. There’s worse?

“He - he takes me,” she breathed, her voice low and throaty. “I can feel him between my legs, grown long and hard and thick, and he takes me. So many times. Pushing into me over and over until I scream. I can feel him thrusting inside me, pulsing inside me, filling me with his hot seed, and - and it feels good.”

His erection was causing Joseph a serious problem, and he pressed a hand down on it, willing it to go away. That just seemed to make the situation worse, so he closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“The - ah - the Devil wants to tempt you,” he said thickly, the words seeming to stick on his tongue. “Pleasure is a common temptation, and lust a sin, but God’s grace will protect against the Devil’s wiles. Contrition is what is important.”

Sister Belle let out a low, hollow laugh.

“But that’s the thing,” she said insistently. “When I wake, I don’t feel contrite. I feel as though I want more.”

She moved, the silhouette of her body shifting behind the wooden screen, the gentle scrape of her nails against the wood. He could sense her staring at him, could feel the warm gust of her breath through the lattice work. She was breathing too heavily, and he felt his own breath quicken in response, his cock twitching.

“I put my hand between my legs and I’m so wet, Father,” she breathed. “So wet and hot and ready.”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that this whole encounter was a bad, whisky-fuelled dream and he would wake drooling on his desk with a thumping headache, as he so often did.

“So - so I touch myself,” she whispered. “I slide my fingers deep inside. I rub at that little place where it feels so good, until the pleasure takes me and I cry out with it!”

Joseph cleared his throat, trying to push away the images her words created. What was wrong with him? She had come to him for help, for absolution, not his own forbidden lust unexpectedly rearing its head.

“Do you want to atone?” he asked, his voice unsteady, and she exhaled, long and low, as though she had been waiting for him to ask.

“Oh yes, Father!” she said eagerly. “I know how bad I’ve been! I want to be punished!”

Joseph shook his head tiredly.

“Have you more sins that you want to confess?” he asked. Please God, let her say no. I’m getting too bloody old for this.

“Not today, Father.”

“Very well,” he said, his voice still shaking a little. “Three Our Fathers, three Hail Marys.”

He listened to her go through the prayers, running a shaking hand over his face and feeling the rasp of stubble against his fingers. Once she had finished speaking, he went through the prayer of absolution, and Sister Belle said ‘Amen’ in a soft voice as she pulled back from the wooden screen.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

Footsteps faded as she walked out, and he heard a low, heavy thump as the church door closed. Joseph sat back with a sigh, feeling drained. At least his cock appeared to be going back to sleep. He was sweating, and he was unsure if it was his newly-awakened lust or his sudden, overwhelming need for whisky. The latter would surely drown out the former; he just needed to get to it. He realised that listening to her recount her lurid nightmares had probably been the longest he had gone in years without thinking about how much he needed a drink. Quite what that said about the state of his soul was something he was trying not to contemplate.

x

Joseph sat at the desk in his office, listening to the slow tick of the clock and tapping his pen against the paper as he tried to get through the first draft of his sermon. It felt as though he had been at it for hours, but the words wouldn’t come, and whenever he glanced down at the notebook in front of him, it was as though the lines he was certain he had written had disappeared, and he needed to start afresh. At least his study was warmer than the church; a fire crackled in the hearth, and he had changed out of his cassock and into plain black pants beneath his black shirt and white collar, his silver crucifix around his neck. He rubbed at the space between his eyes, sitting back and reaching for his whisky, and a knock at the door startled him.

Pushing back his chair, he glanced at the clock, which showed that it was almost midnight. Unease made his skin prickle, and he cast an eye towards the hallway. Who would be calling so late? The knock came again, a heavy, insistent pounding that seemed to echo through him, and his heart thumped hard, his breath catching in his throat. It must be something urgent. Someone hurt or dying.

He stood, grasping at the edge of the desk as he staggered a little, and turned as he heard the front door open on its own and slow, rhythmic footsteps echoing in the hallway. Fear bloomed in the back of his mind, scrabbling with tiny claws, whispering that darkness was coming for him. He tried to speak, but the words seemed to swell in his throat, cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth and rendering him mute. Warmth flooded over him, wrapping around him, as though a fire was raging in the next room, and he couldn’t move, his body frozen in place with fear. Helplessly, he watched the study door swing open, and Sister Belle entered with a smooth, graceful stride.

Joseph felt himself relax, relieved at the sight of her, even as he wondered at her being there, and how she had got past what he was sure had been a locked door. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw what she was wearing: a tight black dress that clung to her curves and left her legs bare and pale. She must have been freezing on the walk over from the convent, and his first instinct was to grab a coat to put around her, but then she stepped closer, her lips parting, her chest heaving. He felt his pulse beat in his throat, tracing a throbbing thread of fire down to his groin, and he licked his lips nervously. She looked a little strange, her eyes sparkling with blue light. For a moment that light rippled over her skin, picking out tiny scales, and he told himself the whisky was making him see things. His throat felt dry as dust, but to his surprise, he didn’t want a drink.

“Sister Belle,” he managed. “Wh-what are you doing here so late?”

He still couldn’t move. It was strange, but that warmth was seeping into him, making his muscles relax and his body grow loose, even as his brain called strident warnings at him. She stepped closer, until she was almost touching him, her full lips open and glistening, and he remembered the things she had told him. Her nightmares. Her desires. Long, pale fingers ran over his chest, and he tried to move, tried to step away from her. He needed to tell her to leave, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her to stay.

“I had to come, Father,” she whispered, letting her hands slip down his chest to his waist. “I have a need. There was a choice to be made, and I chose you.”

She tugged at the belt of his pants, and his mouth fell open, his eyes wide and his body frozen in place. His brain was screaming at him to push her away, but he couldn’t move, and she pushed black pants over his hips with his boxers, sinking to her knees as she lifted the hem of his black shirt. Her hand was hot as it wrapped around his cock, and she looked up at him, eyes blazing with blue fire as she took him slowly into her mouth.

x

Joseph jerked awake, his heart thumping, breath coming hard as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom, the pillows cool against his hot skin. Moonlight was shining through the curtains, a dim blue colour outlining the dresser and chair and the wardrobe that contained his clothes. He let out a shuddering sigh, running his hands over his face and relaxing into the sheets as he realised he was alone. The dream had been very real, so real he could remember how she felt. The warmth of her, the wetness of her mouth around him. His cock was hard, pushing against the cotton pants he wore, and he closed his eyes, trying to think of anything but her. Trying to distract himself with his plans for the day ahead, no matter that it was still the middle of the night. An early start would be good for him.

His head was aching from too much whisky, so firstly he would need tea, or perhaps some coffee. He would sit in his study and drink coffee and he would finish writing his sermon for next Sunday’s Mass. He could also go through the preparations for the Christmas fundraiser; he had the preliminary enquiries from potential stallholders to look through, after all. That should be enough to distract him from thoughts of Sister Belle and her blue eyes and tiny smile.

“You’re very restless.”

Her voice made him start, and he pushed up on his elbows with a sharp intake of breath as she seemed to flow out of the darkness, a slender shadow-creature. Her limbs were as pale as milk, her body wrapped in a tight black dress that he was sure no nun in Storybrooke would ever consider wearing. The same dress she had worn in his dream. She crawled onto the bed at his feet, moonlight licking over her skin and shining in her hair as she watched him.

“No need to hide from me, Father,” she said. “I can see into your soul. I can see what you want.”

She grasped the sheets, slowly pulling them down his body, uncovering his naked chest and his thin legs in their loose pants. Her eyes lingered on his groin, where his erection pushed up against the cotton pants, and she smirked as she looked up at him. She walked up the bed a little way on her hands and knees, sitting back on her heels when she reached his knees and reaching for the strings at the waistband of his pants. Joseph shook his head, and realised with sudden, complete clarity that his headache had disappeared, and that he was stone-cold sober, as though his soul had been cleansed. It was oddly exhilarating.

“I’m dreaming again,” he whispered. “This can’t be real. You can’t be real.”

“Oh, I’m very real,” she said softly, and stroked a finger down the hard length of his cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. “As real as this. As filled with need as this. You want me, don’t you?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to summon a lie from deep inside him. That smouldering scent was all around her again, drifting into his nose and catching in his throat. Not candles, he realised. More like embers, like coal. She was watching him with those knowing eyes, one finger gently stroking him. It curled under his balls, circling them one by one before drawing up the length of his cock to the head and making him twitch.

“You want me, don’t you?” she repeated.

“Yes!” he gasped. “But I - I shouldn’t. I can’t. It - it wouldn’t be right.”

“But you want to,” she said knowingly, and he swallowed hard, nodding wordlessly.

Pushing up on her knees, she grasped the hem of her tight little dress and tugged it upwards, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside. She was naked beneath except for a thin gold chain around her neck with a dark, round stone like a pool of pure shadow, a hole in the air that seemed to eat the light, hanging between her breasts. His eyes widened at the sight of her, at the pure beauty of her form, pert breasts with small, dark buds at their centres above a tiny waist and long, pale thighs. Silver moonlight shone on the curves of her breasts and hips, streaks of dark blue shadow painting the lines of her ribs and the hollow of her navel. The dark cleft between her thighs glistened with promise, and he felt his mouth water as he shook his head.

“No, no,” he said weakly. “You’re a - a dream. This is a dream.”

She tilted her head to the side, dark hair falling in a shining wave over one pale shoulder, and her eyes gleamed with that blue fire again.

“Would you prefer that?” she asked softly. “Dreams can be powerful. Do you want this to be a dream? A fantasy?”

He shook his head again, abandoning propriety in favour of honesty.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I don’t want that. I want it to be real.”

“Then let it be real,” she breathed, and she leaned forward, hands sliding up his chest as she brushed her nose with his. “Let yourself feel for once, Father.”

The stone between her breasts was resting on his chest, and he was surprised at how heavy and warm it was. As though it burned with its own fire. His eyes flicked up to hers, and she pushed up on her hands, gazing down at him. He tried to find the will to tell her to leave.

“If - if Mother Superior knew you were here—” 

“That self-righteous gnat could find fault in the purest heart,” she said sharply. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me.”

“Well, neither do I,” he said impatiently. “But if she catches you, the whole town would turn its back on you. And on me.” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said. “So unless she’s hiding in the bloody wardrobe, I think we’re safe.”

“But - but your vows!” he said. “Your soul! You can’t be here, you should - you should go.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

He bit down on his tongue, but the word had left his mouth almost immediately, and she smiled.

“I thought not,” she said, and bent to kiss his chest. “You’re an honest man. A good man.”

“Apparently bloody not,” he muttered, and she chuckled richly.

“Yes you are,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of churchmen cross my path, Father. Some I sought out, and some sought me, but I do believe you are one of the few I’ve met who is genuinely good. A little - lost - maybe. But good, at your core.”

“I’m not!” he said desperately. “I’m bloody hopeless! I’m - I’m an alcoholic priest who can’t even concentrate in confession because I’m thinking about the next bloody drink!”

“You were listening to my confession,” she said, and the tip of her tongue circled a spot on his neck, making him shiver. “You were listening very intently.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember the shameful way he had responded to her words. It seemed ridiculous to be embarrassed over that when she was naked in his bedroom, but he had never claimed to be logical. She straightened up, that smile back on her face again.

“I don’t believe you even thought about whisky when I was telling you about my dreams, did you?”

Her voice was lilting, soothing, and he shook his head. Her smile grew, and she shifted on her knees, bending to let her lips graze his chest as she slipped back down the bed a little way.

“You shouldn’t worry about my soul, Father,” she said. “It’s in very, very good hands. And I want this, believe me. As much as you do.”

She grasped the waistband of the pants, tugging them down over his hips and exposing him to the cool night air. His cock bounced upwards, freed of its cotton prison, and she let out a low growl, taking him in hand and bending her head until her lips brushed against him. Joseph let out a cry, throwing his head back as she sucked him in between her lips. Her mouth was almost too hot to bear, and she let out a low moan as she let him sink deep into her, soft flesh yielding. It felt as though her tongue was wrapping around him, twisting and squeezing, and he pushed his hips upwards in response, letting out a deep groan.

He had never believed that something could feel so good, and he let his hands drop to her hair, stroking through it as she slipped him in and out of her mouth, her lips tugging at him as she sucked. Heat was rising up through his body, a heavy swell of pressure from the base of his spine, and he wanted it to spill over, to burst. He wanted to let the pleasure take him, to have her swallow down everything that he had to give. His back arched as he groaned, and she drew back, letting him slip from her mouth with a low hiss.

He raised his head to stare at her, and she held his gaze as her tongue swirled over the head of his cock. A ripple of light seemed to pass over her pale skin, as though a pattern of scales came and went, and for a moment it looked as though her tongue had grown long and tapered, winding around him, squeezing him. He told himself it was the moonlight playing tricks, and then she took him deep once more, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he cried out in pleasure. The air seemed cold when she let him slip out, and she kissed down his length, her tongue swirling over his balls and sending bursts of sensation through him.

“Oh, God!” he whispered desperately, and heard her chuckle again, hot breath bathing the head of his cock.

“Not even close,” she murmured.

She moved up his body, straddling him, her legs sliding against his thin hips, and he jerked at the feel of her skin against his as he reached for her, trembling fingers sliding up her pale thighs. Her skin was soft and smooth, hot despite the cold room, and she hissed in approval as his hands grasped her hips, her fingers stroking up over his belly to his thin chest. Shifting position a little, she pressed her core against the hard ridge of his cock, heat and wetness pulling a shuddering gasp from him.

“There’s no sin in sharing pleasure,” she said, and her hips rocked slowly back and forth, rubbing her wet flesh along his length and making him groan. “Bodies are made to give pleasure. To take pleasure. It reinforces human bonds. It creates life. Where is the sin in letting yourself enjoy it, Father?”

Joseph closed his eyes, trying to think of something that would actually convince himself as well as her. He found it an impossible task, but something told him to make one last empty gesture of protest.

“I took a vow of celibacy…” he said lamely, and she shrugged, a brief rise and fall of one smooth shoulder.

“You told me yourself that your God is merciful,” she said. “That contrition is what’s important.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So in the morning, you can tell Him how sorry you are that you fucked me until I screamed, can’t you?”

Joseph’s eyes flew wide open.

“Sister Belle!” he gasped, and she shook her head.

“I’m not Sister Belle,” she said. “Not anymore. I’m leaving the convent, leaving Storybrooke, and you’ll never see me again.”

Joseph felt a pang, a stab of pain at the thought of her leaving forever, but she smiled at him. For a moment it looked as though her eyes were filled with a strange blue fire, but then she blinked, and it was gone.

“Call me Lacey,” she said softly. “That’s who I truly am, Joseph MacAvoy. I’m Lacey.”

“Lacey,” he whispered, and it seemed to release something deep within his chest. Perhaps the last shred of his self-restraint. Her smile grew, her eyes gleaming.

“Yes!” she said, and took him in hand, raising up on her knees and sinking down onto him in one smooth motion.

Joseph arched upwards with a cry as he entered her. She was burning, scalding like soft, liquid fire. Her hips moved, gently rocking back and forth, letting him slide in and out as her wet flesh tugged at him, The sensation was incredible, making his skin tingle and his body throb with a deep, pulsing need to thrust. He pushed his hips upwards, getting deep inside her, wanting to feel her all around him. She made a noise of approval, hands sliding over his taut belly, and he felt tiny points of pain as her nails dug into his skin.

He raised his head a little, eyes flicking open, and she was undulating against him, breasts rising and falling with every thrusting roll of her hips. It felt incredible, but there was a dull, low-down ache there too, as though sharp hooks had lodged in his soul and were trying to pull it from him. As though there was something deep inside her, calling to him, trying to drag him with her into the dark of the night.

Lacey was moaning, a low purring sound as she circled her hips, and he could feel his cock stirring inside her, rubbing against her. The feel of it was sending ripples of sensation through him, and he could sense his balls drawing up, full and aching. She let out a growl of pleasure, shaking back her hair before fixing him with those strange eyes of hers, and it was as though scales bloomed on her skin, glistening blue in the moonlight before disappearing with a blink of his eyes.

“Touch me!” she gasped.

He reached up with trembling hands, cupping her firm breasts. They fitted perfectly in his palms, her skin soft as silk, the nipples taut peaks beneath his stroking thumbs. Lacey yowled, pushing into his hands as he squeezed, rocking her hips as she rubbed against him. Dimly, he was aware of something brushing his legs behind her, something thin and hot and smooth stroking back and forth over them with a rhythmic heavy slap. Tail! It’s a tail! a shrill, terrified voice gibbered at the back of his mind, but that was impossible, so he ignored it. He silenced that voice, that tiny wail of terror, and focused on Lacey, concentrating on the feel of her against him, the way she clenched around him and the sounds she made as she circled and slipped and fucked.

It was hot where their bodies joined, scalding hot and slippery-wet, and he could feel her body tugging at him, pulling on his soul. He could feel her hunger, her desire, her need. Smooth hands slid up over his chest, sharp nails scraping against his skin as she quickened her pace, and he could feel the bliss rising up inside him like a wave, wanting to crash over him, wanting to pummel him and drown him and spit out his battered body on the shore. Lacey grinned, white teeth shining in the moonlight.

“That’s it!” she whispered. “Come for me! Fill me with it! All of it!”

Joseph groaned as he pushed upwards inside her, ready to burst, and she bucked her hips, rubbing against him with rapid, shallow thrusts, her hands braced on his belly and her head thrown back. A whimper began deep in her throat, growing in pitch until she let out a harsh cry, and he came hard, shouting wordlessly, his cock pulsing and squirting. Lacey let out a shriek of pleasure, her flesh clenching around him, pumping against his cock, milking every drop from him as he jerked and moaned. It was intense and almost terrifying, as though something inside him was tearing at the edges, as though his soul was leaving his body and being pulled into hers, but then it stopped with a sudden, sharp snap as her eyes caught his.

For a moment all he could do was try to pull air into his lungs as Lacey worked her hips, drawing the last of his seed deep inside her with a low growl of pleasure. He eyed her through half-closed lids, her full lips glistening and a satisfied smile on her face. There were no scales on her skin, no heavy thump of a tail stroking over his legs. Of course she doesn’t have a tail! Of course she’s not covered in scales, what the fuck is wrong with you? He let out a shuddering breath, running his hands over his face and listening to the heavy pounding of his pulse. The fell of her rising up off him made him drop his hands to the sides, and Lacey smirked at him, that dark pendant swinging in the air as she leaned on the palms of her hands.

“Thank you, Father,” she said softly. “You’ve given me exactly what I needed.”

She pushed up off the bed, bending to grab her dress, and he missed the heat of her, the night air cold against his skin and his softening cock, still glistening with her fluids. His body was tingling, his heart thumping as he came down from his high, but as she pulled the dress over her head a crawling sense of disappointment began creeping over his skin. She was leaving.

“Wait!” he said hoarsely.

“What is it?” she asked dismissively, as she tugged the dress straight.

“Are you going?” he asked. “Right now?”

“Perfect time, wouldn’t you say?” she said, slipping into her shoes.

Joseph shook his head, even more confused than when he had woken to find her half-naked in his room.

“But - but where will you go?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night. Please, I - I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

Lacey smiled, stroking a hand across her belly.

“See?” she said. “A good man. Really not my usual type. I must be getting old.”

“But it’s not safe for you out there,” he insisted. “It’s bloody freezing, for a start, and - and the Rabbit Hole has some unsavoury types.”

She chuckled at that, her grin widening.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Father,” she said. “I have somewhere to go. And something very important to do.”

Joseph closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he began, and opened his eyes before he cut off, blinking in shock. 

The bedroom was empty, the only sign that she had ever been there a drying sheen of fluid on his lower belly and the lingering sense of pleasure still licking at his skin. Lacey was gone, perhaps forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had done. How did one go about atoning when one felt no guilt? He ran his hands over his face before throwing back the sheets. Perhaps he could start by writing that sermon. Coffee, prayer, and preparation. That might do it.

It was four days later, when he was settling down by his fire with a book, that he realised he hadn’t drunk a drop of whisky since the night Lacey left.

[redfordz]

The situation could only be creepier if the soundtrack was a Billie Eilish album. At this rate, “Bury a Friend” would cut it pretty well, if you asked Hugo. He tried not to think about Izzy and Maggie’s disappearance, but the mental images of them at school were tattooed on his brain. Although he wasn’t particularly close to them, it was a shock to Hugo.

On the top of that, there was also the Johnnie-Jamie situation, which was absurd. Where the fuck was Jamie? What happened to the weird boy with no guts to face Damien? Well, suddenly a new version of him appeared out of thin air, a version with more balls than Hugo could ever imagine and -- Hugo would never admit this out loud -- hotter. According to his info, Nick was the boy’s new roommate, and Hugo would get answers one way or another. 

As a matter of fact, he needed answers to several things. First of all, his siblings. He couldn’t even form questions, because the sinking feeling inside his stomach was still there. Well, he knew his parents marriage was a fucking failure -- after all, he was the one who caught his dad red handed. Still, knowing his father had so little respect for other people was awful. He hoped Connor and Casey got used to be treated badly, because it wouldn’t get any easier with the Redfords.

Second of all: why the fuck was he nominated as the BBC’s president? ‘I mean, not why, this is kinda obvious’, he thought while got out of the library with fast steps -- and forgetting to say goodbye to Sister Clary. But was he really nominated because they thought he would to a good job? Or were they so desperate for someone, that put the first poor devil on the place? Hell if he knew. 

Hugo’s fast hands went deep inside his pocket, nodding as the nuns passed by him when he left to the gardens. His plan was to smoke a joint and forget about everything, when he saw a familiar face passing by. 

--- Hey, [ YOUR CHARACTER’S NAME], wait a minute. I need a word with you!

@broadripplestarters​