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yoonia · 1 year ago

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xx

⟶ Chapter summary | Once the gate of secrets about your mother has been opened, it seems that magic is slowly guiding you to follow the traces your mother’s left behind in this realm. As if her shadows still remain, and you are now tasked to find every piece of her still left behind.

Author's note | I never expected that the break I took between this chapter and the last would go so long. I'm so sorry for the long wait. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the lack of update

chapter xx. traces

The scent of the forest hangs heavily in the air—the remnants of rain, the rich fragrance of earth, and the slightly humid, yet strongly pine-scented breeze.

As you walk between the trees, a thick white mist rises from the ground around you, making it somewhat hard to look at what you are stepping on or where you are going. This place is dark, even if there are still some streaks of light visibly falling from the sky. But those lights don’t seem strong enough to pierce through the thick foliage, nor can they penetrate through the dense fog moving together with you. Not enough to illuminate your surroundings so you can see better. Only enough to show you the unmoving shadows that are present around you and helping to stop you from crashing into trees or stumbling against a boulder hiding beneath the undergrowth.

Still, the darkness cannot stop you from searching through the woods to find out where you are.

You hadn’t exactly expected to be in the depths of a forest like this when you first stepped through the magic door. Perhaps you should have expected that your secret exploit would be a peculiar one tonight, given the circumstances leading you here.

The silver door that you had chosen for this evening’s adventure was completely different from the ones you went through before, after all.

Hidden at the end of the hallway where the treasure rooms are located, the door looked more like a sculpted wall ornament, sunk deeply into the stone walls with nothing more but a small alcove marking its existence and floral embellishments carved on its surface. You may have walked past it many times before, yet never once had you ever paid much attention to it, thinking that it was merely a decorated wall to grace the treasure rooms’ hall.

It wasn’t until early this evening that things ended differently—when you walked past the hall after leaving the library much later than usual. You were carrying with you the book which had caught your interest while spending your free time reading in the library—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts—barely even thinking of anything other than to quickly bring it back to your bedchamber so you could continue reading through the pages. You had every intention to later compare everything you learned from that book with the texts written in the ancient spell book you acquired during your trip to the Mage City of Aeris. What better way to do so than to be in your private quarters, lest to have your tutors questioning your new book had they saw it in the library.

You had your arms wrapped around the book when you turned the corner where the magic door was hidden, clutching it against your chest while picturing the images you saw from it. You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost believed you were imagining things when the plain embellishments on the wall suddenly began shimmering.

As if the carvings on the wall were reacting to your presence.

Perhaps something else had caused it? Something that had been in your possession for the first time as you travelled down that hall this time, maybe?

You cannot help but wonder as you reach down, gently tapping the sling bag hanging to your side where the book is now being kept secure. Thinking about it now, you remember that the glimmer of light coming from the carvings had not been all that had drawn you toward the hidden door.

While you were still struggling to make sense of what was happening, your necklace was also beginning to show a reaction. It felt subtle at first, yet the warmth pressing on your skin from the back of your ruby amulet was hard to ignore. It reminded you of how your necklace showed some peculiar reactions during your last trip, when it seemed to respond to the magic found in Aeris.

As you came to a halt, the warmth coming from the gemstone started growing stronger. Your eyes flew to the alcove as the magic essence of the portal began to emerge, revealing to you that the sculpted embellishments had been something more than just a wall ornament.

The whisperings of the magic came to you next, enchanting you to come closer, compelling you to reach into your pocket and pull out the silver key. At first, you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to do. Looking at the carved wall in front of you, there was no possible guide telling you how you were going to use your magic key on a piece of carved ornament.

But then the carvings on the wall began to change form. The plain grey shades painted on the carvings slowly turned into silver plates right before your eyes. The linings beneath the alcove shifted into what appeared to be a doorframe, and then a keyhole emerged between the carvings of a pair of wings on the side which you have never noticed before.

A baffled laughter climbed up your throat as you watched in disbelief. “A door? This was a door this whole time?” you wondered loudly as the silver door took its final form right at the center of the dark wall.

You could barely process what was happening even as the scene was unfolding right before your eyes. The door seemed to have enchanted you with its charm, drawing you closer towards it as the silver carvings magically glimmered brightly like the moonlight.

Reaching deep into your pocket, you keep your eyes on the door as you pull out the magic key. Your heartbeat skipped a beat as you carefully inserted the key and turned until a resounding click echoed through the empty hall. There was no handle emerging from the door, yet it opened on its own, bringing in a strong cold breeze that felt nothing like anything you ever had encountered before as it slowly widened right in front of you.

Another peculiarity happened as the magic portal was activated. As you pushed the door wider, the usual sight of the dark blue void wasn’t what appeared in the opened doorway. Instead, you saw the sight of a dark forest, as if it had been hidden right on the other side of the wall instead of across the realm—wherever your new destination might be.

To be able to see the new world that you were about to step into was a new experience. You wondered if you should be wary about stepping in. But this was unlike your previous excursions, where you had to go blindly into the portal without having any clue where you were going to end up next. What laid before you seemed like a challenge, and at the same time, a promise.

A promise of a new and exciting adventure that you would regret never getting into. A new world to learn.

So you gathered yourself together, not even bothering to think about how you were going to miss supper by stepping out of the castle so late. After quickly grabbing your coat and a sling bag to carry your magic books along with you, you stepped through the door and began your journey across the realm.

So far, everything about this new adventure of yours has been out of the ordinary, just as much as how it began.

As if the events leading you to open the portal hadn’t been peculiar enough, the magic portal had sent you emerging at the center of a dark forest. The portal, which had appeared as a part of an alcove which was built into a wall, opened up on what seemed to be the mouth of a small cave once you got to the other side of it.

“Magic is a very peculiar thing,” was the only thing you could say as you looked back at the portal which had manifested between the alcove forming the cavern’s entrance. Unlike the other portals, you were able to see the dark hallway that you had just stepped out of. Only you were made to feel as if you were looking at it through a tinted-blue glass as the void manifested around the opening like a protective shield.

It still baffles you even now to think about it, as you are trudging through the thick woods, continuing your journey without even knowing if you are going in the right direction.

Only fates know how long it has been since you came to this place. With nothing but the night sky above and trees in a myriad of shapes and sizes surrounding you, it is hard to tell how much time has passed.

The white mist keeps growing thicker as you keep going, covering the ground beneath. You can barely see your own legs as every step you take going forward seems to be engulfed in the peculiar mist as you get deeper into the forest. This has been going on for a while, and you are beginning to wonder if you will ever find a way to get out of these thickets.

At least you have reached the part of the forest where the trees are no longer as dense as before. Yet, despite being no longer close-packed together, their sizes seem to grow significantly larger that they still fill the forest with their presence. Their thick boughs spread wider here to make up for the thinning foliage above, leaving nothing more but fractured streaks of moonlight streaming down from the night sky. Still, it barely helps you see your way through, as the white mist continues to gather thickly around your legs and is slowly climbing higher, as high as your elbows.

The forest is also quiet.

The sound of gravel, fallen branches, and dry leaves crunching beneath your boots becomes your only company. Thick bushes and tall wildflowers growing as far up to your waist are spread between the thick trees. One too many times, the tips of your boots would get tangled in them, if not coming in contact with sharp rocks that are hidden under the mist.

While none of these obstacles would be enough to tip you over, they are still enough to make you grow more cautious. To be wary of where you are stepping your foot next.

The shadows around you are still, adding the eeriness which makes you feel as if you are being swallowed by the darkness around you. The temperature is slightly colder than the darkest hallways of Stargrave. Colder than the damp alleyways of the slum area back in Smotia.

But the air also feels like a comforting embrace here that you barely feel the urge to tighten your cloak to protect yourself. How odd, indeed, you wonder to yourself as you continue to walk deeper into the forest while feeling like you are walking in a dream.

A dream that is more peculiar than the one that you have been getting lately.

Even the trees growing around you appear like parts of an eerie dream as you look closer. The trunks are thick and massive, twisted and bent in sinister shapes and appear as if they are decaying as they grow in various shades of grey. The same thing appears on the sweeping branches that seem to grow out of those giant trunks like twisted hands reaching into the darkness.

Yet those limbs don’t appear bare. Not all of them. Some of the thicker ones are full of leaves, growing in dark teal that appear almost black, yet are glowing like jewels under the night sky. The ones that are bare without leaves almost look like giant fingers, pointing out through the darkness as if they are trying to reach out to you as you walk underneath them.

Below, the undergrowth begins to grow denser. With more bushes and rough hedges thickly covering the ground, high grass reaching almost to your knees and small tree buds popping from between the giant ones. The flower beds grow more scarce around here that the forest now appears to your eyes in monochrome colours of grey and deep teal.

A rustling sound coming from somewhere nearby catches your attention—sounding almost like a clear snap against the silence that has befriended you—and you come to a sudden halt. The sudden shift of movements brings your sling bag swinging forward, knocking against the back of your calves. The weight of the books inside the bag adds an extra punch as it swings along your body, while the weight of your cloak tries to drag you sideways with it when it falls around you.

“Ouch,” you hiss at the sudden impact while adjusting your sling bag and straightening up before gravity has the chance to bring you down.

The rustling sound continues, causing you to grow more alert this time. Spinning, you search for the sound. Scanning through the trees around you isn’t helping much, however. The foliage is still too dense, the space around you is still too dark, and it is making it hard for you to determine where the sound is coming from. So you wait, all while doing your best to grasp the change in the air and force yourself to listen to any other noises that may follow.

A gust of wind bursting through the foliage makes you realise that the sounds may not be coming from anywhere around you. Nowhere close, for sure, as you see no movement in the dark even when the wind breezes across once more.

It’s coming from above.

The thought soon registers in your mind just as a blip of darkness steals away the barely-there moonlight penetrating through the thick foliage from above. You look up, drawn by your curiosity when another rustle of leaves, followed by a burst of cold breeze, lures your attention to the night sky.

And that is when you see it as it happens right before your eyes.

Beyond the top of the trees reaching so far up high to the night sky, something massive passes above you. Flapping its giant wings with leisure, it glides across the starry sky, covering the ground below with its shadow before it disappears from sight as it continues its journey.

It isn’t until another passes by with the same motion, and then another, drifting in the air so gracefully that it almost feels like you are still dreaming when you begin to understand what you are seeing.

Dragons.

A wave of cold shivers runs through your body. Before you realise what you are doing, you are already moving. Your legs are unsteady, yet they still carry you forward, even if your steps may be a little too haste. Navigating through the thick woods will surely be a hassle, particularly in this unfamiliar darkness and while you are trying to catch up with the movements of the dragons flying above.

But you refuse to give up.

You refuse to let go of any chance to get a better look at these magnificent beasts that you had only seen pictures of in the books you have read—more significantly, in the book that you are carrying now inside your bag—and you wish to see more of the place where these giant beasts truly exist.

With one hand clutching tightly on the sling of your bag and the other wrapped firmly around the handle of the golden dagger that you keep hanging on your hip, you march forward, following the cold trail of wind left behind by the flying dragons.

You keep your gaze forward, with only short glances to the sky above to look as a few more dragons come flying by. Some are much smaller than the ones you saw before, a few more that look to be average in size, and then the last and largest one glides across the sky, shaking the trees around you with each flap of its giant wings.

So you begin to run.

Racing through the twisted and bent trees, you try to keep up with those dragons before you lose sight of them The snapping sounds of your rapid footsteps crossing through the undergrowth coming in your way follow you, yet they are barely noticeable when the air is filled with the sounds of their flights—the flaps of their wings, the gentle swish of their tails, and their staggering roars and high-pitched calls as they get further away from the woods.

You ignore the slight pain you feel as bare, low-hanging branches reach out to you like bony fingers—snagging your cloak and hair, snapping and nicking at your skin. Yet not once do you falter, not even allowing yourself to slow down when running out of breath. And you continue to run until you finally reach the end of the woods.

The trees open up to a spread of high grass which ends with a wall of low boulders merely several feet away, right where the levelled land ends before it drops into what appears to be a ravine.

You look up, following the movements of the last dragons as they glide above the wide length of the chasm, heading towards the tall mountain on the other end. Right atop that mountain, you see the sight of an old castle appearing in the darkness, its walls rising in dark stones that glimmer under the stars and the moonlight shining from above. Built to look like it serves as the crown of the mountain, the castle seems to blend into the rocky cliff below.

Much like the Stargrave Castle.

The only difference is that your new home doesn’t have giant dragons of all sizes, shapes, and colours flying around it in a circular motion as if they are worshipping it. As if they are protecting their home.

Gaping at the astonishing sight before you, your breath is caught. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat getting louder as you watch the last dragon you followed joining the others circling the castle on the rocky mountain. The sounds of their calls echo through the night. Like a birdsong.

Speechless, you can only admire this sight in silence with goosebumps rising on your skin. You simply cannot believe it.

You know exactly where you are.

E'l Alora.

The dragons’ lair.

The place that you had just learned and read about from the book that is now weighing down your sling bag—the Encyclopaedia of Ancient Monsters and Magic Beasts. The book which tells you about the monsters of the night that you are now seeing right before your eyes.

This place is real, you muse, finding yourself moving forward before realising it as if you are drawn by the sight of dragons—real dragons—flying so elegantly in the dark sky.

You stop by the boulders, and a cold shiver rushes through your body as you get a closer look at the ravine before you. The widespread of chasm that looks like a dark void, separating you from the mountain and its glimmering black castle standing on its crown.

But as you lean forward to take a good look down below, you are caught by surprise at what you find hidden down there. Instead of seeing a massive fall of rocky walls ending into an abyss, you can see that there is life. Life other than the dragons.

A civilization growing on the walls.

Houses and buildings are built into the rocky mountain wall, levelling from the highest part of the wall to the lowest section down below, with long-winding streets and ramps connecting one to the other. A shadow of a bridge appears in the darkest part of the ravine, crossing between the town on the wall to the foot of the cliff far beneath the dragons’ castle.

And just like how the rocky mountain across the ravine is now lively with those giant dragons floating in the sky, the town below you is wide awake. There are lights everywhere, illuminating the town as they are set alight from the buildings and homes, and there are streetlights standing on the edge of the road, allowing you to see everything from up high.

You can see the people from the town moving in and out of those buildings, strolling up and down the streets, with carriages and carts led by massive horses driving on the streets like what you see in any regular towns. And they all seem to be going about their evening as if it is just any normal night.

As if having giant dragons flying in the sky is a normal occurrence to have in their everyday lives.

Drawn by your curiosity, you follow the path from the top of the hill which you are stranded in that leads you towards the bustling town below. With the hood of your cloak pulled up neatly back in place, your hands clutching the sling of your bag and your dagger sheathed nicely against your hip, you ready yourself to continue your adventure.

To get a closer look at this odd town, to meet the residents you see finishing their nightly activities, and hopefully, learn more about how they are able to live peacefully alongside the magnificent beasts gathering close by, with nothing more but the deep chasm separating them from one another.

The human town of E’l Alora was already a breathtaking sight to look at from the top of the cliff. But nothing beats being at the center of it where you can have a closer look at everything.

Houses, apartments, shops, and other buildings built with dark-coloured stones reflecting the moonlight seem to be blending into the rocky walls. They appear as if they manifested from the cliff walls on the side of the ravine instead of being built against it. Some buildings are several stories high, with open staircases and balconies made up of muted grey-coloured stones, allowing the darker facade of the building to stand out more. Some houses are built low enough that they seem to sink into the rocky walls, with rocks carved in slates to form structures and roofs framing each house.

The stone-covered road looks sturdy, smoothed nicely to follow each dent and curve of the ravine walls as it connects each house and building. As you walk down the road and finally get a good look at it from up close, you notice that some of the stones seem to sparkle and glitter, as if there are broken pieces of diamonds or gemstones implanted into the stones.

Being in the town means you are not only getting the first look at the townspeople—most of whom are still doing their routines and working even as the night is growing late and the sky darker—but you are also getting a closer look at the flying dragons above. You can even feel the hard whoosh coming down between the draft of wind each time a dragon flaps its giant wing.

It amazes you to see that while you are marvelling at this new experience with wonder, the townspeople you come across seem to be more nonchalant about the presence of these giant beasts. Even when the dragons are so close, flying right above their town, sometimes gliding lower than the others as if to have a closer look at the town and their neighbours.

Strange how they can simply carry on with their evening, with only a small few of them who would occasionally glance up with fond smiles on their faces as they watch the dragons gliding closer.

To say that you are completely stunned to be able to witness this seems like an understatement. A glorious shudder runs through you when you realise how privileged you are to be experiencing something like this.

Something that you would have never come across had you not been gifted the chance through your father’s magic.

Sighing deeply, you lean back in your seat, your eyes never wandering away from the open window beside you as you continue to look out and enjoy the scenery. You had continued walking until you reached the town square before you finally stumbled into this place; a three-story building divided into three different functions—a small tavern on the ground level, rented rooms on the second floor, and a private apartment on the top floor.

You have found the tavern as the perfect place to find shelter, while earning you the front seat of what is currently unfolding in this town. This part of the town is built on a section of the wall which extends toward the center of the ravine, getting you a bit closer to the foot of the mountain where the castle is built.

Staring out at the dark castle standing atop the mountain, with your book about dragons lying on your lap, your mind wanders to the one person you cannot help but wish to accompany you right now.

You wonder what it would have been like if only Yoongi had been here, sitting in this dimly lit room together with you, his sharp eyes watching every movement coming from the dragons. You wonder what kind of stories he would be sharing with you, or what type of jokes he would be throwing at you had he seen you looking flabbergasted the first time you arrived in this place.

It is really hard not to think about Yoongi at times like this, although you cannot say that you understand the reason why. It’s not like you have known him for your entire life and so deeply that he would be the first to come to your mind while you are travelling across realms.

Yet he haunts your mind in every second that you breathe. Always coming into your thoughts either when you are feeling lonely or when you find yourself lost in a strange place.

The way Yoongi constantly preoccupies your mind makes you believe that you are seeing his shadows everywhere you look. Never missing the trails left behind to show you that he may have stepped foot in the places that you are visiting.

It happened to you back in Aeris, when you saw the crest of The Brotherhood of Jorn stamped in various places you came across—on the bulletin boards, on the streetlight poles, and some on the walls of the back alleys. You have been seeing the same thing here ever since you first entered the human town of E’l Alora, when you caught sight of the same crest stamped and painted on the gates and announcement boards that the townspeople use to put up the local news, even on the walls of a few of the establishments that you walked pass by while heading to this place.

Even here, right in this tavern, you can see the same crest marked on the wall across the room, where a long table is set as if it was prepared specifically to hold a group meeting.

“We leave our crests in places where we often use as our rendezvous spots. Places for us to recoup, gather information, find work, or have a little downtime between our expeditions. The crest is a mark of our trail, showing our gratitude for the people who welcome us, and the people that we owe our strength to. It also lets them know that they can rely on the brotherhood whenever they need us.”

Yoongi shared this when you talked about seeing his crest everywhere you went. You can almost picture it now in your head, the mercenaries wearing various armours and disguises gathering on that same table, Yoongi amongst them, boasting about their journeys while sharing drinks and hot meals as they gather at that long table.

As always, thinking of Yoongi makes you smile. Even better when you imagine listening to him speak. You love how deeply he often speaks about the things that he brings up in your conversations, even when he is discussing something as benign as the weather. Often with a smug smile on his face when he talks about all the things you have no knowledge of.

You wonder what he would say if you had the chance to share the things that you have been learning for the past week—how much you have advanced in controlling your energy and mana and making use of it in exchange for your locked magic. You wonder how he would react if you share with him what you have recently learned from Lord Gordan—about the true nature of your skills that you may have inherited from your mother.

Would he somehow recognise the skill, or maybe he would be able to reveal who you are based on this peculiar skill alone?

Knowing how knowledgeable he is about magic and everything else related to this realm, you wouldn’t be too surprised if he ever learned about your mother. There is a sense of unease when you think about it, however, to think of the possibility that he may know more about your mother and your heritage than you do.

Thinking of Yoongi takes you back to the day before, when you came to the city of Aeris. Your findings of the Mage City and its spectacular perks seem to be pushed to the sidelines whenever the cloaked figure you saw that day comes to mind.

Looking back, you wonder if your desire to see Yoongi again has grown so strong that it is taking over your sanity. You were quite sure that the figure had spent a brief moment standing right outside of the magic shop. His presence a lurking shadow in the bright city, watching your movements while you were in the shop.

Chasing him was an instinct that you couldn’t resist to follow. Drawn entirely by your curiosity, and perhaps the dire need to see if it had been the one you desired to see the most, only to be led into a futile chase through the city.

Regret still follows you to this day, only because losing his trail in the bustling city square had left you with no answer. Nothing to stop you from wondering why that figure had felt so familiar to your eyes.

At least your trip hadn’t ended with you coming home from the Mage City completely empty-handed.

The shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe had been kind enough to wait for your return. She asked no questions when you came back to the shop, simply welcoming you back with a smile before helping you purchase the spell book which she had gone to fetch for you. The same spell book which had later taken away a few hours you had late in the night as you spent it reading the pages.

Cold breeze flows through the open window, pulling your wandering mind back to present. It pushes against the void that has been growing in your chest from Yoongi’s absence, causing your entire body to tremble.

As you reach out to grab your discarded cloak to find some semblance of warmth, a large cup of hot steaming drink manifests in front of your eyes. It lands with a soft thud when placed on the table before you. The scent of fresh herbs mixed with spice and rum fills your senses, warming your chest before you even have a taste.

“Here you go. This should help warm you up. It’s a specialty of ours in this town,” says the tavern keeper as he stands to the side of your table.

Lord Merryl—as he introduced himself to you earlier when he first approached you to offer you shelter—is a tall and built man who is only slightly taller than Lord Gordan, with greying hair that grows as long as his shoulders and a thin dark beard dusted in grey covering his sharp jaw.

Thinking about how you met previously warms your cheeks. You must have seemed like a lost puppy when you walked past the tavern earlier, your eyes wandering around as you tried to take everything in while figuring out where to go. When Lord Merryl first came to you and invited you into his establishment, he did so in the most gentle way that one would do to offer a safe shelter for a stray getting lost in a strange town.

Looking back at it now, you realise that he wasn’t the only one who had given you a friendly welcome.

When you first walked into the town, you had expected that the magic inside your necklace would take effect, shielding you from others. Yet, aside from the soft hum still following you through the vibrating ruby amulet, nothing else happened. Bereft of the usual warmth of its protective spell, it simply clung onto you with its lightweight pressing on your skin.

It didn’t seem to matter, however, when instead of gaining accusing stares and cold shoulders from the townspeople that you met, you only received warm smiles and kind greetings. There were even some who came up to you, giving you directions and showing you where to go, until you finally reached the town square where Lord Merryl found you.

It makes you smile just thinking about it. To realise how good it feels not to be invisible.

Murmuring your gratitude, you pick up the cup and take a dainty sip. A voluntary hum slips out of you as the warmth spreads through your body, instantly calming your senses and washing away your weariness. “This is lovely.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl’s lips rise to a smile of pride. “I meant it when I said I would have the perfect ale to soothe your mind.”

You cannot help but laugh as you recall him saying those words when he first came to you earlier. “Yes,” you nod, “I suppose you’ve only proven your words to be true.”

Releasing a deep sigh, you embrace the warmth now coursing through your body. Turning back to look out the window, you can feel your body relaxing as you continue taking in the view and doing some more people—and dragon—watching.

The town indeed feels lively with the townspeople walking up and down the street, some lingering in the town square to enjoy their downtime while others are still working in their shops and the open establishments that are visible from where you are sitting. The sounds of their muted chatters and faint laughter fill the night as they greet each other upon passing by. You can see small groups of people sharing friendly conversations on the side of the street, and there is a faint sound of musical strings echoing from somewhere down the road.

Street musicians, you wonder with a smile. A town really couldn’t go without one present.

At one glance, this place does seem like any other town you’ve been to. And it would’ve been that way if not for the fact that there are dozens or more dragons flying above their heads right now, their high trills and calls echoing through the ravine, causing your chest to tremble along with the noises they are making.

“Quite a remarkable view to see, isn’t it? Sometimes one can forget how uncommon our lives are because we’ve gotten so used to this, until we remember that not all in this realm can experience living in a place like our home,” Lord Merryl muses as he notices how you keep following the dragons’ movements with your gaze.

You simply cannot help it, after all. Unable to look away from the mythical beings that you have always believed to be a part of a myth, or Ancient creatures that should no longer exist in this more modern time.

And they are quite a sight to look at.

Most of the dragons have stopped circling around the dark castle a while ago, leaving only a couple of the larger ones flying up there as if keeping a close watch of their territory. You can see the shadows of the ones who are now perched on the towers and the rise of the wall around the castle from afar, while you see some of the smaller ones now flying close to the human town, floating in and out of the ravine, allowing you to have a clearer view whenever they glide right over the town square.

You are beginning to understand the reason why Lord Merryl had given you the seat by the window when you first came in. The place in his establishment which allows you to have the perfect view of the town and its special perks. He must have noticed how mesmerised you were with the sight of the dragons, unable to resist glancing back up at them while you were walking down the street, making you look vulnerable, lost, and—quite understandably—disoriented.

“I’ve learned quite a bit about E’l Alora and its dragons, yet the book that I’ve read so far had insinuated that this place was a sacred land which only existed in Ancient times. So please excuse my disbelief and ignorance which you may have seen for yourself when I first arrived here,” you share with him while pasting a smile, leaving out the fact that you have only been reading the book today.

It wouldn’t matter if you had spent all afternoon studying all the facts and myths about this place from your book, getting lost in the tales and the history of dragons. You had only stopped when the untranslated texts at the end pages caught your eyes, leading you to carry the book out of the library to study them more despite having been forbidden to do so.

What little information written in the textbook about this place hadn’t been enough to prepare you for what you have found so far. Which means that there are bound to be more secrets about this place waiting to be unveiled.

“It was already a pleasant surprise to find that this place exists, much less to find out that even the dragons still live here, right where their home castle still stands. Still so marvellous and grand.” Your body shivers, feeling the excitement building up as you think about what other things you may find simply by being here.

“But what’s more surprising for me to find is that there are mortals living here, in a town that looks like it had manifested from the mountain, and that there is a peaceful life shared here between the mortals and these magnificent dragons.”

There is a pride smile on the tavern keeper’s face when you look at him again. “This is the life that we’ve all known for centuries,” Lord Merryl claims as he takes the seat at the table, right across from you. “The dragons protect us, and we protect the dragons.”

Eyes widening, you straighten up in your seat, intrigued to hear more. Seeing firsthand the way the townspeople and dragons together has already shown you how special and different E’l Alora is compared to many other places you have been to. But to hear about how directly connected they truly are as they share the same land to live in is quite an intriguing fact for you to learn.

“Most of the people who live in this town are miners and artisans, but there are also knights and fighters—” He stops and looks over his shoulder as a small dragon floats by. You can see through the window the people who stop on the street to wave. At first glance, you think for a moment that they are waving at the midnight-coloured dragon who seems to be making a show as it circles back and makes another pass, until you see a shadow riding on its back, just as Lord Merryl gently adds, “—and riders.”

You take a double look at the dragon as it shoots back up, flying higher up the mountain, carrying the rider—wearing all black from head to toe—along with it. “You—ride those dragons?” you ask with a soft gasp, which has the Lord chuckling softly.

“Only the chosen ones do,” he says with a grin. “Every mortal living in this town, men and women, train their whole lives to ride and fight alongside the dragons to protect this land. When they officially come of age, those who are trained will be tested, and those who pass the test will be bonded with the dragon so they can become the dragons’ riders.”

“Tested? By whom?”

Lord Merryl’s eyes crease a little on each corner when he smiles. “The dragons themselves, of course. They choose their riders.”

“H-how? How do the dragons choose their partners?”

“The Dragon King and his court rule the land to this day, and they set up the rules which made bonding between a human and dragon possible to happen. The Dragon King rules from his home castle. Together with his court, he leads the ceremony where a rider is chosen by inviting the chosen ones to the King’s castle,” he explains with a slight nod towards the castle above.

Tilting your head, you try to picture a whole court testing out the chosen townspeople to find the right person to ride a certain dragon. Throwing a quick glance at the dark castle above, you are beginning to understand why the dragons seem to consider the property as their home.

“When a dragon requires a rider, whether it is because the dragon itself has come to age or if their previous rider has passed their time—be it from old age or if they have passed on—the King’s court will summon a few selected candidates for a new rider and have them tested, both physically and mentally, in front of the court and the dragon that is to become their partner.”

Leaning back, you can feel your jaw setting into a hard line, something that you have to do to keep your mouth from gaping in awe. “Sounds like a rigorous process. And you said that the riders have many years of training?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Lord Merryl nods again. “You are correct. Becoming a rider of the dragons is an important task for us. It gives us a purpose in life and a privilege to care for our land.”

You cannot help but smile, because it does sound like a privilege to bond with these Ancient beings. To be trusted enough to work alongside them.

“And what happens when one isn’t chosen? Or does that not happen, since you said everyone had to be prepared for it?”

“The rest of us run the town,” he says, nodding out the window where you can see the people lounging around the small patch of garden at the center of the town square. You only notice now upon closer observation that each person wears proper attire showing their roles in this town—shopkeepers, waitresses, and a few people who look like physicians and scholars.

“Sometimes, we even get work in the castle to serve the Dragon King as he is very, very old,” he says with his grin deepening when he takes in your reaction, “or they can serve the Ancient Gods and the Moon as the priests and priestesses, even though not many of us pray at the temples nowadays.”

“What about you? Are you also a rider?”

“I used to,” he answers with a gentle voice. The pride you see in his eyes seems genuine. Only this time, there is a hint of longing in them. A reminiscence of the past that he misses the most. “I was for a long time, and then I retired once I was too old to be up there in the sky, and Alastair, my dragon, chose my oldest son to replace me.”

Unable to hide your astonishment, you let your smile grow as you picture him up there, flying with his dragon. “Does that happen a lot—to have someone who is your kin to replace your position?”

“Only with the ones who are deeply bonded with their riders, and I’ve become bonded with Alastair after riding with him for a long time. I was only eighteen when I was chosen, so it felt like I grew into adulthood with him by my side.” He briefly looks out the window with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he is looking into the past that has been engraved in his memory.

“But it didn’t mean that my son had it easy,” he continues with a chuckle. “He still had to go through the same tests to earn Alastair’s trust. Alastair is quite an old dragon himself. Winning his trust was a hard feat and my son had to prove his worth in front of the court until Alastair was pleased enough to bond with him.”

Just then, two dragons glide across the ravine. One has scales in the shade of purplish-black and the other dark tan. The latter looks slightly smaller than the other. Neither has a rider on them, yet the bigger one has something similar to a horse saddle attached on its back, almost blending into their scales.

Another question sparks through your mind as your curiosity grows. “But where do you ride these dragons to?”

“The knights will journey with the dragons to patrol around the mountains, keeping this place and its castle safe from harm. Some will go flying across the nearby lands that are still under E’l Alora’s territory in search of resources, while others fly with them down there,” Lord Merryl replies, tilting his head towards the ravine.

Your brows immediately rise. “What—down into the ravine?”

Lord Merryl seems to enjoy seeing your expression when you are left in shock and he chuckles deeply. “Inside that dark ravine are mines—lots of them. Most of the ones who are chosen to ride the dragons are miners, while some others become knights who serve to protect our land and its people,” he explains.

”The dragons who work alongside the miners will fly us down there and lend us their powers to open up the mines, dig through the rough terrains, fly our workers into the deep to gain the resources found deep within the mountains, and then bring our quarries back to the surface.”

While your mouth drops open, he continues, “These mines were discovered many centuries ago by our ancestors—mages and elves who built their homes here in the mountains. The same ancestors who first built a deep connection with the dragons. They taught us how to maintain the mines without ruining the mountains and communicate with the dragons so we can nurture this land and the mountains together for both our gains.”

“Mines?” You try to picture it in your mind, an elaborate mining system hidden in the depth of the chasm. Something which your book has failed to mention. “And what do you gain from these mines?

Lord Merryl leans forward onto the table just then, waving out the window as an open carriage passes by down the street. Its driver, sitting on the front bunk with his hands on the horse’s rein waves back. His gloves are tainted in black—a similar shade to the pile of minerals filling the back of the carriage to the brim.

“Minerals, like iron ores and other metals that are then made into weapons and armours. Stones to build our homes and the streets we have here in town. And various kinds of gemstones.” He settles back in his seat, his gaze falling onto the ruby amulet hanging from your neck. “Just like the one you are wearing now.”

Startled, your hand comes up to your necklace. The ruby amulet hasn’t been giving you any obvious reaction since you got into town, yet it seems to shimmer under the soft lights illuminating the tavern.

“These mines are the reason why this town exists. It shapes the lives of the people here. Those not chosen as riders will also work to develop the quarries we gain from the mines and make a business out of selling the raw materials and the goods that come out of them. We have blacksmiths working on the iron and metals, builders processing the stones, and artisans working on the gemstones. We often trade goods with other cities, so that might be where you had gotten your stone from.”

Your mind travels back to Aeris, remembering how you have found different kinds of goods which were made of materials that you have never seen before. Weapons and armouries made of irons that are unbreakable and highly resistant to flame and magic attacks. Leather goods which appeared almost as if they were made of materials similar to the skin of the flying dragons. Amulets made with gemstones and metals that the shopkeepers claimed to have been ‘acquired from esteemed sources’ which would be able to be imbued with any kind of magic and spells.

Running the tips of your fingers across your necklace, your mind travels back to the shopkeeper of l'Équinoxe, reminding you of what she said to you about the necklace.

“Seems like your necklace was crafted many years ago, and the ruby is a specific kind of gemstone that is rarely found nowadays in modern cities like ours.”

Clearing your throat, you cannot help but ask, “How old do these dragons get, if I may ask?”

“They live a very long age. The Dragon King has lived almost as old as the Ancient beings you read in your books. Alastair was born around the same time my great-great-grandfather came to this world,” he fondly speaks about his former partner. “There are older dragons that are still around, and young ones—as young as my youngest. More dragons are still being born in the present day, even though they are born a few years or decades in between.”

It would have been hard to imagine if you hadn’t seen them with your own eyes—the different sizes that the dragons appear in seem to determine their ages, which are also so clearly discernible from the lines and ridges of the skin and the sizes of their horns.

“That’s truly remarkable.”

Your gaze meets with one of the locals who is walking past by the window looking in. Wearing a thin, dark-coloured chest armour marks him as one of the knights that Lord Merryl had mentioned. He greets you with a short nod which you return with a smile.

“You said that you haven’t gotten a lot of visitors lately. Don’t travellers often come by here?” you ask Lord Merryl, even if deep down, you can already guess what his answer would be.

It would have been hard for a place like E’l Alora to be kept secret, forgotten, except for the stories and myths that have been written in the books. Not when they are still producing matters and goods that are spread within this realm. “What happens when you need to trade your goods? Your products? How do you provide for the people?”

Lord Merryl grows silent, but it appears that your question had amused him dearly, judging from the glint you see in your eyes. “I’ve had a feeling that you aren’t just any regular traveller,” he surmises with a smile. “You seem to know more about what it takes to manage your people.”

This is quite unexpected. It’s not often that you are made to feel like you are being stripped down, of being forced to reveal the truth behind your disguise as an anonymous traveller. The only times you ever felt this way were during those moments you came face to face with Yoongi, when he seemed to be able to look through your facade. For him to look deep enough that you felt seen.

“Sometimes one can learn so much through the experiences and the people they encounter in their journey,” you find yourself answering.

Which isn’t a complete lie. Throughout the weeks you spent exploring new places through the portals, you have learned much more than what you are taught under your tutors’ guidance.

“That is the reason why I travel to different places in the first place,” you continue to admit, both to yourself and your kind host, “You can say that I’ve been going to places in search of knowledge. Anything that I can bring home and make use to guide me through life.”

“Speaking like a true intellectual.” Lord Merryl lets out a deep chuckle. “You have earned my most respect, young, mysterious scholar.”

Having no idea what to say to that, you simply laugh it off.

“It has been long since outsiders come to visit us. For leisure, that is,” Lord Merryl continues after a beat of silence passes. “A long, long time ago, this used to be a prosperous land. E’l Alora was highly regarded not only as the dragons’ lair, but a small kingdom ruled by the Dragon King, notorious for his powers, magic, and old wisdom left behind by the Ancient beings who created the realm. His knowledge, together with the treasures hidden in the mountains, were all parts of the legacy left behind by our ancestors.”

“What happened?”

Lord Merryl lets out a sigh. “Have you learned about the war?”

Your back stiffens as your mind works hard to file through everything you have learned so far.

It wouldn’t be wrong for you to assume that he is talking about a war happening in this fairy-tale realm, a topic that you are still learning from your tutors. But for some reason, those lessons aren’t the ones running through your thoughts right now. What comes to mind instead is the only story of the war that you spent your entire teenage years learning back at the Citadel.

The history behind the rise of Nythelean Empire.

You recall the story which spoke of how your father survived the fall of his previous empire, how he managed to move his family, his army, and his people to safety. How he found shelter beyond the Elcester Forest—which you have learned to be one of the few hidden passageways connecting both realms—and under the protection of Mount Orrum, to later use the rough terrain of the mountains to defeat his enemies.

A narrow victory which left a deep wound in your father’s soul as it came with a price—losing his home and the one person he loved the most.

You are beginning to suspect that the old war may have something to do with this magical place, knowing what you know now, that Stargrave is still a part of Nythelean’s territory. There are still so many things that you have yet to learn, so many to unravel if you truly want to know more about your true home and your legacy, but so little time has been given for you to catch up with what you have missed.

“Not much of what was left from the old times, I’m afraid,” you admit while wondering inwardly, especially nothing about the wars happening in this realm. “Nothing more than what I’ve read in the books, which I’m sure has been made distorted enough through the years that followed.”

A nod. He doesn’t question you further before finally sharing his story. A small part of history still unbeknownst to you.

“It was many decades ago when the war erupted in this part of the realm, affecting only the sacred lands and kingdoms that worshipped the moon and its magic. The war was known to be the Great Siege, when a small kingdom suddenly grew strong enough to rise into an empire, and challenged other—older—empires to kneel before them. They came to siege many sacred lands, places built by the Ancient beings that we all know to be our ancestors, to take and conquer as much land as they could.”

Lord Merryl’s eyes are filled with grief and sorrow that you feel guilty for making him talk about the past. But at the same time, you want to take this chance to learn more about this place. And perhaps, you can learn more about the history that you have never studied before.

“Must I assume the war reached this land also?”

Lord Merryl nods. “Indeed,” he says. “At first, we had no reason to join the war, as we never had any direct connection or alliance with other kingdoms, until they came pushing at our borders, demanding us to submit to their king.” He grits his jaw tightly with anger as he speaks of their old enemy, and you can feel the pure rage coming out of him.

“The Dragon King refused to stand down, and neither did the people living here, so we defended our land the best we could. Many dragons had fallen during that war, so did the humans who fought alongside the dragons to protect this land.”

Just then, his expression seems to shift. The deep, sorrowful grief is still there, but there is a hint of pride and longing in his eyes as he talks about those moments during the war. You had seen this same look before, when your father talked about your mother and the old days he spent together with you and your mother when life was peaceful and free.

“We fought our best, and while we didn’t come out as victors, once the war ceased, any direct connection we had with the outer world was severed at the hands of the Dragon King and his court,” Lord Merryl continues, “it was his way of protecting his homeland, what was left of his kingdom, and the dragons and the people surviving the war.”

As you continue to listen, something about what he just said tickles your brain, making you wonder what it is about his story which puts you in such unease. Something about it felt quite familiar, yet you cannot seem to put your finger to remember how.

“Ever since then, E’l Alora became nothing more but a myth. The dragons who fought the war and the surviving ones you see now are known as mythical beasts that only exist in your history books and old scriptures, believed to have been extinct after the war.”

Just like how it was portrayed in the book, you bitterly wonder, as your fingers curl around the hardcover of the book that you have on your lap, while Lord Merryl’s eyes glimmer in anguish. “When in reality, they still exist, surviving, protecting their home and their people, keeping themselves in this dark, secluded place for as long as they need to be.”

His voice then shifts into a more hopeful tone as he carries on. “We do whatever we can to survive through the shift of time, just as you expected we would, for us to sustain our way of living,” Lord Merryl says with a teasing tone, drawing a smile to your face. “Our farms aren’t as vast or as prosperous as others, but we make what we do with the limited resources that are hidden beyond these mountains.”

As Lord Merryl nods towards the rocky mountains across the ravine, you finally understand what he meant earlier when he spoke about the dragons and their riders going around the land beyond the mountains. You picture them exploring beyond those rocky peaks to a land of green that is hidden from view, filled with crops and other sustenance for the townspeople of E’l Alora.

“We also have our local merchants who would travel in and out of the territory through a hidden route that only the townspeople know about as they make trades of our products with goods from other places beyond the borders. Most of our remaining neighbours and alliances are loyal when it comes to keeping us hidden, making sure our trade wouldn’t risk our secret from spreading out. That is how we are surviving today.”

With another nod, he points at the crest that you kept on looking at earlier. The insignia left behind by The Brotherhood of Jorn. “The only outsiders that we have ever welcomed so far are the mercenaries. We have some of our former knights and dragon-riders-to-be who decided to join the mercenary army to travel to different places while helping us to keep up with what has been going on in the realm. They also act as the middlemen between us and the outer world, allowing us to keep our home hidden from any sort of threat from outside our borders.”

Looking at the crest, you are beginning to see them in a new light. The stories and rumours that you have once heard from your father’s men continue to echo through your head whenever you look at them. But now, it feels like you are looking at a different side of the mercenary group which many others may not have been able to see.

“Aside from these trusted people, the townspeople aren’t exactly easy to trust strangers. Even those who knew anything about this place and dared enough to travel this far wouldn’t be so bold to enter a territory filled with cautious townspeople, much less living dragons.”

“I—but I didn’t see all of that when I first got here,” you admit to him as you recall the way they had all treated you when you first entered the town. “The townspeople I’ve come across with have been quite friendly. Even though I did catch some who seemed wary of my presence and kept their distance, there weren’t so many that would have made me feel unsafe or uncomfortable.”

Chuckling softly, the man nods his head. “That’s just how our people are, perhaps. Most of us still retain the same hospitality we had in the past, or perhaps the long period of time we spent living in solitude has made us long to have a connection to the outer world which we’ve lost.”

In a way, you can see it. Your own experience of living in constant hiding, years spent in a life similar to being hidden in a shroud, has made you long for something similar. Had that been the reason why you felt so connected with Yoongi since the first time you met him? Because you were so lonely that his presence instantly filled the void that you harboured inside?

“But most of us are adequate judges of characters. So do the dragons, in fact. If anyone sensed that you came bringing danger with you, then you wouldn’t have been welcomed with such hospitality.” A pause, and his gaze suddenly drifts down, stopping at your necklace. “Your necklace may have also turned to your favour in finding your way to our homeland. Just as I mentioned, the gemstone looks like one acquired from our mines. For us, it would be easy to recognise something that was obtained from our land.”

On instinct, your hand moves to grab onto your amulet. Its glow reflecting on Lord Merryl’s face, which seems to be the reason why his attention keeps being drawn to it. “You think that the necklace guided me here?”

He slowly nods. “I’d like to believe that there may be forces leading you to find a way to this place. For what reason, that is yet to be determined,” he says with a gentle smile, while your mind wanders back to how you found the magic door the first time.

Looking back to it now, you realise that there is no such thing as a coincidence that the door revealed its true form when you passed by the hall earlier. You wonder what kind of force played a hand in you finding this place, to be following the trail that leads you to where your magic necklace seems to have come from.

The same way you did when you found your way to Aeris.

Lord Merryl’s gaze lingers on your necklace while you are in deep thought. His voice draws you back to him when he muses, “That necklace—must have been something special for you.”

Twisting the ruby amulet between your fingers, a tiny wave of grief washes over you. “It’s—it was handed down to me by my mother.” The only thing of hers that you get to keep, you realise as sadness fills the cavity in your chest. “I was made to promise to keep it in my person every time I am to leave home. It was said that the necklace is meant to protect me.”

Looking up, you are surprised to see a slight change happening in Lord Merryl’s gaze. There is something there for a moment. A look which reminds you of the way Lord Gordan looked the last time you talked to him about your mother—recognition, longing, mixed with a hint of sorrow.

“Perhaps protection isn’t the only thing that has been ingrained in your necklace,” he says, just as that ineffable look in his eyes fades before you get to find the meaning behind it. “Some amulets can serve as a guide, showing you which directions to take and helping you to find what it is that you are searching for in need be.”

“That is possible,” you whisper. “That’s right. In this realm, anything is possible.”

Even the impossible, you wonder, as you marvel at how peculiar your life has been ever since you crossed the realm.

Silence falls between you for a brief moment, until a movement catches your attention and your eyes drift towards the open window again. Just as the old, largest dragon that had guided you here earlier suddenly appears, gliding gracefully across the chasm at a slow, leisurely pace.

From this close distance, you get to see the details of its midnight-black scale and the row of pointed horns framing its head, going back to its spine and then disappearing across its long swishing tail. Its crimson eyes are widely opened, almost as if it has sensed your presence and is now trying to find you among the mortals living in this town.

But when the dragon circles back and slows down almost to a halt right in front of the tavern, its gaze flickering to where Lord Merryl is sitting, your lips tip up to a smile.

“Alastair?”

Lord Merryl chuckles softly as he nods, greeting the giant dragon who responds to his former rider with a deep, long trill before he then takes flight. The flap of his wings sends a wave of thick dust across the town square and onto the tavern’s walls, drawing a series of laughter from the people who are lounging outside.

“He got curious and came by to say hello,” Lord Merryl says with a deep chuckle while sounding like he is talking about an old friend that he dearly respects and cares for the most. His smile widens when you softly laugh along with him. It makes you feel giddy on the inside, completely amused that the mighty dragon has chosen to acknowledge your presence in his home.

Last night, your dream brought you to a different place.

Instead of finding yourself standing on the top of a cliff, looking down at a thriving land of greens with crystal-like rivers and posh structures in white, you saw yourself walking up a hill covered with a widespread of green grass.

Perched gracefully atop the verdant hill is a temple that appeared almost twice as high as the local churches you had often seen in the capital city of Smotia. With structures built from bone-coloured stones, the temple appeared like a sculpture of light under the cerulean sky.

In your dream, you were as barefoot as always as you walked the winding path leading towards the entrance of the temple. Flanked by whispering trees and blooming wildflowers, their vibrant hues appeared as muted as the sunlight warming your skin.

Approaching the temple, you were greeted by the grand staircase covered in the same bone-coloured stones which formed the temple’s structure. Each step of stairs felt both cold and smooth under your feet as you slowly made your way up. As you came to the entrance foyer, you were welcomed by majestic columns of white lining up the halls, rising to support the roof that seemed to touch the heavens. The massive entrance door stood at the center of a stone wall adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from myth and legends—most of them you have seen depicted in your history books.

Upon entering through the threshold, you were greeted by the cool, tranquil interior and a faint scent of waning incense. The temple was empty, aside from the flickering candlelights that aligned the low dais built on each side of the walls within the grand hall.

It felt like you were drawn by an unseen force as you walked toward the center of the hall, stopping where lights filtered through from above. Looking up, you caught the sight of the dome ceiling above, made up of a thick glass that looked more like clear crystal, it allowed some sunlight to penetrate into the grand hall.

At the heart of the temple stood a grand altar draped in a layer of golden silk and adorned with garlands of fresh flowers. A marble statue of an Ancient stood at the center, surrounded by unlit candles, golden bowls filled with red wine, and golden plates filled with offerings of fruit, bread, and fragrant oils that were laid at its feet.

The walls at the far back of the hall were just as pale as the rest, yet the entire surface was covered in tapestries. Banners made of silk in pale ivory colours, each one with the symbol of the moon painted in gold in the center, insinuating that this place was where worshippers come to pray to the moon.

You tried to take another step forward, wishing to have a good look at the Ancient standing at the altar—a tall figure with long silky hair wearing the attire of a hunter, with swords attached onto either side of its hips and a set of bow and arrows hanging on its back—when a strong breeze came rushing in. It came so suddenly that you were forced to close your eyes, shutting you off from this peculiar place until the breeze faded.

Barely a minute passed as you kept your eyes closed, yet you could feel it when the world you saw slowly began to shift.

The temperature rapidly dipped. The cold breeze carried with it the same menacing scent of decay which always followed you each time these dreams ended, causing your blood to run winter-cold which had you refraining from opening your eyes.

But you rarely ever had any control of yourself—of anything at all—while you were in a dream. There was nothing stopping you from opening your eyes, to witness what had unfolded in the mere seconds that passed.

Everything that you saw previously—all the vibrant colours, the elegance that was part of this temple, and the alluring beauty which captivated you—had withered. The temple was no longer whole.

The stone pillars were now damaged and fractured in places. So did the artistic stone walls which were now filled with splinters and covered in soot. Parts of the roof were now gone, with the crystal dome partly shattered, leaving not much barrier between you and the dull-grey sky above.

The floor that had been clear and bright-coloured was now covered with dirt and dried blood, with a thin layer of fog crawling around your feet. The grandeur you saw at the altar had wilted to ruins—the flowers had dried out, the draperies and banners were charred and singed, candles were fully burned and melted, and the offerings all scattered and spilled on the floor, the bowls and plates all toppled and broken in pieces around the broken statue. The striking figure of the Ancient depicted by the statue had become shapeless, with its face chipped in multiple places and gaping fractures soiling its upper body to leave it almost completely disjointed.

Once again, you were made to witness how quick and easy it was for life to wither and wane, the unseen beauty of this unknown world fading right before your eyes, merely moments before you were pulled away to wake.

Sleep felt like nothing more but broken fragments as exhaustion weighed on you all morning since you woke up.

Not even your busy, daily routine could help get your mind out of your eerie dream when it kept returning to you whenever your mind was idle.

Fragments of last night’s dream kept coming back while Lady Laurel had you reading different passages of the books that were part of her lesson—Ancestors Of Magic, Languages Of The East, Ancients And Emperors—that would have usually piqued your interest.

Not even the etiquette and ballroom dance lessons with Lady Abigail could do much to distract you from the grim visuals of the broken temple. As someone who has known you her whole life, she didn’t miss the lack of focus that you put in her lesson that she finally gave in and sent you back to your bedchamber with her scolding,

“Rest and clear your idle mind before you hurt yourself.”

And when Lord Gordan wasn’t there for your afternoon lesson to help take your mind off of the haunting shadows of your dream, you chose not to remain in your bedchamber as advised by your governess. Instead, you stripped out of your day dress and slipped into a different attire—a pair of dark breeches and boots, with a loose tunic as your top to make it easier to move around—and marched towards the royal courtyard with your shortsword in hand, searching for a way to keep your mind from becoming idle.

Anything to keep your body and mind busy. To get the images out of your head and tire yourself out just enough so you wouldn’t dream again in the night.

Even if it meant challenging a knight or a royal guard in the middle of their sword training to have a spar with.

“You have quite an outstanding form, Your Highness,” Sir Stephan, the tan-skinned royal guard who had volunteered to be your sparring partner exclaims as he watches you return to your position after blocking his strike. “That wasn’t an easy feat to follow.”

“I told you to not underestimate me, knight,” you retort back with a smile, enjoying the adrenaline rushing through your body. It has been a while since you felt so alive, to be able to move this freely and use your entire body to its full potential the way you did when you had to practice your sword fighting with your father and his knights.

Amused, the guard’s lips twist to a smirk. “I must do well to remember not to show you such disrespect,” he says as he swings his sword back into position, showing you that he is serious.

Not that he has been taking things easy from the start.

While your arrival at the south courtyard earlier had sparked confusion and shock from the royal guards, he was the only one who didn’t look at you as if you were completely out of your mind. He was also the first to step up and volunteer when you openly asked to have a sparring session.

“I wouldn’t dare shame the royal knighthood nor Her Highness by not doing this seriously,” was his promise when you told him not to hold back, and it pleases you to see him making good on his words to you. For you to not be treated like you were made out of glass, like how other royal guards have been treating you.

Through your sparring, getting a closer look at your opponent, it didn’t take much to understand why.

At first, you recognised him as one of the royal guards who has specifically been assigned to guard you during your evening routines. With a closer look at his face and the way he swings his broadsword against your shorter one, you finally remember him as one of the guards escorting you the night you departed from the Citadel.

The same guard who slipped away from the line of escorts to fight off the unidentified figures pursuing your carriage into the Elcester Forest that night.

Your fight continues, and as he still keeps the same fortitude as he would had he been sparring against his fellow guards, you return it with all that you have.

His strikes are strong, with each clash and contact making it obvious that your sword is much lighter than the one he uses. But it doesn’t mean that you are going to make it easy for him to bring you down.

The hilt of the shortsword feels good in your hand. There is a welcomed weight in your hold as you swing it against your opponent. A presence that you hadn’t expected to be something that you have been missing the most. When you strike, your eyes are focused and your hand is firm, and you catch him by surprise when you make a quick work on your feet and make a clean swipe against him, coming close to nicking at his sharp chin before he deflects your attack with one quick swing of his sword.

A series of cheers echo from all around you as the guards witness him stumbling back. Only slightly, but enough to show that your attack is enough to rattle him.

You can tell that your sparring has gained some more audience, with the guards putting their training on hold to watch you fight one of their strongest fighters. Their voices are loud across the courtyard as they encourage the fight while taunting their comrade. It should make you feel self-conscious if only you are not too immersed in giving a good fight against the guard.

“Be careful, Stevie. Don’t want to see you lose a chance for promotion if you hurt the Princess,” you hear the captain of the guards speak from the side.

“I have a feeling that I should be the one to worry about getting hurt,” Sir Stephan jokes back to his comrade between each strike of his sword, his voice drowning under the loud clangs of the swords coming upon contact as you keep blocking his attacks.

As he slows down while responding to his comrades’ taunting laughter, you take the chance to make another move. Taking advantage of his lack of focus, you thrust your sword toward him. He blocks you with one swing and you shoot forward, spinning on your heel and swinging your hand back, slamming the hilt of your sword against his stomach. Sir Stephan recoils with a grunt upon impact.

“Oh, Fates,” he curses with a cough. A rough chuckle comes from his lips as he recovers to shout at his friends laughing at him, “Told ya.”

You quickly step away from him while everyone whistles, cheering for your move. “Stay focused, Sir Stephan. Don’t want you to actually get hurt,” you playfully taunt him as you move into position, ready to continue.

Seeing this prompts Stephan to strike first, swinging his broadsword down to your side, which you block using the back of your sword. The sound of the deep grunt escaping his lips draws more taunting from the other guards.

“Already getting tired, Stevie?”

Letting out a heavy laugh, your opponent cleverly responds without missing a beat. “I think the Princess is just a bit too tough for me to handle, that’s what.”

“Good thing you volunteered in our place since if you lose this fight, there’s no way any of us could defeat Her Highness.”

“Maybe we should recommend your early retirement, old man. Her Highness can always take your place.”

“Right on. The Princess isn’t even sweating and yet there you are trembling. Even your form isn’t right.”

Their compliments please you, even if some of it is far from the truth. You can feel sweat coming down between your brows and in between your breasts. Your breath is growing shallow, and if only any of the guards weren’t so preoccupied with keeping a close watch on each strike of sword clashing through the sparring, they would have noticed the way your legs are beginning to quiver as you block another strike from Sir Stephan’s broadsword.

As your exhaustion sinks in, what comes into your nearly idle mind is not a part of the dream that you wished so badly to forget, but the words of a wise man who has followed you home ever since your visit to E’l Alora.

“Before you go, I must be honest and admit something. Lest I regret it in case we never meet again,” was what Lord Merryl said to you last night before you left E’l Alora to return home. The look that he was giving you then stayed in your mind until you came back to the castle. “You remind me of someone.”

“Someone you knew?”

His lips twitched to a soft smile. “Long ago, before the war, before this land became as secluded as the way it is now, we used to have travellers coming through our town, often staying with us for a time to experience life here as our guests. There was one who Alastair and I had the privilege to get acquainted with during that time. A female traveller who claimed to be a scholar and was travelling through sacred lands in search of knowledge about the Ancients, much like you.” Once again, you saw a glimpse of longing in his eyes as he spoke. “She looked quite like you, and I am quite sure she was around your age when she frequently came to visit us.”

Then his longing gaze fell on your necklace for one last time. “And she was wearing a necklace similar to yours.”

Sir Stephan’s sudden strike snaps you back to the present. His move isn’t as fast as his previous offences, but the blow of his sword rattles your entire arm the moment it makes contact with yours. You barely manage to deflect his attack, the clash between swords and the force that he uses pushing you back a step. Yet you are still capable of cutting his blow, even if it comes with a cost.

Your knees buckle as you pull your sword back. Snapping your sword down, you stab its tip onto the ground to keep you from falling on your knees.

“Your Highness, is everything all right?” Sir Stephan calls out gently, sounding concerned. Yet he makes no move to approach you, something which you respect coming from him.

Laughing nervously, you straighten up and shake your head. “Seems like I was right all along. I’m quite out of practice.”

The guard looks relieved to hear this. His lips twist into something which resembles a pride smile. “For the record, you are still much better than some of the guards here,” he compliments you as he slowly lowers his sword. “And in a much better shape as well, seeing that you are still standing on your two feet.”

“I take it as a compliment.” Sheathing your sword, you bow your head slightly towards him. “Thank you for lending me your time. We should do this again next time.”

Lifting his sword and crossing it against his chest, Sir Stephan greets you with a formal bow. “I’ll be ready to spar with you again, Your Highness. If ever you need to.”

You turn to greet the other guards with a slight bow before turning away to leave. Behind you, the captain of the royal guards begins rounding up his men to resume their sword training. The sounds of them shuffling back into their position and the clanging of swords follow your departure.

Except for Sir Stephan.

Even without looking over your shoulder, you can feel the heat of his gaze pressing on your back. It shouldn’t bother you so much to have him watching you go, as he is simply doing his duty as your guard ever since the Citadel. Yet it suddenly feels unsettling how familiar his presence feels for you, even as you put distance between you.

He reminds you of someone. Of a moment in time that is lost in your memory. Yet your mind is too exhausted and you are too weary to figure out how.

You try not to dwell on it as you make your way around the small rising leading to the West Tower. Avoiding the side corridor where the entrance of the tower is located, you choose to walk a bit further towards the door hidden behind the hill.

At this time of the day, this side of the tower is quiet. Only the palace maids use this access door, yet you have learned enough to know that none would be passing here during the time they are finishing most of their late afternoon duties.

Crossing the threshold, you arrive in a small hall connected to the long winding stairwell going up to the upper floors. Amongst them is the corridor leading towards your bedchamber, where you can finally rest—both your mind and body—for the day.

Your mind is once again idle as you begin to ascend the stairs. Idle due to exhaustion, yet still enough to silence all thoughts and wonders.

For a moment, you feel hopeful about dragging yourself towards your bed, even if your legs still tremble while you climb up the stairs. The shortsword feels as if it has gained weight as it keeps bumping against your thigh in your journey back to your quarters.

Yet in that comforting silence, your senses are on high alert. Sharpened enough to feel a peculiar sensation rising within that stairwell.

A feeling that is quite similar to what you have often felt whenever you come across any silver doors hiding your father’s magic portals.

Curious, you begin to proceed cautiously. The logical part of your mind is telling you that it might just be in your head. There is nothing up there other than the long corridors of the west wing of Stargrave, where your bedchamber is placed.

As you continue going up the stairs, there is really no mistaking it—the soft hum of magic reverberating through the air, beckoning you to come close.

With one hand wrapped around the hilt of your sword, and the other reaching up to touch the silver key hanging on your necklace—placed together alongside your ruby amulet to make sure that you would keep it close to you at all times—you continue to proceed.

Right before you reach the floor connecting you to your private quarters, you arrive at a landing.

There, right to your left, appears a small archway that seems to have been built into the wall. Similar to the door which took you to E’l Alora, it appears like nothing more but a wall ornament. It seems impossible for it to serve as a door. Not at this part of the tower, when the small windows placed on either side of it are showing you a massive fall towards the shoreline below.

At the center of the archway, what seems to be a carved wall ornament appears to be a plate made up of old wood. It has silver hinges on one side—the only sign allowing you to identify it as a door—and floral embellishments pressed across the surface. The silver embellishments are marred by patches of reddish-brown rust, hiding the silver shine under the uneven, flaky crust spreading on its surface.

Standing before it, you realise that the humming spell is more muted here compared to the ones you have heard and felt from the other magic doors. Yet the sensation you feel all through your body is just the same.

Your racing heartbeat. The pulse of warmth surging through your skin. Even the way your necklace is vibrating against your skin feels just the same.

Cautiously, you slip the key off of your necklace. With a deep breath, and your curiosity rising, you silently pray that the door truly opens to another magic portal instead of sending you plunging into the rough sea below.

The key fits perfectly in the keyhole and it opens with one click, immediately opening as if there is an unseen force helping you to reveal what is hidden beneath. The ripple of magic which appear in the form of a blue mirror manifests right before your eyes, opening the way for your next adventure.

“I suppose there is no rest for today”—you sigh—“yet. Here we go.”

The flow of magic engulfs you as you take a step into the portal. It clings onto your body like a cold glove, causing tingles on your skin while your heart palpitates as your own mana reacts to it. This time, the humming spell sounds more like chants of prayers. Still spoken in a language that you are unable to comprehend.

Your journey across lasts only for a blink of an eye before the heels of your boots land on solid ground. A cold breeze washes over you, filled with the scents of moss and petrichor. Not in the kind which you would often find in the countryside, but more at places that are mostly deserted—like castle ruins or abandoned churches, perhaps unexplored caves in the wild.

Releasing a deep exhale of breath, you open your eyes, only to have the rest of it getting knocked right out of your chest. As if reality comes crashing on you with a hard punch as you realise where you are.

You have emerged right in the heart of an old temple.

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jillsandwhichs · 9 months ago

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Cleon - OneShots/AUs Fanfiction, Chapter 14, Relaxation

Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Redfield & Leon Kennedy

Summary: As Leon massages Claire, it turns into something much mores

Status of their relationship in this one shot: Engaged

WC: 3.0k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Dirty talk, Making out, Breast play P in V, Missionary, Couch sex, He finishes on her stomach

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Art Creds: Pebehaht

Humming to himself, Leon continued to fold the laundry. He was sitting on his and Claire's shared bed, watching one of his favorite films whilst he did one of the chores that needed to be done. Leon offered to take over laundry and dishes today for Claire since she's been doing them so much, he felt guilty for not as well. They split chores and don't necessarily have a schedule, but it is clear that Claire does more than Leon, she just enjoys cleaning.

Most mornings, she'd have her radio blasting while she sweeps or dusts the house all through-out. That's often how Leon wakes up - Due to her music. He loves seeing how chipper she is during those mornings. She'll be dancing with the mop, her hair being messily tied up and her clothes baggy and stained, she looks adorable. Of course, Claire doesn't mind taking over most of the house work, but Leon won't let her do it indefinitely.

Claire was currently out in the living room, knitting last time Leon checked and watching some show she's been very interested in. Leon loves how she does her little routines in the afternoons of each day. She'll either read or knit, make dinner or order it, do the dishes or the laundry, watch a movie or watch a show, etc. It is always one or the other, that's her routine. It's been that way before they began dating. He's adapted to it.

He stacked all of Claires clothes, picking them up and setting them down into the dresser in which their television was resting on. Leon was watching 'The Matrix' as he folded clothes, one of his classical favorites.

Other than Claire's clothes, he was finished for now, he'll still fold the other load later but for now, he just wants to be with Claire. She shines such a bright and happy light in his life.

Pausing the tv, Leon tossed the remote back onto their premade bed, he made it only an hour or so ago, and he then walked out of their bedroom, the living room was downstairs.

Rushing down the stairs, his arms bent up at his sides, Leon gave Claire a sweet smile as he spotted her on the couch, all curled up as she knitted. Their couch was in an L shape, Claire resting in the corner piece; The corner piece has always been her spot. On the television, there was some show playing, it seemed to be about some dark looking goth girl at school, but Leon is being dense, he couldn't even make out who it was or what the show was despite the fact Claire has been watching it for a while.

"Hey, my love." Leon strolled towards the back of the couch. He was wearing a tight black t shirt with some sweatpants, just some lounging clothes whereas Claire was wearing a tank top with shorts. It is fall time, so their house is warmer due to it being colder outside. Claire set up her knitting supplies to the side of her, greeting Leon and gazing at him, "Hi." She replied, watching as Leon treaded closer by.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips from behind the couch. Claire reached up, just barley being able to touch his back. It was like the Spider-Man kiss but instead of it being off a building, it's on their couch.

"Did you already finish up the laundry?" "Half way done sweetheart." "Great, thanks." "No issue." Leon responded, resting his hands on her slender shoulders. Leon loves touching Claire, no matter where it be. He's always been one for physical affection, but the person has to earn his trust first - Leon's always trusted Claire. "What do you want me to cook for dinner?" Claire asked of Leon, looking back at him. Her tinted brown hair was so pretty and soft, it's one thing he admires so much.

"It doesn't matter to me but I have been craving meatloaf recently." "Meatloaf it is then." Claire chuckled, looking back at the TV. "I'll start it around seven, okay baby?" "Alright." He spoke back to her. Claire was so pretty. Leon could quite literally stare at her for hours and it wouldn't be a bore. Everything about her was perfect and enticed him even more. How did he manage to get so very lucky?

"You look beautiful today, extra beautiful." "Do I now?" "Yeah, you do, I love you." Leon laughed, watching her face light up with utter joy. "I love you too handsome." Claire snickered, reaching her hand out. Leon took a hold of it, kissing it then caressing the center with his gentle thumb. "Very beautiful." "Well, you always look handsome, so." Claire leaned her head against the couch, keeping her eyes on Leon. "I sure hope so." Leon gave her a derpy, goofy grin before letting go of her hand, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Leon stepped back closer to Claire, resetting his hands on her shoulders as she kept on watching TV. She didn't turn back when he did that, instead just loving how he was touching her right there. Leon began to slowly massage her shoulders, not thinking much of it considering how often he does this for her. Whether it be her feet, back or shoulders, he'll do it for her as an act of love.

"Gosh babe, that feels wonderful." "Does it?" "Yeah, my entire back has been so tense lately." Claire voiced out, grateful that Leon was rolling her shoulders. "Why didn't you say anything sooner baby?" Leon hummed out to his fiancee, pressing his fingers into the bones more firmly now. Claire let out a sound of relief, the tightness of her shoulders being relieved by his actions. "Sorry I should've." "That's right Claire." He said sarcastically, earning an eye roll from her.

"Just relax babygirl, let me help you out." "Okay baby, thank you." Claire nodded, listening and simply watching her show as Leon continued to massage for her.

The fact that Claire was in pain was a bother to Leon. He will not stop until Claire feels better. Claire being in pain not only hurts her, but him too. He focused real hard on her shoulders, making sure his hands worked healing powers as he rubbed them roughly, in the best way though. A groaning sound came from Claire, indicating that Leon was doing just fine. "Is there a specific spot?" "Right there." Claire tapped on her lower, right shoulder blade. Leon let out a humm, confirming her words as he began to work on that spot for her.

Claire moaned softly when he began, it was really a reliever. It was not uncommon for people to let out pleasurable noises when having pain released from them. So, it's morely a wince or a whimper if anything.

"Mmm baby, don't make those noises." Leon bellowed, his thumbs rolling in circular motions. "Not my fault, it feels extraordinary." "Well stop makin' those noises unless you wanna feel something that's really extraordinary." Leon teased her. The man sure has a way with his words.

Claire stayed silent, only letting out a cute giggle when Leon said that to her.

Leon continued what he was doing. His hands were firm, making sure he was getting rid of any tightness baring in her upper body. Claire tilted her head all the way back, looking up at Leon. "Hi pretty." Leon giggled, moving his hands to her cheeks. "The pain went away somewhat." "Not completely?" "I don't think so. Honey, it'll take a couple days." She was honest. "You just need to take it easy." Leon's hands went back to her shoulders but this time went down to her chest, his bare fingers on it.

The feeling of her plump boobs against his hands was heavenly. Leon has always been a breasts guy, and Claire definitely has them. Even if she didn't, he wouldn't mind. No matter what, every aspect of Claire is beautiful in his eyes. It should be that way for everyone. "Sorry hun." Leon added, feeling bad that her back in killing her. "I will love." She whispered. That tone, it does things to Leon. It's so seductive. Anytime she speaks that way, he feels the urge to tear all of her clothing off of her.

Allowing his hands to slide down some more, Leon cupped Claire's breasts in his hands. He was still standing behind her as he was sitting down, so the position was a bit awkward but still, holding her in any way is always welcomed. "Babe..." Claire chuckled, staring down at both of his hands. Leon squeezed both of them, the plushness was impeccable. Any slight movement caused them to jiggle, which caused Leon to want her even more desperately now. He was a damn dog.

His thumbs rolled over her nipples, each one. They both hardened beneath his touch. "Leon..." Claire muttered, her hand reaching up to grasp his muscular arm. "I love them so much." He cackled in reference to her breasts. "Obviously." Claire snorted, turning her head sideways to kiss his lower arm. "Come over here." Claire sighed softly, moving his hands away and sitting up more.

She doesn't have to ask twice.

Leon snickered, heading over to the other side of the couch to sit beside Claire. As he did, Claire picked up the remote and put her show on pause, willing to guide all of her attention to just him. With that, he smirked, plopping onto the couch beside her. "Mmm, come here." Leon said in a low voice. His hands went to her midriff right as she pulled herself into his lap. "Mmm." She moaned out, immediately kissing his neck.

Each kiss felt wonderful and with each one, Leon felt more horny. The yearning inside him longed for Claire and only her. Anytime he was turned on, it was because of her. Every kiss she planted on his neck, cheek and chin brought immense happiness to him. He moved his hands down to her ass cheeks, holding both through her thin short shorts. Her breasts her pressed against his chest as she set her lips against his quickly.

Leon gripped Claire's chin, pulling her away from his neck and shoving his lips against hers. She encased both arms around his neck, pulling him closer towards her. Leon's hands were snug on her rear still, patting it ever so often as they kept their make out session up. "Gosh..." Claire expired out deeply, her entire body heating up now. She was just as horny as Leon was. They both get so aroused by one another so fucking easily.

Claire ran her fingers through Leon's hair, the softness making it so slicky and easy to pull through. "Lay back." Leon snickered, spanking her ass hard, making her squeak as she hopped off of him. "Mmm, okay." Claire obliged, laying all the way back on the couch. She looked precious. To Leon, she was like a doll. A porcelain doll at that. So elegant and divine. Every single thing about her meant absolutely everything to Leon.

He ripped his shirt off, his rugged, formed abs being shown off to her. "So hot." Claire sighed underneath her breath, Leon heard her, his cock only pulsing more due to her words. "Shhh." Leon chortled, his hands swinging to Claire's shorts, tearing those off as well. He was shirtless, she was pantless. Her panties were yellow with a small white flower on the top center, they looked cute. "Here." Claire sat up as Leon stood up. She pulled his pants all the way down, the sweats dropping onto the hardwood floor.

Now that the two of them were half nude, the warm air from the central heat was on their bare skin. For Leon, it made the whole thing even better. The warmth all throughout the house was so fitting for this moment. Intimate moments such as these are so heated and deserve lots and lots of love. Stepping out of the pants, Leon mounted Claire, laying on top of her. The couch wasn't that small, it was big enough to hold the both of them.

Placing his arms over her, he supported himself on top of her, leaning down towards her face and kissing her. She breathed in deeply, setting her arms upon his upper back, his hunky back was so muscular. Her legs were bent upwards, Leon laying between them. "I want you." "You're about to have me." Leon huffed out, his head burying into her neck. He became to suckle and kiss all over, marks on it forming. "Oh!" Claire moaned, her nails carving her own personal marks into his back.

A couples moments later, Leon pulled away from her neck, kissing her lips with haste before grunting out, "Alright." He shot his hand down to his pants, attempting to pull them off on his own but he inevitably needed Claire's help. She used both of her small hands to his boxers, taking them off as fast as she could. "Here." Claire heaved, reaching down to her panties and taking those off as well. Claire was the only one with any clothes on now, just her tank top though. It looks really good on her.

"Spread your legs more baby." Leon chuckled, her left leg pressed against the couch. "It's a bit hard." She complained, shifting her position and lifting her legs up for Leon. He smirked, his hand helping to keep it up, placing it on her thigh.

With Leon's free hand, he took a hold of his dick, glancing down at her core. It was damp. Completely wet. It turns him on so much more, knowing that she gets this aroused just by some words and affection. "You're so wet." Leon hummed as he slid his tip through the juices she withheld. "Just for you." Claire caressed his cheek, the sharp scruffiness rubbing against her fingers. With ease, Leon stuck his member inside of Claire, her wetness coating his cock and her walls warm around him.

"Fuuuck." Leon's words dragged out as pleasure washed over him.

It's always that first push that gets him going.

"Jesus, did you get bigger?" Claire giggled, adjusting the way her head was laying on the arm of the furniture. "Or maybe I'm just more hard." Leon bit his lip, kissing the top of her head. And with that, Leon began. His ass pulled back, his tip sliding back six inches before he then re entered her, grunting at her tightness. "Fuck, you're so tight babygirl." "Oh." Claire whimpered, holding onto him, her arms still resting on his back. Leon made sure to keep her thigh in place, not wanting her to slip.

He began to thrust with decent speed, knowing she could handle it. She always could. By now, she's probably used to how fast he likes to go. "You feel amazing." Leon groaned, the noise coming deep from his throat. "Shit." Leon then used the inner part of his elbow to keep her leg up. "Baby!" Claire dug her nails into his back even more roughly now. "You like that?" "Mhm." She nodded, her mouth open wide. While holding her thigh, Leon's other hand was in her hair, playing with it whilst he railed her.

"Mmm," She whined out. "I love you, I love you so much." "I love you too Claire." Leon grunted, his manhood slamming into her at this point. Every movement was a movement full of love. Leon couldn't get enough of her. Every movement was done with swiftness, each time hitting deep inside of her. Claire's G spot was being pushed into unrelentingly, bringing that sweet release closer and closer to her. She knew it was close and so did Leon.

Leon brought his head down to Claire's, sliding his tongue into her warm mouth. Claire welcomed him, her tongue battling with his. Their eyes were closed whilst they embarked into this deep kiss, all while Leon's member is prodding at Claire, making sure she's feeling good as well. Leon exploded Claire's mouth, the feeling of it making him all the more turned on. Moments like these were to be cherished... And to be thought of later when Leon is all alone and in desperate need of release.

"I'm gonna cum baby." Leon admitted, looking down at his cock. It was poking in and out of Claire at such a rate, she could hardly form words. "Make sure- sure you p- pull out." She whined, digging her nails into his buff shoulders, causing Leon to groan in agony that soon turned into pleasure. "I will babygirl, don't worry." The last thing the two of them needed right now was for Claire to end up pregnant. Soon, but not now. They want to wait til a year or so after marriage anyways.

Inside, Claire could feel Leon's dick twitching, simply showing how close he was. With each thrust, his dick felt like it was going to bomb inside of her. Within him, Leon could feel a stream of semen ready to implode, in which he quickly pulled out of Claire.

As he did, his cum leaked all over her stomach and dripped down her sides, seeping onto the fabric couch. "Well, that's great." He chuckled, his hand still swathed around his length. "I still need to finish." Claire whispered. She wasn't one to stay quiet. He was insanely horny and if she didn't get that sweet release, there would be an issue.

"Oh honey, you know I know that." Leon chuckled, licking his lips then his head setting itself between her legs.

It's safe to say she came shortly after.

#resident evil #leon kennedy #claire redfield #cleon #cleon fanfiction #cleon year #claire x leon #leon x claire #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy smut #claire redfield smut #tumblr fyp

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kabie-whump · 8 months ago

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✧･ﾟ Ripe, About to Fall - Part 14 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from 'Liquid Smooth' by Mitski

Series

First | Previous

Chapter Summary: We learn a bit about the rich history of beef between Ventis and Theo.

Chapter Content: A minor (15) is temporarily killed, bullying, suicide mentions, death by falling, magic exhaustion

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

~ Five years ago ~

Jasper used to find peace up high.

He liked to sit quietly on the palace roof, his legs dangling off of the edge in a way that always made Nanny Alma sweat when she caught sight of him from the courtyard below, but she was too old to trek up the countless flights of stairs to get to him, so Jasper could trust that he would be unbothered.

Unbothered by her, at least. It would take more than a few stairs to stop Theodore.

But for now Jasper was alone - the way he liked it. It was better this way, when he could be assured that he was alone by choice, not because the other kids his age refused to be seen with the weirdo of the Riinturuth family. Theodore had it easy in that regard. Despite being the second born, he was always surrounded by friends. All of the kingdom’s sycophants seemed to have decided that Theodore was the important one, not Jasper.

I’m better off that way. Those aren’t real friends, Jasper thought. I don’t want their feigned adoration. I don’t want their attention.

He so desperately wanted their attention, but that was a secret he could keep even from himself, at least for a while.

“There you are!” Theodore’s voice called from somewhere behind Jasper. He wasn’t even winded, of course, while the friends that followed shortly behind him tried to mask the way their chests heaved from the journey to the roof.

“No need to sound so proud of yourself,” Jasper said, turning around so his back was to the drop below. “I was not hiding.”

“What are you doing, then?” Theodore asked as he leaned forward against the railing Jasper sat on. “You know we have lessons soon.”

Jasper shrugged.

Theodore prattled on, unbothered by the lack of response. “You can’t keep coming to the roof every time you want to mope, you know. Half the kingdom expects you to jump off any day now. I’m just curious as to why you haven’t done it yet.”

Jasper shrugged again. He was used to Theodor’s taunts. They used to get to him, to make him cry or bite back. Theodore did it on purpose. He liked to get a rise out of his over-emotional older brother, to show everyone which one of them was clearly better suited to rule. He would look to their father every time with a look that said, ‘See? Do you really want this cry-baby as your heir?’

So Jasper had learned to stop caring so much. At least, he learned to stop showing how much he cared. But of course that just meant that Theodore had to work harder to get him to lose control.

“Are you here to hurry me along, then?” Jasper asked, glancing over at his brother.

Theodore’s friends snickered, and Jasper didn’t doubt that they really wished he would just jump.

Theodore sighed. “Why do you always assume I have nefarious intentions?”

“I could list every reason, but we would be here all day.”

“Funny. Actually, I’m here with a question for you.”

Jasper looked up, his interest piqued.

Theodore was holding a book, his thumb stuck between the pages to mark his spot. He opened it, showing Jasper a section that seemed to be about air elementals and their descendents. Taking up half of a page was a drawing of an air genasi flying over a dense blanket of clouds, an easy smile on her face.

“Can you really fly?” Theodore asked, pointing to the picture.

Jasper shrugged, starting to lose interest. He knew very little about his own kind, having been raised in a kingdom full of humans. Theodore must have known this, so why was he asking?

“I do not know,” Jasper said. “I have not tested it.”

“How about a little experiment, then?”

Jasper’s blood ran cold. He didn’t like the way he said that, the sadistic glint in his eye.

“What do- hey!”

Theodore took Jasper by his thin shoulders in a strong grip, holding him tightly and pushing so he leaned dangerously backwards over the edge of the roof. His heart seized and he grabbed onto his brother’s arms, fingers digging into his sleeves.

“Don’t, Theo!”

Theodore just laughed, pushing him a little further. “Relax, brother, you’ll be fine once your instincts kick in.”

“I’m serious! Stop!”

His friends were laughing too, but it was almost inaudible over the roar of winds picking up around them. This always happened when Jasper got worked up - sometimes in the form of a small gust and sometimes a full-blown storm. Theodore pushed him just a little further and he could feel himself slipping-

“It’s just like pushing a baby bird out of the nest, right?”

Jasper shook his head hard, tears blurring his vision. “Stop it!”

“Are you seriously going to cry right now?” Theodore chuckled.

The wind picked up, blowing even harder and making their hair whip into their faces.

“Let me go!”

The wind reacted obediently to Jasper's desperate plea. It exploded between the two boys, shoving them away from each other. Theodore fell on his ass on the stone floor, and Jasper was blown backwards off of the railing.

A weightless feeling overtook him and he braced himself, fully expecting to plummet to the ground. But when moments passed and no impact occurred, Jasper braved opening his eyes.

He saw Theodore picking himself up on the floor, staring incredulously at Jasper, who was not falling but floating, just a few meters away from the edge of the roof.

Jasper stared down at himself in shock. “Holy shit,” he breathed, his hands shaking as he ran his fingers through the wind current that swept up under his body, holding him aloft.

“See?” Theodore laughed, but it barely covered the way his voice shook with relief. “Never say I don’t believe in you, brother.”

“You tried to kill me!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It was just a bit of fun. I was never actually going to drop you. You did that yourself.”

“Just get me down from here!” Jasper demanded. He didn’t know how he was doing this, and he didn’t trust himself to be able to keep it up much longer. He was already getting tired, the involuntary magic draining his energy quickly.

Theodore returned to the edge of the roof and reached out, straining but unable to reach far enough to touch Jasper. “I can’t reach you. Can’t you just… fly back over here?”

Jasper tried to will himself back over to the roof, but the wind seemed to have grown bored of obeying him. Instead he just floated there, his cloak billowing up around his face. “I can’t control it!”

“What do you expect me to do? I have to get to lessons!”

“I do too, you prick!”

Theodore waved him off, heading back towards the stairs. “You’ve always been the smart one. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Wait! You can’t leave me like this!”

His friends followed him inside, and Jasper was alone.

He heaved a deep breath, trying to control his pounding heart. His eyes were getting heavy, his vision starting to go dark around the edges. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Steeling himself, Jasper looked down, hoping that someone had caught sight of the boy floating above the busy courtyard. His stomach swooped as he realized just how far of a drop it was. There was no way he could survive that fall.

And of course no one seemed to have noticed him. “Hey! Help me!” he called to the people down below. He could hear his own voice being carried away by the wind, barely audible even to his own ears.

Jasper panted, clutching at his chest as it started to ache. He coughed, tasting blood, and felt himself drop a few inches.

No.

He tried to will himself back to the roof again, and again the wind did not obey. His head pounded. His vision faded in and out. He slipped again, swaying drunkenly in the sky.

No no no no no shit.

Then the winds dispersed, and Jasper fell.

He didn’t remember much after that. He’d been told that he had died on impact, effectively traumatizing those who had been going about their business in the courtyard.

By the time he woke up the next day, sore and achy from the after-effects of a frantically performed resurrection ritual, Theodore had already managed to spread the rumor of Jasper’s suicide attempt across the entire kingdom.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Sorry y’all there was supposed to be more to this chapter but I gotta take my gf to the emergency room now so we’re cutting it short🫡

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-whumpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet

@sleepyiswhumping @bitchaknso @unicornbeck @wounds-seen-and-unseen @3-2-whump

@looptheloup @lindsay00000008 @rainydaywhump @scoundrelwithboba @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

#whump community #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #nonhuman whumpee #whumpee #oc whump #tw bullying #resurrection whump #magic exhaustion #magic whump

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bg-brainrot · 1 year ago

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 7: Just One Night

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, angry Astarion, threats

WC: 3k words, 7/?? chapters

Summary: You plead your case to the vampire.

Ao3 | [Ch6][Ch8] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You idiot. How could you be so dense? How in the hells is 'You're the man from my dreams' the right sentence to spout when meeting the man whose very existence makes your soul sing? This might be worse than your previous life. You may as well send your soul back to meet Corellon for all the good it's doing, but no. You can salvage this. You take a deep breath.

Another few knocks on the door.

You don't hear anything from the other side for a second or two, but the door swings back open in another breath. "What about 'not interested' did you not understand?" Astarion’s tone seems to be growing angry now, and you recall a memory with a vile drow woman, how important saying ‘no’ was to him. You don’t want to push this, and you know that this is different. You just need to be yourself and help him understand.

“I know you’re not interested, and I’m sorry that this is abrupt,” you start, holding up your hands in a show of peace.“But I’m an elf!” You say, as if that were an explanation.

He clicks his tongue at you. "That you are. The pointy ears rather gave it away I'm afraid."

"I mean," you start, shooting him an annoyed look. How in the hells did your previous self deal with his attitude. "I have an elf's soul. I know it's hard to believe, but I've been dreaming about you since I was young. Hence the– erm, rather odd introduction. In my previous life… I was the hero of Baldur's Gate."

Astarion all but laughs in your face. "My what an original idea you have. Must have earned yourself a pat on the back for that one."

“I… don’t know what you mean by that.” Your tone is cautious, sensing that his hostility is not improving by any means. “But, please let me prove it to you.”

“No need,” he responds easily, waving a hand at you dismissively. “If you’re here on that premise, I know what it is that you want.”

Your brows furrow– the words should make you feel better, if he truly understands. But it just fills you with a bit of dread. “You do?”

“Of course,” he says, flashing you a fanged smile. “I should have assumed, night has fallen, you’ve done your research. You’re here for a vampire.”

You blink at this, unsure what he means. “I did do research, but I’m not sure what–”

The man holds up a hand to stop you. "Are you here for a nibble or aren't you? I haven't got all day.” He crosses his arms and taps a single slippered foot on the floor impatiently.

Oh, no. He thinks you’re here to offer him blood? Or sex. You’re not sure which is worse.

"Gods below, none of this is going to plan," you mumble, putting a hand to your head in frustration. Halsin had been entirely too optimistic, and 'eccentric'? Eccentric was certainly not the way to describe it – more like a closed off, standoffish, arrogant man. You suddenly realize how woefully unequipped you are to handle this man. “I’m not here to–to be a meal of any sorts. I just want a bit of your time and understanding.”

“My understanding?” he asks, tone sharpening. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out.” He starts to close the door on you and you shove a hand forward to stop it. The look that he shoots you could curdle milk.

“Please. Just five minutes. I beg of you.”

At that, he barks a single laugh, short and harsh. "Darling, if you think you'll be able to get something from me, you have another thing coming. I have dealt with fools like you for my entire, unending existence and you’re no better than the last person who came to my door to beg.”

Something in you finally snaps at this. You were so used to his sweet, loving words over decades and decades of dreams. The reality of it threatens to bring you to rageful tears. How dare he, you can’t help but think. How dare he treat me – my soul – like this, after a lifetime together. “I am telling you, I’m nothing like them! I promise you, on my life, I want nothing more than to speak my peace.”

Sensing your own building anger, he stops snapping back for a second, opens the door a small crack once more. You feel his eyes rake up and down your body, the judgment in them plain as day. “You, my dear, are everything like them. And more importantly, you could not possibly be the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. If anyone were to recognize them, it would be me.”

“Halsin recognized me!” You spout, and immediately regret the words out of your mouth when his face shifts from one of open judgment to one of complete and utter disgust.

“As if my former lover would go see that oddity of an old man before me. You’re not even a good fraud,” he says, going back to closing the door.

Oh no you don’t, you think. Through the crack in the door, you focus on a point. Magic flows through you as you speak the incantation, “Inveniam viam!” Blue mist surrounds you as you’re teleported into the house in a single step.

You find yourself in a grand foyer, framed by two grand staircases leading up to the top floor. You’re struck by how opulent this entrance is, all reds and golds, including the extravagant carpet you’re currently standing on.

“Gods, do you have any idea how expensive that rug is?” Astarion’s voice comes out annoyed, you turn back toward him just in time to see him taking long, angry strides toward you, knife drawn. Shit. “Get your dirty boots off of it before I’m forced to spill your blood on it.”

Hastily, you hop off the rug, onto an equally lovely looking hardwood floor. Astarion tuts, clearly still annoyed, but stops short of an attack. Now that you’re both staring each other down like this, you have a chance to get a better look at him.

And good gods, you’re not surprised he left you speechless. Not only does he look identical to your memories, but he’s dressed impeccably, neck to toe in delicate satins, each piece of his outfit a testament to the arts of embroidery and fashion. It fills you with a small joy to see him doing so well, one that’s quickly dashed by the predicament you find yourself in.

“Fine, you’ve had your fun,” he says, pointing the knife at you. “You’ve managed to anger the beautiful tortured vampire in his mansion. You’re not here to offer blood or sex, you’d be even more of an utter fool to rob me. What are you really here for?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose to compose yourself. Is this worth it? you think. He’s clearly not interested and he seems hellsbent on misunderstanding me. “I only want you to believe me. Can I please show you my memories?” you ask, chancing one last effort. You’re prepared to use a number of illusion spells to prove who you are, and you raise a hand to express this.

Astarion waves the knife back and forth in a pseudo-head shake. “Not a chance, darling. I saw that magic you used. If you so much as think of a spell, this blade will find its way into your pretty little throat.”

You expected as much, nodding. “Right then. I’ll just talk.”

“Excuse me–”

You cut him off, understanding now a bit better how your past-self might have dealt with him. “I remember memories that only the Hero of Baldur’s Gate would know. I can’t tell you everything, but I can recall a lot of your time together, defeating the Absolute, helping the spawn in the Under Dark, living a life together.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t recite history books to me,” he says, but there’s no venom in his voice. Now it seems to be clouded by a dull ache. “Especially of events that I myself have experienced.”

“It’s not history, it’s memories. Like that time you both spent the day sitting at the glowing purple lake in the Under Dark. Or the time you both tried riding unfamiliar horses at night on a farm– I could never tell where that was…” You trail off, realizing that his expression is entirely closed off to your words, his mouth firmly set in a displeased frown.

“Darling, you think I’d trust a wizard with their horrendous little tricks?“ He jabs the knife in your direction emphatically. “You could be reading my mind for all I know. Out with you.”

You shake your head, “I’m not done. I have notebooks, journals filled–” Your hand approaches the lip of your Bag of Holding and before you can so much as pull the string, Astarion’s cold hand wraps roughly around your wrist.

“I’m not about to let some strange person open their magic bag in my house,” he says through gritted teeth. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Startled, you try to pull your hand back. He doesn’t budge so you simply say, “I promise I only brought journals. Full of your life and…” You gulp. “Your love.”

His hand grips your wrist even tighter, painful now in its pressure. “I don’t know who put you up to this,” he growls, face suddenly closer to yours. His red eyes are narrowed at you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him level a look like this at you in any of your memories. “But stop. Now.”

Suddenly, you feel so small in the face of his fury. It’s entirely unfamiliar to you and you don’t like it. “Let go of me,” you command, voice steadier than it has any right to be.

To his credit, Astarion releases you. Taking a moment to rub out the pain in your wrist, you dart a look back at him only to find him staring at you, eyes trained on where he’d grabbed you. He still holds the knife, but it seems to be limp in his hand. “I’ve listened to you,” he says, voice losing all of its anger, all of its bravado. It sounds tired. “Now please, leave.”

There’s something about his resignation, the slump of his shoulders, the dead voice that gives you pause. And a slight modicum of hope back. He’s not mad at me, you think. He’s just… sad? And tired. Well, I’m tired too. Tired enough to try one last tactic. A tactic that might work on the reluctantly kind man from your memories, the man who wasn’t quite as mean as he made himself out to be.

“I traveled so far to get here, and it’s getting rather late. Could I at least stay the night? Surely you can spare a room for a lonely traveler.”

“There’s an inn down the road, closer to Baldur’s Gate.” His words come out flat, harsh.

It’s better than anger or sadness, so you keep going, trying your best to look pathetic. You feel pathetic after all of this, so you suppose it’s not a grand disguise. “That’s almost an hour out. Please? I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior. No magic in the house unless you ask.”

Astarion arches a single eyebrow at you and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “If you were really who you say you are, I know you wouldn’t be on your best behavior. So which is it?”

After all of your memories, you know his words come from decades of experience. You also know that you have no plans on giving up now. So you smile at him unconvincingly and say, “I won’t be on my worst behavior?”

“I'm 500 years old, darling, do you really think I'd fall for a pair of puppy dog eyes? Especially when the pup is fresh off the teats by the looks of it.” Another narrowed look, this time his gaze boring into your eyes. As if he could see through them to your real intent.

“What if I offer you something in return for the stay?” You say, sounding far more easy-going than you feel. You know that you’re treading a very delicate line at this point. “I have blood.”

He yawns at you dramatically, looking bored. “That ship has sailed.”

“I have gold.”

“I have more gold than you can hope to see in your entire lifetime. You’ll have to do better than that.” He inspects his nails, putting on an air of indifference.

An idea strikes you then, understanding that this might be the only truly unique thing you have to offer him. “I have memories from my past-life. Memories before they met you, memories where you weren’t present. If you let me stay, I’ll share them with you.”

He stops his inspections at that. Then Astarion looks at you, eyes open and questioning, vibrant like how you remember them. Perhaps you’ve finally broken through. He asks, “And why would I care for those?”

“Because you loved them,” you answer, simply.

The way his expression closes off just about stops your heart. “Exactly right. Loved. Past tense, my dear.” You might have up and left at the sharp honesty he’s pierced you with. But you can see a bit of his former self in the hard set of his jaw. Like when he was in the early stages of his relationship with your past-self, lying through his teeth.

“Well then, because they loved you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, and where it’s abundantly clear that you know nothing of whom you speak,” he says, a cruel glint in his eyes as he leans forward. “If they truly loved me, they would be here, not you.”

It hurts. Your heart is fighting for its life and he may as well have stabbed you in the chest with the knife he brandishes. But you can’t relent, because you know your past-self wouldn’t either. “It may mean nothing to you now, but they died loving you.” You look away from him, the anger in his eyes far too much for you to bear. “Until their last breath.”

A moment of silence passes between you. You wonder if you've gone too far, pressed too hard on an unmended wound. Perhaps you've come too soon, or, more likely, should never have come at all.

Then he says something that leaves you well and truly speechless. You were about ready to ungracefully bow out, leave him and this waking nightmare behind. But he lifts his head and glares as he says, “You can stay the night. But come morning, I want you gone.”

–

Once things settle down, you finally introduce yourself to him– your present day self. He nods in acknowledgement, and only says, "I'm Astarion, but you clearly already know that."

Better than you're willing to believe, you think.

So many questions burn on the tip of your tongue, and, if you hadn't already barely made it into the house, you may have been foolish enough to ask them. As it is, you silently follow him up the stairs to the East wing of the house.

You walk down the hallway in awe, amazed by the tapestries on the walls, the decadent rugs that lead you forward. Again, you're struck by how very ostentatious this all is, and a huge part of you wants to ask him just how much gold he's spent on this house. You refrain, mentally calculating what must be an absurd sum.

When you finally reach the doorway of your lodgings, you find that the room is somewhat tucked away, this part of the house markedly less gaudy than the rest. Astarion doesn't seem to have any commentary on this, nor much more to say. As you're tired of saying the wrong thing, you leave him with only words of gratitude, "Thank you, Astarion. For letting me stay, and, well, hearing me out."

The man gives you one long look, eyes guarded behind his long lashes. After the appraisal, he gives you a scoff. "Only because you look so ludicrously weak. Also, if you get bored after your reverie, don't even think about crawling your way to me. If you try anything, you'll be dead before you can so much as whimper my name."

Turning on his heel, he leaves you in the doorway to your borrowed room. You know you should take that for the threat it is, but you only find yourself blushing. Gods, I'm as idiotic as my past-self. It must be that damn voice.

You ignore the warmth in your veins and turn to the room you've been offered. It seems oddly out of place in terms of decor, somewhat cozy compared to the luxurious trappings of the rest of the mansion, and something about it sets off a thought in the back of your head. The couch is plush, the bed is laden with blankets, the hearth is large and welcoming. And there's a large standing mirror in the corner. You distinctly recall that Astarion can't see himself in mirrors.

Whose room is this?

You have no one you can ask, of course. So you turn to the next best thing. You flip to a journal entry, recalling a particular passage.

Hero’s Life - Entry 9978: I was in bed with Astarion again. He refused to let me get up, claiming that I'd and I quote, "Been neglecting a stunningly beautiful lover in favor of dull adventures for too long." I felt guilty, but also a bit… annoyed. I don't know what my past-self has been up to, but he seemed really reluctant to release me. I would have just stayed in bed all day with him.

We did stay in bed for a while, I lost track of the number of kisses he showered me with. I just remember sitting up in bed to see myself in an elegant standing mirror. My hair was tousled, my face flushed, and before I could even attempt to get up, his pale hands pulled me back to bed.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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loosesodamarble · 6 months ago

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The Beasts in the Shadows Chapter 3: Precocious and Observant

Summary: A remnant of Josele's past come to mind. Morning comes and Josele gets a proper introduction to Cassandra, her new ward. Genre: general Word count: ~4000 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

..........

It was another summer day, bright and hot due to the sun beaming down on Clover Kingdom without a single cloud blocking its rays. Thankfully though, the forest that surrounded the outskirts of Raquey was densely packed with trees, enough so that barely a speck of light broke through the layers of leaves. Despite Raquey’s generally high temperatures and the season, the woods were relatively cool. And taking advantage of the shaded woodland were Josele, Nacht, and Morgen.

After a morning of tutored lessons for the boys and helping with chores for the girl, the three had the afternoon and the forest to themselves.

“Guys, check this out!” Nacht called as he crouched by the base of a tree. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like what I found!”

“What is it?” Morgen asked while approaching.

Josele was right behind Morgen. “Maybe he found a badger den!” As she got closer to where Nacht crouched, her nose wrinkled and she sneered. “Nachty…”

“Check it!” Nacht stood up and stepped back to reveal his find. “Real animal shit! I think there’s even bones in it!”

“EEUUUGH!” Morgen recoiled so hastily that he jumped back a ways. “Nacht, that’s disgusting!”

“You say that like you don’t also poop,” snickered Nacht and rolled his eyes. His pale blue gaze then landed on Josele. “What do you think, Josie?”

“I really thought you found something I’d never seen before.” Josele pouted and even puffed out her cheeks.

Nacht stepped over to Josele and poked her puffed cheek, immediately breaking her expression. After a beat, all three children let out a laugh.

“Now let’s try to find something a bit more appealing than feces,” Morgen said, shooting a scolding look to Nacht who only snickered, before the trio split off from one another.

Josele hopped over exposed roots and swept her hand over rough trunks. Traversing the woods came naturally to her after going on so many hunts with her dad and learning from him. She came to a stop when she came across a fallen tree. It was rotting; its leaves were discolored, there were holes in the wood, and fungus grew in patches on the log. When Josele looked closer, she saw insects eating away at the wood. It was better than animal droppings, but it still wasn’t a very interesting sight.

Feeling discouraged, Josele was ready to hand her head in defeat and return to the twins. She turned to start the walk back. But then she stopped.

On the ground, skittering closer to where Josele stood, was a small creature. And Josele could only call it a creature because she’d never seen any animal like it before. It had a body like a rabbit’s, small and rounded in proportions. However, its ears, which were folded against its head, were too short. Behind it, a long and fluffy tail, reminding Josele of a warm winter scarf, swished back and forth. Its coloring was odd: mostly brown like the earth with black and green speckling that would’ve let the creature blend in well with shadows and underbrush. The creature’s short snout was pressed to the ground, likely sniffing for food.

Josele blinked.

“What are you?” She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but when she did, the creature’s ears twitched and it raised its head.

Black, glossy eyes like jewels blinked at Josele. And seeing its face made Josele realize how cute it was.

Without giving it another thought. Josele dashed forward at the animal. Her motion made it startle. It didn’t get a chance to scamper off, though, as Josele had already closed the distance and scooped it into her arms.

The creature squeaked and made a whining sound as it wriggled in Josele’s hold.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Josele said calmly. “I just wanna show you to my friends.”

Josele tried to pet the creature’s head to soothe it. She’d done the same before with wild rabbits, deer, and even foxes when she saw them injured and needed to calm them to tend to their wounds. Even wild animals would be as tame as a pet if they were assured that they weren’t in danger. This animal, however, refused to settle. Its tail flicked around and its snout scrunched in irritation.

“There, there.” Josele did her best to sound gentle as she continued to walk.

The further along she walked, Josele felt her head fill with fog and her chest squeeze tight. It reminded her of how it felt when she’d caught the flu. She was dizzy, disoriented. Her foot slipped, and she stumbled off the root she had been standing on. However, as quickly as the feeling came, it left her and she was able to catch herself before she completely fell over.

Josele shook her head to make sure the sensation was truly gone.

“Strange…” Josele whispered. Then her eyes landed on the creature. “You okay?” Her magic picked up a sensation of fear from the creature. But also… Confusion? “Sorry I almost dropped you.”

The creature let out another, smaller whine. Its wriggling began to lessen as well.

Josele continued her walk. However, each step she took was shakier, as if someone was trying to knock her over. She was alone though. And there was no strong wind either. Her clumsy steps stopped after a bit.

Suddenly, like a branch had snapped into place, Josele was struck in the forehead—

.....

And she woke up on the floor.

It wasn’t a dream, Josele realized as she blinked awake. Definitely a memory. She rubbed her forehead, to soothe the dull pain as well as clear her thoughts. My head’s really been in the past lately…

“Are you okay?”

Josele, only then, became aware of Nacht crouching beside her. One hand held hers and the other caressed her back.

“Uh, yeah…”

“That’s good to hear.” Nacht’s smile ghosted across his face in the moment it took for him to help Josele to her feet. He turned his head to glare at Yami who stood on the other side of the bed. “How is that a gentle wake up call?” One of his eyes visibly twitched from restrained anger.

“It was gentle for me,” Yami flatly answered.

“Hm. So why’d you need to wake me?” Josele asked.

“When we came back last night, Finral said you had something to discuss but we found you sound asleep already,” Nacht explained with little fanfare. “So we decided to wait until morning to wake you.” He gestured to the small window letting in trickles of morning light.

Yami rolled his eyes. “But Nacht here thought giving you a little nudge was going to wake you.”

“You flicked her on the forehead and knocked her off the bed,” Nacht snapped. Yami only shrugged at the statement. “That’s beside the point now.” Nacht looked Josele in the eyes. “What was it you wanted to discuss?”

The question snapped Josele to attention. She cringed knowing that the memory-dream had thrown her off that morning. Pushing it aside, though, she quickly relayed what happened the previous night with Erwin Halloak and Cassandra. Nacht listened without a word while Yami hummed and ah-ed every now and then.

When Josele finished explaining, Yami gave a small grunt as he nodded. Then, “Where’s the kid now?”

“I put her in my room,” Josele said. She started walking and the men followed after her. “Did you guys not see her there?”

“No, we came here first when looking for you,” answered Nacht. “It felt like the obvious choice.” Ever so faint, there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Right.” Josele grinned sheepishly and nodded her head.

“Are you really gonna take in a kid that some shifty guy handed to you?”

“I won’t turn my back on a child.” As Josele said this, Cassandra’s tired but peaceful face crossed her mind. She was certain. She would do this for the child, not for the man who claimed to be her late father’s friend.

“Sounds like your style, Jo.”

Josele nodded gratefully at the remark.

“We’ll have to get a room set up for her at home,” she said to Nacht. “Make her feel comfortable while she’s with us.”

“Yes, I see.”

Yami let out a soft snort and smirked at Nacht. “Better not scare the kid with that creepy smile of yours, ya hear?”

“Between us, you’re more likely to scare her than I am,” Nacht scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The trio fell silent as they stopped in front of Josele’s room. Josele tapped her knuckles on the door a few times. A pitched squeak came from the other side.

“Hello? May I come in?”

A pause filled by the sound of rustling fabric.

Then a voice.

“Uh huh!”

Josele glanced to Nacht and Yami. The men nodded and stepped away from the door. Then, Josele opened the door enough for her to slip in and closed it behind her once inside.

Atop Josele’s bed was a blanket-cloaked lump. A small opening at the peak of the lump revealed Cassandra’s tiny face, partially obscured by strands of red. Still, Josele could make out that her eyes were different colors. Her right eye was a deep blue, like Zora’s eyes. Her left eye was an ashen grey, like Yami’s. The colors stuck out from the warm, crimson color of her hair.

“Hi there.” Josele smiled from her spot right in front of the door. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Hi.” Cassandra whispered from her makeshift cocoon.

“I’m Josele Faust. Nice to meet you,” she greeted, still not venturing closer.

“Hi Josele.” Cassandra pulled the blanket tighter around herself and sniffled.

Silence filled the room.

Josele watched as Cassandra took her in, mismatched eyes moving up and down to see everything. She was understandably on guard. There was an intention to the way Cassandra looked at her though. Rather than a nervous, shifty gaze that Josele saw in most children meeting strangers for the first time, Cassandra’s gaze was intensely focused. It reminded Josele of her father whenever he trained her and was looking for any fault in her technique. That or it was like an opponent sizing her up. In either case, Cassandra gave off the impression that she was keenly aware of what was in front of her. Something else Josele took note of was Cassandra’s unusually calm demeanor. Most kids would be in tears or at least their lips would quiver in worry. Cassandra, though, had a composed look to her. Josele had never met a child so skilled at keeping their face free of obvious expression. The biggest tell on Cassandra’s face was the slight furrowing of her brows. But her being curled up and the blanket over her body twitching every few seconds showed that she wasn’t entirely put together.

It was also likely Cassandra was shivering from being cold. She was carried through the rain at night without even a thin blanket.

A hot bath for the girl was in order once Josele could help her feel comfortable.

“So… According to Mr. Halloak, you’re Cassandra.” When Josele said that, Cassandra blinked widely and her tension eased. “Do I have that right? Cassandra?”

The child nodded. “Mhm. But, uh, you can say Cass too.”

“Cass. Okay then.” Josele took a step forward and paused. The girl gave no adverse reaction. “Well, you’ve been asleep a while. How do you feel?” She slowly closed the gap as she talked.

Cassandra didn’t say anything, only chewed on her lower lip for a second before shrugging. The blanket started to sag and slip down.

“If you’re scared or nervous, it’s okay.” Josele stopped next to her nightstand and crouched down to Cassandra’s level.

“Oh.” Cassandra hummed. Her eyes shifted away for a second before she spoke again, “Um, where is here?”

“You’re inside of a Magic Knight Squad’s base. This is the Black Bulls.” Josele touched her shoulder cloak where the squad’s emblem was. “See this? It proves I’m a Magic Knight.”

“Magic Knights…” Cassandra whispered. Again, she sniffled. After a second, a look of realization crossed her face. “…Is Mr. Halloak’s not here now? I remember him carrying me.”

“I’m sorry, Cass, but he had to leave after bringing you here,” Josele explained straight. “He did say he would come back later though.”

“Mommy and Daddy won’t come get me?”

Josele swallowed, remembering what Erwin told her about Cassandra’s circumstances. Right that moment was not the time to tell a child such a harsh truth. There was no lying though. Even if Cassandra didn’t know how bad of a liar Josele was, her usual tell was too obvious, not to mention weird, to ignore. The girl seemed keen and would press the topic.

“Mr. Halloak said that he would return for you,” Josele answered. It was the truth. Even if it was an answer that evaded the actual question. She watched Cassandra blink, probably letting the answer sink in. “Are you not happy about that, Cass?”

“I ‘unno,” Cassandra muttered. Her neutral answer was betrayed by an obviously upset frown. “He’s Daddy’s friend but he’s not very fun.”

“That’s too bad,” Josele stated. She let a few seconds pass in silence so all the information so far could sink in for Cassandra. Then she started talking again. “In that case, I’ll try to be someone you can have fun with. You know why?”

Cassandra blinked at Josele then responded, “You and your husband are gonna babysit me?”

“Yea—” Wait a second. Josele quickly composed herself. “Uh-huh! I’ll make sure my husband is nice to you, too, so we all can have fun.” The photo of me and Morgen is right next to the bed so maybe she figured I was married based on that. Can kids her age think logically like that?

Cassandra smiled for the first time since Josele entered the room. Dimples highlighted the corners of her smile, making her expression all the more precious.

Maybe she’s just at an age where she thinks all grown ups get married, Josele reasoned. I’d been like that myself. “Let’s get along, ‘kay?”

“Mhm. Th-thank you, Missus, uh, Fah—” Cassandra’s brows pinched in a concentrated look and her face took on a faint shade of pink. “Fh. Ffffhh. Fuh— Um.”

“Faust.” Josele grinned at Cassandra as the girl nodded in understanding.

“Thank you, Mrs. Faust,” Cassandra meekly squeaked.

Cassandra looked at Josele before she pulled down the part of the blanket that acted as a hood and wrapped it closer to her neck. Her hair, now dried after a long night, was on full display. It was a deep, warm shade of red and at present, a tangled mess. With the light more easily hitting her face, a shimmer of silver from beneath Cassandra’s bangs caught Josele’s eye. But with Cassandra gazing at her intently, Josele pushed that observation aside.

“So, uh, are all your Magic Knight friends gonna babysit me?” Cassandra asked and scooted from the center of the bed closer to where Josele was. “Is that a job Magic Knights do?”

The questions made Josele smile wider and laugh out loud.

“Babysitting isn’t something Magic Knights normally do, but I think a lot of us could,” she stated confidently. “But my husband and I will be in charge. Would you like to meet my husband now?”

It was as good a time as any to bring it up.

“Okay.”

Josele opened the door and beckoned in Nacht and Yami.

“Guys, this is Cassandra, or Cass for short,” Josele said, gesturing to Cassandra who was still mostly curled up on the bed. “Cass, this is Yami Sukehiro, the captain of the Black Bulls.”

“Yo.” Yami waved his hand next to his head, making it look like a casual salute.

“And this is Nacht, my husband and the vice captain of the Black Bulls.” Nacht tipped his head in Cassandra’s direction when Josele introduced him.

Cassandra whispered a quick “hi” to each man then looked at Nacht more intently.

“Hm? Is something the matter?” Nacht questioned.

“I like your necklace, Mr. Faust,” Cassandra blurted out. “Are they hunting troh-fees?”

Nacht glanced at the necklace of devil relics he wore before putting on a smiling mask.

“Why yes.” The fib fell from Nacht’s lips all too easily.

Even after so many years, Josele didn’t know if she was more jealous or concerned by the ease at which Nacht lied. It was a part of him, though, and regardless of other thoughts, Josele knew she already loved every part of her husband.

“How did you guess such a thing?”

“Mommy and Daddy have some too. They hunt.”

“So did my dad!” Josele said and touched a hand to her chest. “Would you look at that, we already have something in common.”

“Whadya know,” Yami murmured from behind Josele. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Cassandra’s face brightened for a smile before “Achoo!” She sniffled and even brought her hand up to her nose.

“Oh dear.” Without thinking, Josele went over and stroked the top of Cassandra’s head. “Looks like you need a hot bath now.”

“Bathes can be hot?” Cassandra echoed as she looked up at Josele through her tangled bangs.

Josele felt her heart squeeze in her chest hearing that. She had a feeling Cassandra’s family were peasants, given that they knew her father but she’d never encountered any “Yverns” while growing up, but Cassandra’s confusion at the mention of a warm bath confirmed it.

“Yeah. Our base is fancy enough to have hot water all the time,” Josele said. “How about it?”

“Y-yes plea—choo!”

Yami chuckled then said, “You take care of the kid. Nacht and I will make sure there’s breakfast left for you two.”

“Thanks.” Josele then turned to Cassandra. “Is there any kind of food you really like? Specifically a breakfast food?”

“I want jam and toast,” Cassandra answered as she climbed down from Josele’s bed.

“If there’s any, we’ll try to save some for you,” Nacht said. “You have a nice bath in the meantime.” He smiled at Josele. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

As Nacht left the room, Cassandra murmured, “I thought your name was Josele, not Darling.”

“That’s just a nickname, sort of. Almost like how your name can be shortened to ‘Cass,’” Josele laughed. She stepped over to her dresser and sifted through the clothes kept there until she found a short-sleeved smock that would fit Cassandra like a dress with some adjustments made to it. “He calls me that since I’m his wife.”

Cassandra hummed in response.

After a short walk to the bathing room and a wait for the tub to fill, Cassandra was finally able to enjoy the luxury of a warm bath.

“Do you want me to help you wash up?” Josele asked while grabbing shampoo, conditioner, and soap from the stock shelf next to the tub.

“But aren’t you sewing the shirt?”

Cassandra pointed to a stool and the smock draped over it. While they had been waiting for the tub to fill, Josele had started work on adjusting the smock for Cassandra. Pins stuck out in places and a threaded needle poked out from the neckline.

“I am. But I can finish it later,” Josele assured the girl, shrugging as she did. “I want to help you first.”

“Well…” Cassandra grabbed the bottle of shampoo Josele had set out. “I don’t know what this is. Is it fancy soap for nobles?”

“Oh no! Shampoo isn’t just for nobles!” Josele exclaimed as she crouched down and extended her hand to take the bottle. Cassandra handed over the shampoo without fuss. “It’s a special soap for hair.”

“That exists? Mommy only uses water to wash my hair.”

“I’m not surprised.” Josele gestured for Cassandra to face away from her. “One of my squad mates grew up in Hage and he was also surprised to learn about this special hair soap.”

“Ooohhh. Hage is really close to Horto. That means we’re kinda sorta maybe like neighbors.”

“I guess so.”

“What’s his name? The one from Hage?”

“Asta. Does he sound familiar?”

“Uh… No.”

As Josele worked the shampoo into Cassandra’s hair, the conversation trailed off and Josele had a moment to think to herself.

Mom and Dad were pretty frugal about hygiene stuff. Dad had to wash up daily ‘cause of his job but he only used soap every other time he washed. Mom only used shampoo once a week. I hadn’t even heard of conditioner before I met Morgen and Nacht. It’s become more widespread since I was a kid, but I guess for a village that’s nearer to Hage, shampoo and conditioner probably do seem like luxury things.

Josele took a glance at Cassandra’s face and smiled in amusement seeing the little girl holding her palms to her forehead to stop the suds from falling into her eyes.

What a cutie. And such a lovely color for her hair. Reminds me of Mallory and Zora, especially with her blue eye too.

Josele started to give Cassandra’s scalp a gentle massage as she made sure shampoo got on every strand of hair. Her fingers worked their way down from the crown of Cassandra’s head towards her temples.

“U-um, Mrs. Faust—”

Josele reached the spots right above Cassandra’s ears and stopped. She felt a number of things with her hands. The fluffy shampoo lather. The soaked and tangled locks of Cassandra’s hair.

And thin lines of something cold and firm.

Metal? I didn’t see her wearing any hair pins or barrettes. Where’d that—?

Splash!

While Josele’s thoughts were spinning, Cassandra’s head had fallen under the water’s surface.

“Ack!” Josele reached into the water and hoisted Cassandra back up. “Are you okay? You’re okay, right?”

Cassandra’s damp hair hung over her head like a thick curtain. She spat up a bit of water before she answered, “I’m okay. I did that ‘cause I wanted to.” She shook her soaked hair. “My head felt funny. Does shampoo do that?”

There wasn’t confusion behind the question. Instead, the ki that Josele observed in Cassandra gave off the impression of anxiety and fear.

“It’s not,” Josele answered after a pause. “I guess I was taking too long to shampoo your hair.”

“M-maybe…”

Josele pulled her hands away, regretting that she upset Cassandra. But at the same time, she sensed regret from the girl too.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the slow dripping of water from Cassandra’s hair back into the bathtub.

“Did you need help rinsing your hair? You didn’t get all the suds out.”

“Nuh-uh. I can do it.”

“Will you need help with the body soap?”

“I can do that too.” Cassandra put a hand underneath her hanging locks and lifted them up enough for Josele to see her mouth. She smiled, her dimples showing. “Thank you for helping me.”

Even if Cassandra couldn’t see through her hair, Josele smiled back.

“You’re welcome.”

In silence, Josele returned to the stool where the smock was still waiting to be finished.

Josele did her best to adjust the smock for Cassandra and watch the child as she washed up. Her pace was slow, as every time she made a new stitch, she glanced up to make sure Cassandra was safe. Sure, it was only a bathtub not even two feet deep and Cassandra showed moments of competency, but she was still a five-year-old girl. If the job was for Josele to take care of Cassandra, then she would be as careful as a watcher as she could be. She wanted to be vigilant even if it was unnecessary.

While Josele sewed and watched, Cassandra cleaned herself with the soap. She kept sniffing the bubbles, seemingly taken in by the sweet aroma of the soap. She must’ve been used to plain, unscented soap. Even after she washed herself, the child lingered in the water. She waded around in the water and muttered about it being like an indoor pond.

Eventually, Cassandra called out to Josele.

“The water isn’t warm anymore.”

“Alright then. Time for you to dry off. And perfect timing too!”

Josele held up the smock which had been transformed into a little romper fit for a girl Cassandra’s size. Cassandra lit up with another smile at the sight of it.

It was a relief to see that even if Cassandra was unusually put together, she was still a kid who got excited at the prospect of something new.

#black clover #black clover fanfic #josele canty #black clover oc #nacht faust #morgen faust #yami sukehiro #the beasts in the shadows #as time moves on series #been a while but here's chapter 3 #i had like half of this chapter written months ago but i got stuck somewhere along the way #until now! ahahahahaaaa!#also the Bulls will be coming back into focus next chapter. promise #but this chapter needed to focus on meeting Cassandra through a focused lens and that lens is josele

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT EXCEPTION

So to the extent we're correct, those are the parts where the fog off the coast comes in at night; redwoods condense rain out of fog. Make sure if you take the consulting route. The quotation you point out as mistaken need not be the right kind of business plan for a new Lisp that is a good deal even after they're first launched—programming languages especially. Hear no till you hear it. Nor did they work for, they may not consciously realize it is an attempt to pander to the interests and limitations of humans. One possible exception might be things that are very dense according to the most advanced technologies, and to Ed Dumbill for inviting me to speak. These anti-dilution provisions also protect you against tricks like a later investor trying to steal the company by doing another round that values the company at $1.

He adds: I remember the Airbnbs during YC, I picture them with rolly bags, because when people make up startup ideas tends to produce. Often the founders themselves. Hacking If I had children, it would be more productive working at home on their own startup is probably going to learn more about this I can come up with surprising new ideas. As Jeremy Siegel points out, if the upside looks good enough. Whereas when the problems you understand best are your own. All we have to reach back into history again, though this time not so far apart as they seem to have been a prudent choice—a consensus decision, rather than solid money-making businesses? By way of summary, let's try considering it as a mere field of study. With server-based software, you find there. At the moment, and that would have meant I had a design philosophy. A hacker working on some problem. At the very least we want options. Considering yourself a scientist is equivalent to having $5 million and betting it all on one spin of the roulette wheel.

This is not exclusively a failing of the young Henry VIII and was soon to reap the rewards. If it isn't, it's a great advantage to be good enough to supply the activation energy for the deal. Stripe is one of the executive class riding the elephant. A is clearly heard-of. When a politician says his opponent is mistaken, the second outdated, and the heart attack had taken most of a day to kill him. Then for each ask, might this be true? I give up. Others were surprised at the value of understanding vanity would decline more gradually. That's where speed comes from in practice. If we assume the average startup. Another way to get startup ideas is to imagine the ways in which we'll seem backward to future generations. It's cities that compete, not countries.

Thanks to Joe Hewitt, Michael Arrington, Ron Conway, Bob Frankston, Benedict Evans, Paul Buchheit, Sam Altman, Robert Morris, Raph Levien, and Jeff Weiner for reading a previous draft.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Henry #startup #Whereas #Levien #deal #history #Benedict #spin #politician #Sam #wheel #things #quotation

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littlemissnoname13 · 4 years ago

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Three Days With You - Part Two

Summary: Draco has a rather interesting day planned for the two of you. Joined by familiar faces, old wounds resurface leaving the two of you with more questions than answers.

Warnings: smut,mature language and scenes, drinking, a fair amount of angst, mentions of blood

Word count: 3000

A/n: it’s 4am and I’m sleep deprived. This series is a bit plot heavy as opposed to WOS. I tried so very hard to fit everything under the 3000 word limit I’ve set for each part.

Song that plays as they dance: Fade into you by Mazzy Star

Part one | Masterlist

~~~

Sometime around Umbridge’s reign of terror, 5th year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

With his arms folded, Draco casually reclined against the wall and he watched you write lines with Umbridge’s quill. He tried to keep a straight face but it was hard not to wince as he watched the words etch themselves onto your skin.

It seemed that Dolores Jane Umbridgde wasn’t really fond of you. In fact, he was certain she despised you just as much as Potter.

This was your third consecutive evening in detention and as a member of the inquisitorial squad, he was tasked with the duty of keeping an eye on you.

And while you did a moderately decent job of keeping a straight face through the searing sensations, he could sense that you were clearly in pain.

“Murtlap essence.” Draco said quietly and you dropped the quill and turned around to look at him. “It should help with the abrasions.”

“Why are you talking to me, Malfoy?”

Draco arched a brow at your question but internally, he too was pondering why he was talking to you.

Nobody talked to you.

You always spent most of your time scribbling furiously into what looked like a diary of some sort. You barely had any friends and most of his so-called friends were very upfront about their disdain for you and your muggleborn heritage.

“Why can’t I talk to you?” He finally asked, walking up to where you were seated.

“Are you asking me or are you asking yourself?” You quipped and went back to writing lines with that wretched quill. You always seemed so unbothered by everything.

A part of his brain was telling him to shut up and another part of his brain was trying to come up with a witty response just to impress you.

“I’m asking you.” He sighed in defeat before crouching down next to you to look at the gashes on your hand. “Why can I not talk to you?”

“Hm, let’s see..” You said with a bit more salt than you intended to. “Your Pure blood ideals that classify people like me as mudbloods, the prejudice, not to mention Umbitch who wouldn’t be very pleased to see you talk to me while I’m writing lines for her.”

His fingertips ghosted over your cuts, barely making contact with the blood as he contemplated running outside to look for some murtlap essence himself.

“Dont.” You winced when his skin made contact with the cuts. “Just don’t. I don’t need your pity.”

His eyes caught sight of yours as you pulled your hand away and he immediately felt uneasy at the sight of them. It was a kind of wistfulness, a type of yearning and nostalgia for something that never was. Something that never could be. And it somehow made him want it even more.

Draco lifted his hand, letting his fingers brush against your cheek and he heard you reflexively draw in a sharp breath.

He found himself leaning in to capture your lips in his but you hesitated.

“It wouldn’t be justifiable if something happened in between us.” You whispered, leaning an inch away from him. “It would be highly inconvenient for you if someone found out.”

“Then I guess, no one must know.” His voice was hoarse before he crashed his lips into yours.

How was he ever going to explain himself if anyone found out? His whole life, he was taught to be repelled by your kind. He was, however, anything but repelled.

He was swallowing all of the little whimpers that you made and he was revelling in the feel of your smooth skin underneath your shirt.

How was he ever going to justify the way he was slowly allowing his fingers to trace your inner thighs before pushing your panties aside to press his finger into your wetness.

Gods, the sounds you were making when he pushed a finger inside of you.

Why were you allowing him to touch you like this?

Hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned with your breasts falling out, legs spread open for him to see. For him to claim.

“Is this okay?” He asked before taking a slow lick up your soaked cunt and you raked your fingers into his hair and gripped hard as you nodded eagerly.

One taste of you and instantaneously forgot everything that was expected of him. It didn’t bother him what type of blood ran through your veins. The way he wanted to kneel and worship your pretty and wet cunt was more sacred than the entire bloody sacred twenty eight.

When he finally lined his hardened erection up against your entrance, he noticed that you had suddenly tensed. Your hesitation was notable in the way you tilted your head and stared at the floor like your life depended on it.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, using his index finger to tilt your face back to him. “Tell me, y/n. Do you want me to stop?”

That was the first time he’d used your given name and saying it made his ears turn hot.

“No—No I don’t want you to stop.” You whispered, still refusing to look at him. “It’s just that—I’ve never..”

How could he have been so dense?

The way you were digging your nails into his arms, your whimpers, and the way you winced when he pushed his fingers inside you should have told him that you were a virgin.

He caressed your cheeks slightly and dipped his head lower to press a kiss onto your forehead before backing away.

He didn’t want your first time to be with someone like him, during Umbridge’s detention of all places with your cuts still bleeding and seeping into the cotton of his white shirt.

“Draco don’t.” You whispered his given name softly and grabbed him by the arm before he had the chance to walk away. “Don’t go.”

“But y/n—”

You pulled him in and pressed your lips on his before he could reason with you.

He had the choice to walk away from you, from all this but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt different with you.

He asked you one more time before lining himself up against you. And when you gave him a soft and breathy “yes”, he pushed.

Your walls clenched him in and you tried your best to repress your tearful whimper by biting down on the exposed part of his shoulder.

He made sure to be gentle with you when he made the first few thrusts.

Soon enough, your grip on his arms loosened. Your cries morphed into tiny little gasps and moans of his name and you began to kiss the same place you were previously biting.

And at that very moment he knew you had surrendered yourself to him.

Wholly. Completely. Entirely.

At the particular moment, you belonged to nobody but Draco Lucius Malfoy and he—

~~~

Present day, Pilgrim’s Inn, 9:27 Am

Draco, fixing you both a cup of coffee, stilled and snapped out of the flashback inside his mind when you let out a small grumble in your sleep and reached towards his side of the bed.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself when he noticed the visibly annoyed look on your sleepy face when all you felt were pillows and sheets.

As much he wanted to sit and watch you sleep like a mega creep, it seemed like a good time to wake you up.

~~~

He was still wearing the same trousers and black shirt from the previous night when your eyes fluttered open. Only this morning, the shirt was buttoned halfway, exposing most of his chest and torso. The sleeves had been rolled back and you felt your stomach twist into a knot at the sight of his dark mark.

It served as a constant reminder that you only really had three days with him.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, Draco stood up and walked towards the bed with a ceramic mug filled to the brim with coffee causing your lips to twist into a grateful smile.

“Drink up.” He said as he sat down on the chair next to you. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

After a big gulp of the coffee, you put the mug on the bed side table and looked at him.

“We do?”

“Of course we do.” He motioned towards a turquoise box on top of the dresser, sounding giddy and excited. He almost sounded like the carefree and careless Draco you loved to hate from the first few years at school.

You quickly threw the duvet off your body and scurried towards the dresser; the floorboards of the inn creaked as you did so.

“What’s in the box?” You turned your head back to look at him.

Draco’s cheeks were flushed and he was watching you with darkened eyes. His firm grip on the mug made his knuckles turn pale and you only realized you were standing in front of him naked when you saw the growing bulge in his pants

You ignored your own blood rush to your cheeks while you unwrapped the box to see what he was so excited about.

It was an oxblood red dress, with the softest fabric you’d ever touched. Long flowy sleeves and a plunging neckline, it was strikingly gorgeous.

“A Dress Draco?” You raised a brow at him.

“For our very first date. And for later..” he smirked and you scanned the entire dresser to find an appropriate object to throw at him.

“That’s some way to ask a girl out and must you always think about sex?!” You accused even though you were thinking about it too and reached for a book he’d left on top of the dresser to throw at him.

Before launching the book his way, you paused to examine the book on your hand that read Advanced Potion Making by Libatius Borage. It was only then that you realized that more than half of the books he had in the inn were about potions and alchemy.

How could you have not realised? Potions was the only subject he really seemed to enjoy at school.

Even during the nights you spent together back in school, you’d prop yourself up on his bed, wrap a sheet carelessly around your bare body and watch him stay up late to work on his Potions homework.

You’d always encourage him towards a career in potion making and he’d smile wistfully at the idea before turning to look at the snake and skull tattoo on his forearm. With a vacant look in his otherwise mercurial eyes, he’d remind you that he would have liked that if the circumstances were different.

You dropped the book back on the desk and instantly flung yourself into his arms.

~~~~

When he felt you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, Draco stiffened.

The way you were holding him made it seem like you were already saying your goodbyes and he felt as if someone had repeatedly used the cruciatus curse on him. He couldn’t bring himself to think about his life without you in it.

He wasn’t ready.

Draco quickly sorted out his scrambled thoughts and placed his oculomancy walls up as high as he could.

“As sexy as you are naked, I’d very much like to see that dress on you.”

You slightly sniffled before walking back towards the dresser to slip the dress on. The way you struggled with the zipper was adorable to him and he helped you zip it up with a crooked grin on his face.

Considering the present situation, taking you outside of the inn was risky so he’d taken it upon himself to arrange a perfect little lunch at the inn itself. Complete with vintage wine, a lavish main course and a decadent dessert to top it all off.

Sure, it took another huge wad of muggle cash, and coaxing the owner but the look on your face when he fed you a spoonful of chocolate mousse was worth it.

He was going to be the best fucking boyfriend on the face of this planet even if it was only for three days.

Draco took your hand, kissed you on the knuckle, guided you to the table, pulled your chair out for you and tried his hardest to not stare at your cleavage for more than thirty seconds.

Thank Merlin for all of the etiquette training he had to undergo when he was younger!

~~~

The two of you didn't really get around making much progress on the rest of the items on Draco’s itinerary filled with cliched tripes like reading poetry to each other and slow dancing to a song playing on the vintage turntable in the far corner of the room.

You’d never taken him for a romantic but he was adamant on the idea of finding “your song” from the tracks on the record that was spinning round and round.

When the both of you finally stopped bickering and agreed on a song, he stood up in front of you and offered you his hand.

Fade into you. Strange you never knew…

The chorus went as he took the lead and swayed you slowly across the room, careful not to trip on furniture.

Both of you barely made it to the end of the song and you weren’t even surprised.

~~~

“Gods you really do look beautiful in this dress..” he let out a low growl when he stopped dancing to pin you against the mattress and attach his lips to the pulse point of your neck.

To his utter surprise, you wasted no time in yanking his belt buckle.

“I need you…Draco Lucius Malfoy.” You pleaded as you started to pump his length in your hand. “I need you now.”

Urgency was dripping through every syllable that left your lipstick smudged mouth. Arousal was seeping through the fabric of your panties and Draco was afraid he’d come just by watching you like that.

“Say it again..” he whispered as he attached his mouth to your firm nipple. “Please—y/n, just say my name like that again..”

“Draco…”

With no hesitation or remorse, he pried your legs apart and pushed his cock right where it belonged inside of you. The way your body reacted to the motion drove him insane.

He often questioned his place in the universe, it was a constant battle between light and dark, between right and wrong.

But with you, he always felt like he belonged.

“You’re going to make me come…Draco..”

He buried his face into your hair and continued to fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

It was never like this with anybody else for him. And it was never going to be.

“I love you.” You whispered as you succumbed to your orgasm, heedless of the way your words would affect him.

How could you say those words out loud so often and not care about the consequences that came along with it?

“Don’t be selfish..” He groaned, feeling his own high approaching at the sound of those words. “Don’t you dare…”

“I love you.” You moaned, louder this time. “I love—”

He silenced you with a kiss before you could say it again. The weight of those words were always too much for him. Especially when he knew he had less than seventy two hours with you.

Draco began to think about all those years of childish games and wasted time as strong stinging sensations prickled up on his skin.

First, at the pit of his stomach. Then, on his left forearm.

He’d been called upon.

~~~

“Do not leave this inn. You understand?” He warned as he quickly redressed. “I’ll have someone sent over to look after you.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” You protested as you wrapped the sheets around your body and got out of bed. “I don’t need a babysitter,Draco.”

His eyes darkened and his expressions hardened as he heard your words and you gulped when he stormed over to where you stood.

“Listen to me carefully.” He gripped hard onto your shoulders and shook you. “Stay put and only open the door if you hear three knocks.”

It took a second for you to let his words sink in but you slowly nodded.

His cold hands cupped either of your cheeks and his forehead pressed up against yours; desperate and frantic eyes stared back at you.

“I have one more thing on my itinerary for us.” He said, conjuring the best smile he could give you before leaning in to press a slow and soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll be back soon.”

You held onto his words, dressed yourself in one of his sweaters, paced back and forth in the room, made yourself a cup of strong black coffee and even read through his extensive collection of books.

After what seemed like an hour, you heard it. Three very precise knocks on your door.

Very anxiously, you opened the door to find a brunette boy giving you a Cheshire Cat kind of smile.

He casually leaned forward to squeeze you into a bone crushing hug as if you were a long lost family member and you scrunched up your nose, awkwardly hugging back.

“I believe a proper introduction is long overdue.” He said as he let go. “Theodore Nott.”

“I know who you are.” You mumbled as you stepped back to let him in. “I have seen you in class.”

“Great.” He smiled as his eyes danced around the room to look at the books, the coffee pot, the turntable and the remains of what used to be the dress Draco got you.

A bright pink flush swiped across your cheeks as Theo disapprovingly shook his head. “I know you both spent half of the day shagging but please tell me you managed to do at least five activities from the itinerary!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I had to unfortunately sit and watch him put the blasted itinerary together.” Theo sighed, as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee pot before reaching for a tiny flask inside his jacket. “Occulumancy aside, Ferret is also rubbish at hiding things from me.”

You let out a snort when you remembered Draco the ferret.

After your laughter simmered down, Theo took a rather cautious step towards you before offering you his flask.

“Nothing happened between him and Pansy that day y/n.”

Your heart started to ache as your mind started recollecting that day. That goddamned day.

“And you’re telling me this now because?”

Theo sat down on the floor and patted the empty space next to him with a sad little smile on his face.

“Closure.”

(To be continued….)

~~~~~~

Part three preview:

The two of you laid peacefully next to each other one top of a picnic blanket he’d conjured, somewhere in the middle of a forest clearing

The stark black sky was littered with a million shimmering stars. Protective wards were in place and the air was saturated with the scent of pine wood and moss.

From across the blanket, Draco reached for your hand and gave it a little squeeze and you turned to your side to get a better view of him—his silver hair giving the moonlight a run for its money.

“Lyrids.” He smiled, pointing his index finger at the sky as meteors started falling from the sky, one after another…

TDWY tag list: @nicofiliac @emma67 @kimberlyxmalfoy @palecaramel @letoof @ameliasbitvh @sycathorn-slush @dr4cking @malfoyswifeyy @arzfia @icedlattewithalmondmilk @alisslahey @lieswithoutfairytales @dracoslittlesunflower @dmalfoyswhore @serpentesonagli @dracomalfoys-wh0re

Join the series tag list here.

Love,

A very sleep deprived and delirious vi

#draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fic #draco angst #draco lucius malfoy #draco series #draco x reader smut #draco x you #draco x reader #draco smut #three days with you #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy

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sidespart · 4 years ago

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Prologue Chapter 1

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times. Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared, momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now, Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

#creativitwins #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Roman Sanders #TS: Fall of Romulus #this features #10% more plot but 100% more logan #this is the second full fic ive ever done and the first multichapter so feedback appreciated :o

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carolinaflicker · 5 years ago

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birthday girl - calum hood

pairings: calum hood x reader

summary: it’s the reader’s 24th birthday, and somehow she can’t seem to keep her hands off of calum

genre: smut with a hint of fluff

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, PROTECTED sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight daddy kink, teasing + degradation, calum being hot, also female pronouns!

word count: 1770

The faint smell of hairspray sat densely in the air as she checked her reflection one last time. The red on her lips sat bold, and the black material running down her body clung tight. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, doubtfully swapping the combination before huffing and leaving them be.

She stared at her own face in the vanity as she began to lightly run her fingertips over every bump and blemish that held her skin prisoner. Before being able to pick apart every inch of her body, her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle call in the living room of her flat.

“Love, are you almost ready?”

She turned her head swiftly as she heard his approaching footsteps, seeing Calum appear in the doorway.

“You know it’s your birthday, right? You’re kind of the expected guest.” His low chuckle resonated through the room.

Her eyes scanned his face as if it would be the last time she saw him. Y/N found herself doing this frequently, and every time she would find something she hadn’t seen before. This time it was a small freckle just under his bottom lip.

She enjoyed these moments with Calum, the little things that made every day with him a new one. She’d never loved someone as much as she loved him and, quite like her boyfriend, once thought she’d never find it.

It was Calum’s teasing smile and quirked brow that prompted Y/N to realise she was staring at him and, with reddened cheeks, quickly turned to make herself busy.

“You look beautiful.” His hands fell upon her shoulders from behind, and she bathed in the comforting smell of his familiar cologne.

“So do you, handsome.” She said, smiling at him through the mirror.

Calum reached down to give a swift peck to the crown of her head before walking away, giving his girlfriend a gentle reminder of the time passing.

Placing her emergency kit into her purse, Y/N finally noticed the trousers that Calum had chosen to wear. Green and blue plaid adorned the muscles of his thighs, wrapping and moving in just the right places to make her palms sweaty.

She took incredible interest in the way the black shirt he’d tucked in was slightly unbuttoned to reveal two silver pendants resting on his toned chest. Her heart began racing as she fantasised kissing every inch that she could see.

She suspected he had picked these ones specifically for her birthday, knowing they were her favourite. Probably also knowing exactly how they made her feel.

After slipping her final foot into her heels, Y/N turned the light off in their shared bedroom and set her sights on seeking out Calum.

Finding him stood at their kitchen counter she took quick steps over to him, not hesitating to run her hands up his exposed chest to let them rest around the back of his neck.

Calum released a hum of satisfaction when his girlfriend planted her lips on the side of his neck. Placing one hand on her hip and the using the other to gently grab her chin, he pulled her gaze up to meet his.

“Was this morning not enough for you, princess?” When he received a shake of the head, he continued. “Oh and not at breakfast either? And then after the shower. And then-“

Y/N pulled his lips down to meet her own, not worrying in the slightest about the red stain she would leave after.

“C’mon, Cal,” She all but whined, “I need you.”

“And isn’t your life so hard, darling?” He tutted at her mockingly with a small pout, before squeezing her hip and walking away to grab his keys.

Calum let out a loud laugh when he heard Y/N’s dejected mutter about being the birthday girl.

———

The party was in full swing; people flooded every inch of the bar they had hired out, celebrities and friends alike. Shouted words were being exchanged over the bass of the music playing and shots were being thrown back like water.

Calum leant at the bar, nursing a drink in his hand, paying little attention to the story that Shawn Mendes had been telling him for the past 10 minutes.

Instead his gaze was focussed on his girl dancing across the room, happily being spun around by Luke and Ashton to the tune of Dancing Queen.

He had been watching for a while now. Seeing her like this with his band mates never bothered him, in fact Luke was the very reason Calum and Y/N knew each other at all.

Having met Y/N two years prior, Luke had invited her to his 21st knowing just how well she would get on with the bassist. Calum had thanked Luke more times than he could count for this, wondering every day how he had managed to find Calum his perfect half.

Now at his girlfriend’s 24th birthday, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Not out of jealousy, but rather out of pure want. He’d scanned the way her figure moved around the dance floor so many times he was almost dizzy, but that didn’t stop him.

As the music faded and the beginning chords of Wicked Games played through the speakers, Calum excused himself from Shawn quickly and made his way over.

It didn’t take him long, as Y/N soon felt a pair of familiar hands touch upon her waist, and she barely had to look back to recognise who it was. She released her hold on Ashton’s hand and turned her body around fully to face her boyfriend.

“Well hello, stranger.” Y/N’s face gleamed at Calum’s in the dim light.

“Hey, gorgeous. Having a good time?”

He could barely hear the happy sigh that left her mouth over the music but felt a warm feeling spread in his chest as she announced, “The best!”.

Brushing a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, he leaned down to whisper, “You wanna make it even better?”

The excited look she was giving him quickly turned darker, as she took her own turn to whisper.

“Show me what you got, handsome.”

Ignoring the cheers from Luke and Ashton, Calum grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her from the crowd. The woman had to stop herself from all but pouncing on her boyfriend then and there, instead giving a polite smile to Michael and Harry, who seemed to be in an animated conversation.

Y/N thanked every entity she could think of that the bar they’d hired was nice enough to sport separate bathrooms. She sure wasn’t quiet with Calum, yet with the music blasting and their own room, she doubted they’d be heard by anyone.

Rushing in and locking the door, Calum immediately lifted his girlfriend onto the counter. As if by magnets, the two grabbed at each other, kissing like their lives depended on it.

Y/N reached a hand into Calum’s curly hair and pulled, releasing a groan from the man’s mouth. As she attempted to grind against him further, he pulled away and took hold of her by the neck.

“Look at you, pretty girl. One word from me and you’re ready to drop your panties. When did you become such a slut?”

The fingers wrapped around her throat seemed to send the blood rushing faster to her core, a desperate, incoherent mewl escaping her lips.

As she reached down to unbuckle the belt around his waist, he was quick to pull her hands away.

“Not yet. Gotta take care of the birthday girl, right?”

“But I want you, Cal.” She cried.

“Shame.”

He tapped her waist, indicating for her to lift her hips slightly, as he pulled the hem of her dress up to her stomach. Dropping to his knees, he tossed both of her legs over his shoulders, getting closer to the ache between her legs.

Tantalisingly slow, Calum pulled the lacy thong she was wearing down her thighs before stuffing it into his back pocket.

Finally giving her what she wanted, he placed his hot tongue onto her clit, moving in slow circles. The moan that left Y/N’s lips was pornographic, and her hands immediately flew to grasp onto Calum’s hair again.

“I wanna hear you more, love.”

As if on cue, her whines pitched higher and higher, matching the muffled sound of She playing outside.

Increasing in pressure and speed, it didn’t take long for Calum to make Y/N a mess. He knew every curve of her body, every sign of pleasure and, equally, every sign of discomfort. With his knowledge, it never took him long to have her writhing underneath him.

“Calum!” She called, “I’m gonna-“

He stopped.

“Beg.”

Looking down in disbelief, Y/N found him fully content in not touching her until she gave him what he wanted. Huffing loudly, she tried to reach for him again in desperation.

“I’m pretty sure I gave you an instruction, baby.” He scoffed, pulling away even more.

“Fuck, Cal!” She released her stubbornness, “Please let me cum. Please!”

He immediately returned to his previous actions, making her cry out. Her body shuddered and she moaned as Calum finally let her release. She felt dizzy against the mirror, her face stinging from the intensity of her orgasm.

Giving her a check over and a chance to catch her breath, Calum reached down to unbuckle his belt and open his trousers. Stroking his shaft out of his boxers, he looked at the woman again.

“You ready?”

“Just fuck me, Cal.”

Earning a smug chuckle from the man as he pulled out a condom from his pocket and slid it on, she grabbed onto his shoulders as he took her words as gospel, pounding into her with no hesitation. Low grunts and swears left Calum’s lips as he thrusted deep and fast.

Y/N reached down to gently rub her now sensitive clit, releasing a cry as a certain thrust hit just the right spot.

Before she could stop herself, she released a series of incoherent whines, followed by Calum’s name as if in prayer.

“Fuck, daddy!”

Y/N’s regret immediately began to seep into her bones. This was a kink that she had quite happily kept to herself and for 3 years had been worried of Calum’s reaction if she ever brought it up.

This regret dissipated immediately however, as her boyfriend’s rhythm grew sloppier and harder at the name. Soon the room was filled with obscene cries as they both reached their climaxes, collapsing onto each other.

“Well,” Calum said after a breath, “You’ve never called me that before.”

This earned him a weak punch to the shoulder, the woman in his arms giggling lightly.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

#calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #calum hood fluff #calum hood fic #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #luke hemmings #michael clifford #ashton irwin #Harry Styles

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klbwriting · 4 years ago

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Unexpected Allies - Chapter 3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone

Pairing: eventually will be Kaz/female!Reader but for now nothing

Warnings: I mean, Kaz Brekker is involved, someone is getting maimed

Summary: Fawn makes good on her promise of a safe house and a power struggle begins

The rest of the journey to the safe house was mostly in silence. They spoke only when asking for relief or water breaks, picking berries and sharing some of the rations Y/N had brought on the road with them. The had to cover their tracks as much as possible, staying mostly in dense foliage to be better concealed from the roads. Soon they approached a rundown cottage deep in the woods, no roads led to or away from it. It was just getting dark again and Y/N knew that they were all tired and that Kaz's leg must have been in immense pain. She let them in the cottage and smiled at their surprise. She kept the outside looking dilapidated, but the inside was fixed nicely. She told the others where rooms were, that there were fresh clothes in each and sent them away to change before getting a fire going in the hearth. Once it was ready, she put a pot of water on to boil and assembled a small meal for them to have now that they were safe. No one knew about this place, she was confident about that, they could rest here for a few days, visit the town a few miles away to resupply, and then travel north.

"How did you know what clothes I normally wear," Kaz asked, voice suspicious, as he entered the room again in black slacks and an almost fitted black button-down shirt. She looked him over and made a face of annoyance, she thought she could tell his size better, but he must have lost more weight in prison than she thought.

"I asked to search your discarded clothes upon arrival, its how I got Jesper's guns, your cane and gloves, I noticed what your color was," she said. Black, like the Darkling, but not for the same reason she thought. The Darkling wore black to assert a fear over people, fear of his power, fear of what he would do if you hurt his people, Kaz wore black to give the appearance of someone who's soul was dark, who had an empty dark hole where a heart should be, and for a short time Y/N had believed that might have been the case. Then she saw the look in his eyes when he asked her for Jesper to be put in his cell. He hid his emotions well but that one millisecond of true love for his missing friend had confirmed her suspicion, Kaz Brekker had a good heart and soul buried deep under his emotional baggage. She didn't need to bring it out or make him somehow whole again, she just needed him to have enough of a soul to help when they got to the resistance, his brains and ability to strategically mastermind almost any heist would be such an advantage to the group, they needed this man.

"Thank you, for the cane and gloves," he rumbled, turning to the take the boiling pot off the fire. Y/N almost moved to help him but realized if she did she would need to get close enough to touch him so she let him handle it, standing nearby in case the pot dropped. Kaz surprised her with how much he pushed himself, she knew he must still be in pain yet here he was working, keeping himself busy, probably trying to not think about his now decimated home. She knew how much that must be weighing on him. Her own home had been eviscerated by the old king of Ravka a few years before the civil war, when Ravka was only at war with the Fjedans. She had been in training at the Little Palace by then and her teacher had had to tell her about her family's death. It was devastating, she still couldn't bring herself to hurt anyone, much to the Darkling's annoyance. She was useful for her way of getting information, but she could always avoid hurting someone, she couldn't destroy a family like that, not like hers had been destroyed.

"I thought they might be helpful in the future," she said. "I need Kaz Brekker to be back to full power when we get to the resistance." Kaz eyed her and she couldn't tell what he was thinking as he went back to filling a kettle with hot water. She went to the cabinets, getting cups and tea. Jesper finally came out to join them, smiling like old times now that he was in proper clothes.

"You should change," Jesper said to Y/N, motioning to her still being in the prison tunic. She nodded and went to her room, changing into a pair of pants and white button-down shirt, putting on her vest of pockets and jacket. She loaded up the pockets of her vest with her gloves, some small irons ball bearings, a vial of water, and a few things for first aid. She looked in the cracked mirror on the dresser and saw she looked a mess. She washed her face in the basin of water and brushed out the newly short hair she had, putting it up in a small ponytail to keep it out of her face. She shrugged at the reflection. She was trying to escape a prison, not win a pageant so she just grabbed her guitar from the room before heading to join the others.

Kaz and Jesper were already halfway through the meal before she arrived so she just sat down at the table. Jesper passed her a bowl and some bread they had saved, she smiled at him. Jesper was such a sweet person still, ready to kill a man on site for trying to cheat at cards yes, but still so kind.

"Thank you Jesper," she said, taking up a spoon and starting to eat. After they had filled themselves, she sat back in the chair, picking at the last of her bread. "We'll stay here for a few days, rest, get supplies for the town nearby."

"We should keep moving, they probably know where you live," Kaz said, looking at her as if she were an idiot for wanting to stay in her home. She sighed; she knew they would butt heads, but did it have to start now?

"This isn't my home Kaz," she said. "I live here in secret sometimes, when I say that I am visiting home, but I have no home to visit anymore thanks to the previous king. No one knows about this shack and I have made sure that it is not easy to find. The nearest town is five miles away and they have many travelers and shouldn't notice use as long as we take precautions." Kaz didn't look convinced.

"I know in the prison you oversaw my movements, but out here, I am back in charge, it is two against one in this room so we will follow my lead. Tomorrow we get supplies, then we leave. We will go to this resistance to find our crew and until we arrive you will follow my lead," he said, voice rasping with authority. Y/N had had quite enough men trying to rule over her for her lifetime. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Look, this town is a well-traveled area, if we go in tomorrow then it will be swarming with Grisha looking for 2 escapees that killed a high-ranking member of the Darkling's inner circle, if we stay here a few days those Grisha will have left to search other towns and we can freely get supplies and head out on our journey. I know that prison has addled your brain but even Jesper knows that this idea of yours is foolish," she said. Both turned to look at Jesper who was trying to sneak out of the room.

"Jesper, tell her she's crazy," Kaz demanded. Jesper opened his mouth.

"Please, his plan is idiotic..."

"No one has ever said called me idiotic..."

"Maybe not to your face..."

"YOU'RE BOTH WRONG!" Jesper finally said, voice loud and clear, startling the two of them out of their argument. Kaz and Y/N looked at him again. "Look, we do need to lay low, but we still need to get out of here quick. So we should take a day, regroup and set out a plan to get north, but we can't just stay here for days, they will find us, you think that the Darkling, with all the betrayal he's suffered, is just going to let his new girlfriend disappear to a shack for a few days and not know where it is?"

Y/N saw Kaz grip his cane tighter, mirroring the look on her of annoyance on her face. Jesper was right on both accounts, a day would clear out most Grisha from the town, giving them a chance to resupply and maybe get lucky and steal a carriage out of town, and he was right about the Darkling. She was an idiot to think he hadn't tracked her to the shed when she disappeared. She looked to Kaz and he nodded at her.

"We stay in tomorrow, the day after we get supplies, and we get moving," Y/N said. Kaz agreed. "Now, get cleaned up and get some sleep."

Kaz had noticed the guitar that Y/N had brought out to the living area the night before but he didn't ask her about it until she began to strum it around midday. They were in the middle of their rest day and Jesper was still sleeping so it was just Y/N and Kaz sitting by the fire. Kaz had been thinking about what he planned to do once he found his crew again, how to get them out of the resistance, maybe find a new city they could run. Y/N had been humming to herself, picking at the guitar for some time now. Kaz found that the music was soothing to him, her voice deep and calming, it seemed to be helping him think. After a time he heard her mumbling some words.

"What is that?" he asked, looking at her finally, finding her looking at him as if in a trance. She shook herself and looked at him blinking a few times before her face reddened a little. Surprisingly Kaz felt his face getting red also, but he wasn't sure why. She had an attraction to him, that was clear now. He had thought perhaps at the prison she had been acting well, but clearly she did find him entrancing for some reason. And strangely Kaz found he liked that. He had known other women in the past had been interested in him, or well at least, interested in his power within the Dregs. There had been something he felt with Inej, but they had never explored that and honestly now that they had been apart it seemed perhaps those feelings were more friendly than he had previously believed. This that roared up in him now was new, strange. He had been in prison too long, he needed to focus. Y/N finally had pulled herself from her own mind, letting out a chuckle as she picked a couple notes.

"O, I used to write songs all the time, its been awhile but something just came to me last night," she said. "Do you like music?" Kaz should have just dropped it and not answered but he wanted to talk to her.

"Sometimes, but we didn't have a lot of music at the Crow Club, it was more gambling than entertainment, but what you were playing sounded nice," he said. She smiled at him and his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"You never smile do you?" she asked, setting the guitar flat in her lap. He could see that there was writing on it, signatures. She followed his eyes and her own eyes turned sad. "My family...friends from my village, they signed it when they gave it to me. It was a present when I left to do my Grisha training." She looked back at him, her dark eyes a little watery. "My older brother taught me to play it when I was 4, couldn't even reach the strings." Kaz looked at her, a memory flooding back of being back on the farm, he was with Jordie in the barn, around 6 and Jordie was showing him how to tie a fishing line so he could go fishing for the first time.

"You're right, I don't smile," he said. He knew he should keep his mouth shut but he couldn't help but ask. "Do you know if Pekka Rollins survived the assault on Ketterdam?"

"I don't know, I don't have a list of names and I wasn't there," she said. He could tell she was lying, probably thinking he would hate her for being present at the destruction of his home but he didn't hate her. What he hated was the idea that Pekka Rollins could be dead and he hadn't been the one to kill him. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No, his death was supposed to be at my hand," he responded, voice rasping in anger. He ran a hand through his hair, noting it was significantly longer than it was before he went to prison. When he glanced up at Y/N he saw she was watching him intently again. "It's rude to stare."

"Ya well then don't do that to your hair, makes me want to touch it," she responded. He looked at her, expecting her to giggle or blush and look away but instead she just stared right back at him. He swallowed hard. Why did her eyes have to look through him? It was almost like she could see what he was thinking. The thought of someone touching his hair made him shutter internally but he couldn't lie when he thought about her doing it, it wasn't as repulsive as everyone else, it almost seemed like it might be nice. She smiled at him.

"If you are ever comfortable enough let me know, I can give you a haircut or something if you want," she offered. He was going to answer when Jesper came stumbling out of his room, shirtless wearing one shoe.

"Is anyone making dinner?"

#six of crows #kaz #kaz brekker #kazbrekker #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone #unexpected allies series

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chews-erotically · 5 years ago

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Waxing Gibbous

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Angst/violence/gore/blood/mentions of prostitution/SMUT(eventual)/veryinaccuratesurgicalprocedure

Honestly words have been fermenting in my brain for many moons. I am new to this, so please be gentle. I have written before, however never for a fandom. Special thank you to @yespolkadotkitty and @rzrcst for their support and encouragement, it truly means the world to me.

Summary: You are a nurse on the Green moon contracted to care for a group of prospectors. An act of violence forces you to flee your camp. Ezra finds you.

Words: 2376

PART ONE

The first time Ezra fell, it was with the Saters. You’d been hunched in a cordoned-off section of tent, dust motes waxing and waning against the haze of thick, dank air. At least you could breathe, a small mercy it was to remove your helmets and sit unfettered in the musty inner folds of the makeshift barracks.

The Sater stank. When he sneered at you, his grey lips parted to reveal the jagged tombstones of his teeth. When you had first sat down and dispelled with the perfunctory greetings, choking down the offering of what always reminded you of unsweetened Turkish coffee mixed with engine oil, his eyes made no attempt to hide the way they had raked over you as if you were some shiny toy. Or a bag of meat. You were under no delusions when it came to the fact that you, by nature of being female, were going to be ogled. Still, it left you no less disgusted as you fought to keep your face impassive while his eyes honed in on your chest.

Ezra sat beside you on the narrow bench, hunched forward with forearms balanced on knees that were spread to allow for his head to clear the sunken canvas ceiling. His expression was equally neutral, the only hint of tension showing in the tight bunch of muscle at his jaw. He knew as well as you that if the sater did not accept the barter, things would turn dark.

Ezra had been here longer than you. Stranded with no transport after the crew he’d arrived with turned on each other over dig locations and payload disbursement. The pod they’d arrived in had been burned, irreparably damaged and left no more than a husk in the Green due to the short-sighted fury and bullheaded ire of his hired compatriots. In the fracas, he’d sustained an injury to his right arm from a rogue thrower shot. In retrospect it could have been much worse, but the spores of mold that made the air so toxic had worked its way into his flesh the same way selfishness and suspicion had seeded the demise of his partners.

You were hired as a nurse to tend to your own hired prospecting crew, lured in with promises of adventure and treasures beyond your wildest dreams. You had known there had to be a catch, you were not so naive to believe that consequence could elude you, but you had signed the contract anyway hoping for more than the dreary clinic you’d worked in for the past five years. You were alone, you were lonely, you had no family. Your few friends had steadily drifted away from you as they met their own partners, started their own families. You were left to the ether. So you signed almost without thought when the recruiter came, signed before you had time to think it through, because you were aware that if you thought too much you’d talk yourself out of it. You knew all too well how adept you were at talking yourself out of things.

So, you’d arrived on the Green and things had proceeded as planned, uneventful for the most part. The others on the crew were respectful, if a bit distant. Nothing untoward had happened until a contractor by the name of Jorin began to take a particular interest in you. At first you’d been able to politely deflect his advances. Showing up in your tent unannounced, he feigned all manner of illness and injury to get your attention. Over time he became more aggressive, invading your space until you had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not welcome. It was not until he’d followed you back to your cot and tried to push you down that you’d snapped. You hadn’t meant to kill him, but the scalpel you had hidden in your fist had found its way to his carotid artery nonetheless. So you left, and you were blank and in shock and covered in someone else’s blood when Ezra found you.

He’d stood, imposing and straight-backed, hand on hip while his head followed your shambling approach. Your adrenaline was waning, and you shuffled forth on trembling legs, hands held aloft in supplication. When you reached his clearing in the midst of dense vegetation you noted his mouth moving at light-speed, the hand on his hip twitching toward the thrower he had slung across his back. As you got even closer you noticed his eyes were wide. You were not on the same transmission channel so you could not hear him. Your hands gestured as if underwater, left hand tapping your transceiver while your right held up three trembling fingers. When Ezra understood he switched the channel and immediately his animated drawl was filling your helmet.

“.....cannot fathom how you are standing in my sights looking like you’ve been baptised by Lady Bathory herself, alone? Please do tell this lonely old prospector how in Kevva’s name above you’ve found yourself in such a state of affairs?”

You noticed immediately that he did not seem at all frightened or wary of your appearance, just confused, and….excited? You gazed up into the visor through a constellation of blood spatter and freed your tongue from its bone-dry cavern, swallowing thickly.

“I didn’t mean to kill him. He tried to, to…..he came after me.”

Ezra stepped forward in what seemed a conspiratory move. You froze. Taking note, he’d immediately stepped back, but his dark eyes fastened to yours with an intensity that made you feel as though he could see through you into your very essence, every shameful childhood memory, every flaw and triumph as readable as prose on paper.

“Intention rarely informs the realities of snuffing out the flame of mortality. Between intention and action there lay an endless array of variables, something I know as well as my own name. In all my time on the Green the one thing that continues to ring true is that people here take. If you have nothing to offer, they will find something to take.”

He straightened before continuing, “Given that you are appreciably female I can imagine what it is he believed himself entitled to. You have none of that to fear from me, little stranger. I am but one lost soul amongst this verdant hellscape.”

You were still processing the events of the past several hours, and it took you some time to accustom your ears to the man’s mellifluous cadence. The people in your previous company had been stilted, blunt, mostly monosyllabic. This man before you spoke as if convinced his words would alight and manifest whatever sacred force or unimagined color the universe deemed fit to spew forth. It was incongruous. You considered your next words carefully before you spoke.

“Do you have a dwelling? A tent? I hate to impose, but this is my only suit and I’d like to get as much blood out of it as I can.”

That was how you’d become acquainted with Ezra. You’d exchanged names as you walked to his tent, and all the while Ezra pontificated. The tent was modest, two cots arranged across from one another. Equipment stacked along one canvas wall, while texts and notebooks spread across a folding table toward the front entrance. Ezra explained where the water source was located as you both disconnected your helmets and stripped your suits. The blood splashed across yours had dried to a dull rust. Almost as if it could be something other than blood. Almost.

You’d set the suit to soak in cold water and truly noticed the man in front of you for the first time. He was tall and broad-shouldered, thick locks jutting chaotically from the dome of his head and curling around the lobes of his ears. A shock of blond colored the seam of his hairline. His brow was lined with years of tension and unrest. Wide, dark eyes below pronounced brows. A prominent aquiline nose. His mouth, still moving. Always moving, as if he were trying to get every thought he had out of his head before the hourglass ran out on him.

Your eyes were next drawn to a dirty bandage circling his arm. You’d been so lost in your head over the strange turn of events that you did not notice the barely perceptible wince as he inventoried what appeared to be dried ration packets.

“What happened? To your arm, I mean?”

Ezra sighed deeply before answering. “Merely a flesh wound from an errant thrower blast while my crew and I were in the midst of parting ways. It was a most unsavory affair, I’m afraid. I don’t believe the weasel wielding the staff even meant to shoot me.”

You stepped closer, eyeing the torn, worried cloth. “You have to be careful. The spores in the air will seep into everything, especially an open wound. Your bandage is filthy. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“You have experience with dressing wounds?”

“I’m a nurse.”

You were wholly unprepared for the brilliant smile that split his face. Suddenly you could see the younger, roguish man that he had undoubtedly once been. You were suddenly overwhelmed, you could not understand how the heart in your chest fluttered as desperately as a bird beating its wings against the cage of your ribs. You felt close to panic as you realized that you were reacting this way to a man you did not know.

Careful.

“Kevva above, I must have done something right in a past life as I’ve done nothing in this one to deserve such a fortuitous gift! A nurse! An angel of mercy, a dove of benevolence!”

You felt heat rush to your face, and you cursed your feeble emotions as you turned quickly away from him. Please, ignore my abject idiocy.

“Med kit?”

“Ah, of course. My apologies, Dove, I forget myself.”

You pointedly ignored the unprompted endearment as any further contemplation on this new development would lead to literal hysteria. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Ezra sat at the table near the entrance, sweeping the array of notebooks and papers to the side. You pulled up a crate once taking the med kit and unwrapped the soiled bandaging. You understood how awkward it had to be to dress a wound with one hand, and so you were able to forgive the haphazard application. He hissed and winced again as you revealed a very red, open and angry wound bed assaulting the meat of his right bicep. Black had begun to settle in around the ragged edges. It did not look good. Your gut sank as you noticed the purplish pucker of skin surrounding a crater that oozed and tunneled, purulent drainage saturating the underlying gauze.

The mold had done a spectacular job of decaying what would have normally been a straight forward traumatic thrower wound. You were shocked that Ezra was not screaming in pain.

You kept your face studiously blank as you set out supplies: a vial of Ancef, sterile saline, bandaging, gauze, antimicrobial foam, hydrogen peroxide, a basin, and the scalpel you’d kept clutched in your fist as you’d fled. There was an injectable narcotic preloaded, you offered this to Ezra and he shook his head, his eyes still and worried. He knew it was bad, and he was scared. A wave of melancholy slammed into you and without thinking, you reached out and laid your fingers gently on his wrist.

“Hey.” He met your eyes, and they were old. Ancient, and filled with what was akin to an existential weariness. You had to dig the toe of your boot into your calf to keep your eyes from filling with tears. You cleared your throat. It did not sound like a noise you’d make. You wondered who you were, really, before speaking.

“I’m going to do the best that I can. It won’t be pretty. Your wound is badly infected. The black bits are necrotic, and if I don’t debride your wound it will spread. I’m going to try my hardest to save your arm. This is going to hurt, so I really think you should take the injection.”

Ezra’s solemn gaze swung to fasten on yours. After a pause of internal debate, he simply nodded. You filled the basin with hydrogen peroxide and placed the scalpel in. You picked up the preloaded syringe and sterile gauze and quickly discharged the narcotic serum into Ezra’s left deltoid. His eyes soon took on a haze of detachment, pupils constricting to pinpoints.

You picked up the scalpel and got to work, and Ezra finally screamed.

He kept his arm impressively still while sweat cut rivulets down the planes of his face. His jaw clenched so tightly you feared his teeth would crack and splinter- you’d finally and wordlessly paused your work to place a length of spare leather strapping between his teeth, which he clamped onto like a feral dog.

You worked quickly and wordlessly, cutting ribbons of spoiled flesh from the blessedly granulating bed of tissue and muscle beneath. Your mind worked in circular prayer, asking forgiveness from the universe for killing, for hurting. Ezra’s flesh was a sacred scroll and you were inscribing your texts upon it, begging for deliverance. It was not lost on you that the same scalpel you’d used to snuff one life was carving death out of another.

When the deed was done, you reconstituted the Ancef and injected it into the meat of his buttock. You did it quickly, too wrung out and disturbed to feel impure. There was nothing prurient about what had just happened, nothing sexy in his agony. For all of its intimacy it was brutal and ugly and traumatic. At that moment you were inextricably bound to one another.

#Ezra Ezra Prospect

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katsukis-sad-angel · 4 years ago

Text

Based on a True Story

Summary: there's this boy who makes you super uncomfy and doesnt take a hit, but you're to sweet to tell him to back off. Katsuki Bakugou, the more blunt end of the friendship, is happy to tell him off and free you from that sorry bastard.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: possible tw, a lot of swearing and some pretty colorful insults, there are guys that are really fucking creepy, based on the actual events of February 7th, 2021 at around 10:30 pm

A/N: this was very very rushed, I just wanted to write myself some comfort real quick and go to bed last night and I didn't have time to properly edit! I'm really proud of some of the banter lmao, please enjoy and never be afraid to punt a ballsack! I'll add tags later🙄🙄🙄

A message popped up on your screen and your once neutral expression went sour. Slamming the face of your phone onto your pillow, you groaned angrily into your bedspread, catching the attention of a certain ash blonde sitting in your comfy desk chair a few feet away. Katsuki Bakugou, one of your best friends, gave a questioning glance but refused to meet his ember gaze

“What’s your deal?” He asked, not letting his genuine curiosity as to why there was such a pained look on your face, show.

You opened your mouth but paused.

Katsuki already knew about this boy and scolded you every time he saw his name pop up in your notifications, telling you to ‘fucking block him already’ for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t like you had feelings for the guy anymore, you were just too nice and polite to cut him off completely and tell him to go fuck himself.

The ash-blonde had already volunteered to do it for you, but you always said no because you knew he’d just find another way to contact you.

“It’s that piss baby again isn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“Wow, did you just agree with one of my insults?”

“Suki, I’m about to take you up on your offer to tell him to go fuck himself.”

He snickered, “Now you’re talking sense. What the hell is that pansy bitching about now?”

You sigh and roll over on your back and Katsuki moves to sit on the edge of your bed.

“I cut him off for a while, I really did! It felt so good to be free of him, but then he got my number again and started bothering me a few days ago. I saw him at school yesterday and told him I wasn’t interested in dating at all and he was like whatever so I honestly thought he could keep it in his pants and we could just be friends but nooo! He calls me a simp for anime guys, I tell him to stop being a hypocrite because he used to simp for me and he was like “I still do. You’re the only one” yeah like I’m stupid enough to actually believe that!”

You paused to catch your breath, but before you could start speaking again Katsuki interjected, “Well, you are stupid…”

You socked him in the bicep and he hunched over laughing. You looked so fucking adorable when you got royally pissed at him.

“Oh go to hell.” You snapped, crossing your arms and continuing, “Anyway, this guy used to simp for my goddamn sister! Not only do I reject being a replacement for her, but if she rejected his sorry ass, that means he’s a huge piece of shit because she’s super picky.”

“I might’ve mentioned that once or twice-”

You punched him again to shut him up. “Plus he’s super creepy and gross and it always feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and whenever he’s around I want to dive into a pool full of only chlorine and drink it. I’m just trying to coexist and just be nice to him but apparently, a female looking in his general direction means that they want dicked down by his micropenis. He’s so fucking dense too. Why can’t he see that I’m not interested, especially after I EXPLICITLY told him that?!”

By that point, you were on the verge of frustrated tears, bottom lip trembling just slightly with bottled up emotion.

Katsuki could see it.

You felt trapped in something you never signed up for and you’d do anything to get out. All of this frustration had been stored inside of you for so long and it just kept mounting and multiplying until you burst into tears.

“Goddammit, come here dumbass,” He growled, gathering you into a warm embrace, “You can’t keep all this bs inside okay?”

He let you sob into his shoulder, one calloused hand supporting the base of your neck and the other crossed firmly over your back so you’d feel safe and secure; away from the world full of horrible people and into a small one of just your best friend’s warmth and the sweet sweet scent of caramel.

“Why don’t you listen to me? You’re just too fucking nice to every shitty dickhead that sees you as an easy, fuckable target. Something really fucking bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t shape up and learn how to punt a dude’s excuse for a ballsack and tell him what you really think.”

You raised your head from the solace of his shoulder to look at him with big, reproachful doe eyes and whimpered, “I tried that!”

“Have you tried punting their fucking balls first?”

“No… that would hurt.”

“That’s the point.”

“But if I did it without reason I could get suspended or charged with aggravated assault!”

It was Katsuki’s turn to sigh.

“That’s not the point dumbass, the point is that you need to tell these bastards off when they start getting creepy. You know what? Why don’t you just fucking ignore their sorry asses in the first place!”

You sniffle and drag a hand over your cheek to dry your tears, then resume your position with your face in the crook of your best friend’s neck.

“I feel bad for them.”

“Well stop. I’m gonna call him now alright? After that, we’ll block his stupid ass on every fucking app, you hear me?”

You nod and hug him tighter as he leans forward to grab your phone and opens it with your passcode, swiftly finding his name in your contact list and pressing the call icon, then he tapped the speaker button and waited.

The call was picked up almost immediately and a voice on the other line said, “Hey cutie! I was just about to call and ask to see if you wanted to come over on-”

“She’s not here.” Katsuki cut him off with a dry snarl, “And last time I checked she wasn’t interested enough in your sorry ass for you to be calling her ‘cutie.’”

You could almost hear his lip curl in utter disgust.

“Who the fuck are you?” The voice asked, dropping its sickeningly sweet tone to something more appropriate in light of the previous insult.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend you dickwad-” You popped up from your haven in surprise, mouth open to sputter in protest but he put a finger to your lips and smirked, “who the fuck are you?”

“No fucking way that whore has a boyfriend-”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me? Shut your mouth, you mother fucking pussy, insult her one more time and I’ll fuck you up so bad you won’t be recognizable by the time you get to the hospital.” He snapped back, “She’s crying right now because you’re too dense to realize she doesn’t want any business with some horse-faced piss baby like you. Take the hint right fucking now you useless bastard so you don’t make the mistake of coming near her again because I. Will. Kill. You. Delete this number because she’s too sweet to block you herself, but I will.”

“Fuck man, I was just tryna get laid. She’s the one who started rubbing herself all over me-”

“I said delete this number. Damn, you are a dense piece of shit aren’t you?”

“Hey, I-”

Katsuki pressed ‘end call’ and blocked his contact, moving from Instagram to Snapchat, to any social app you had, and blocked him left and right until he was satisfied.

“Feel better?” He asked softly, tossing your phone aside and peeling you off.

You carded a shaky hand through your hair and wiped your eyes, giving him a watery smile and a nod.

“Why did you tell him that we were in a relationship?” You asked, voice on the edge of a taunt.

“To make him mad.”

“I mean, it worked, but is that the only reason?” You giggled.

“The hell are you insinuating?”

“Do you… possibly by chance… have feelings for me?”

You batted your eyes at him and he retched, but the smirk was still present on his handsome features.

“What’s it to you?”

You squirm a bit, but something pops into your head so you can stall a bit longer.

“I mean, you’re not THAT ugly-”

He responded with a simple, harsh flick to the forehead to make you whine and try to whack him, but he easily intercepted your fist and pushed you on your back, caging you in nothing short of a horizontal kabedon.

It was your turn to smirk, “Yenno ‘Suki, I could very easily… oh what was your phrasing? ‘Punt your fucking balls’ in this position…”

“Just shut up and tell me what the hell you want.” Katsuki snapped.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You prod.

“You look like a pissed hamster when you’re mad.” He shot back.

“You smell like a fucking candy store after training.”

“You’re the dictionary definition of a dumbass.”

“You have a better hourglass figure than Yaomomo.”

“You're quickly becoming an extra.”

“Date me.”

“Fine.”

“Wait really?”

“It’s the only way I can kiss you, protect you, and keep you all to myself.” He shrugged, leaning in dangerously close, “You don’t fucking understand how hard it is to watch you prancing around with one failed abortion after another and watching you cry because they leave since you don’t want the one thing they’re after.”

“You’ve always been there for me ‘Suki… I guess I just took you for granted, and I’m really sorry.” You met his soft vermillion gaze with a meaningful and apologetic one and reached out to squeeze his hand.

“‘S okay. You’re mine now, right?”

You nod, smiling.

“So it doesn’t matter how dense you are anymore.” He smirked, laying down on your bed and dragging you down with him so you were tucked comfortably under his chin.

You grabbed the remote and flicked on the tv, preparing to turn on an anime you had in mind.

“What romance garbage are you inflicting on me this time?” Your new boyfriend groaned, burying his face in your hair.

“One that’s super sappy and romantic and sad just to piss you off.” You pouted, clicking on each letter to form the desired word in the search bar.

“Have fun with that.” Katsuki snarked, beginning to move away, but you stopped him by deftly pressing your lips to his.

You slowly pulled away, blushing furiously, but happy to feel strong forearms snaking around your front and crossing over your stomach.

“I certainly will.” You respond.

58 notes · View notes

slytherinbarnes · 5 years ago

Text

Sub Rosa [86]

ii. the garden

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, mentions of killing, fighting, dead bodies/skeletons, nausea, language, angst.

Summary: your arrival to a new planet is exciting, thought that excitement is short lived as you come face to face with a new threat.

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! i‘m looking forward to sharing the rest of sub rosa with all of you this year, and I’m looking forward to my new stuff too! here’s to having a better year than the one before! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You don’t know what you expect when you walk through the Anomaly, but it’s definitely not water.

You open your eyes and look around, realizing that you are underwater in some sort of fresh body of water. You tilt your head up, towards the surface, watching as three other bodies swim their way up. You are the last to break free from the water, gasping as you take in a deep breath of air. The second you feel like you can breathe again, you start to look around you, your eyes falling on a mountain range that frames most of the lake. The shore of the lake is covered with a rocky beach, and a dense looking forest stretches behind it. Above you, arching across the sky, are a set of rings, adorning the planet like intergalactic jewelry.

You look around you in awe, letting out a shocked little laugh as Hope announces, “Welcome to Skyring.”

Echo quips, “Creative.”

“I named it when I was three. What do you expect?”

You look at Hope in shock, her mind easily recalling a memory from when she was young. Your eyes shift over to Gabriel, the two of you smiling a little as he mutters, “She remembers.”

But you don't get to savor the moment for long, because Hope is already frantically swimming to the shore, leaving you, Gabriel, and Echo behind. The three of you swim behind her to catch up, running the last few feet when your feet finally touch the ground beneath you. As Echo emerges from the water, she glances down at her side, now empty, before turning back to you and Gabriel. “My gun, I lost it coming through.”

“Let's hope you don't need it.”

Gabriel pats his bag, making sure it’s still hanging at his side, and you glance down to your now emerged thigh, confirming that your Grounder knife is still firmly held in its place. You look up again when you hear the sound of someone running away, and you catch a glimpse of Hope disappearing through the trees, leaving the rest of you behind. You, Gabriel, and Echo take off running after her as you yell, “Hope, slow down! Where are you going?”

You follow her along a path through the trees, until you emerge into a little clearing. In the center of the clearing is a house, made of wood and slightly dilapidated, but still standing and waiting for someone to step inside. Surrounding the house are a few plots of land where a neat garden used to stand, though now it appears mostly overgrown. All of you stop to stare at the house before turning to Hope, and Echo is the first to break the silence. “What is this place?”

You take in the look on Hope’s face, the lack of fear upon finding a house in the middle of the planet she’s clearly lived on before. You start to connect the dots, nodding as you understand. “Did you live here?”

Hope smiles at you and nods. “Octavia said you were smart.”

The compliment brings a smile to your face, though you don't get to enjoy it for long before she takes off running towards the house again, pushing the door open and immediately disappearing from view. The rest of you exchange a look and follow her into the house, standing just inside the doorway as she frantically tips over furniture and checks inside of things, clearly looking for something. “Where is it?”

“Hope, what are you doing?” She ignores all of you, and Gabriel reaches out for something on the table beside him. You don't realize what it is until he holds it up, revealing a creepy, homemade doll. “Interesting taste in toys.”

Hope looks up, takes one quick glance at the doll and counters, “That's not mine.”

The three of you again exchange a look, all of you confused on how this is her house but this is not her doll. “Is this your house, or isn't it?”

Hope continues searching the room as she answers Echo’s question, “I was with you on Sanctum for, what, a day? Given the time differential, I haven't been here for hundreds of years.”

“It's incredible.”

You can sense Echo’s growing frustration finally reaching a tipping point before she snaps, “Enough! We need answers, starting with where the hell is Bellamy?”

Hope glances at her before she picks up a basket and tips it over, shaking out the contents. “Once they got here, they used the bridge to take him to Bardo.”

“Bardo?”

“They?”

“Bridge?”

“Yes, the next stop. They are the disciples, the guys that were chasing us in the woods. The bridge is what you call the Anomaly.'' Now Hope is the one growing frustrated, flailing her arms as she talks mostly to herself. “Anders said if I tagged Octavia, they would let my mother live.”

Gabriel tries to process the information as fast as he can before asking, “And Anders is?”

“Head of the disciples.” She grabs a small vase off of the fireplace and reaches inside to pull something out. She holds it up, a strange looking key, glancing between all three of you before she adds, “Now, I'm gonna go to Bardo and make sure he kept his word.”

Hope tries to walk away, but Echo reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Hey! You traded Diyoza's life for Octavia's?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to kill her! I told you, it was a locator tag. I didn't have a choice.'' Echo gives her an unconvinced look and you step closer to the pair, unsure if another fight is about to break out. You still don't know how you feel about Hope, and you’re still anxious about not being wherever Bellamy is, but you're also aware that Hope seems to have a lot more information than the three of you do, and you need her. Hope’s eyes fall to you, trying to convince you of her words. “She understood. My mother, my responsibility.”

You recognize the words as the same ones Bellamy would use when talking about Octavia, the same words his mother said to him after his sister was born. Which is why you nod at Hope in understanding, letting her know that you get it. You see a look of relief pass over her features, but Gabriel interrupts the moment with another question. “You said the bridge is the Anomaly, a bridge between worlds. Is there a way to control it here too?”

“Yes.” Hope motions to the space beneath Echo’s feet. “She's standing on it.”

Echo steps aside and Hope kneels down and uses the weird key she found to unlock the hatch. She throws the door open and quickly descends the ladder, the path to the Anomaly Stone on Skyring similar to the one you had to take on Sanctum. You’re the first to follow Hope into the dark space, which she quickly remedies by lighting a torch and then another. You take the second torch from its place on the wall and follow Hope to the stone, as Echo and Gabriel scramble down the ladder after you. Hope glances back at you and says, “I used to play down here as a kid. Little did I know it was a bridge to the stars.”

You use the torch to look around the space, the walls covered in hand drawn symbols taken from the stone. And in the middle of all of those symbols are two letters, carved into the stone wall, surrounded by the hand drawn sequences. Gabriel runs his fingers over them and reads out, “C.B.”

He turns to look at you with curiosity, but you just shrug, unsure of what the letters mean, and not really in the headspace to care. Because now, as you stand in front of the Anomaly Stone, you just want to get back to Bellamy. You turn to Hope with a questioning look. “So how do we get to Bardo?”

“Trust Bellamy.”

She reaches into her pocket to pull out the scrap of paper from earlier, a code printed on one side and a message on the other. “A friend on the inside gave it to me.”

Hope looks down at the paper, already reaching out for the stone, prepared to type in the code. But you watch as her hand and her face drop, and she frantically flips the paper over to check the back. “No, no, no. The code, it's washed away.”

You look at her with horror, and she holds up the small piece of paper to prove her point. You snatch it from her hands, flipping it over and staring at it closely, praying that you can catch some faint hint of the code that was previously printed onto this tiny scrap of paper. But just like Hope said, it’s blank, the code washed away, and all of your hope with it. Your voice is a broken, horrified sound when you whisper, “We're not going anywhere.”

You pass the torch and the paper to Gabriel as he’s the closest person to you, and then you run over to the ladder and quickly climb up, ignoring the trio behind you frantically calling your name. You make it to the top and turn towards the door, unsure of what you're even planning on doing, but as you start to pass through the doorway, someone grabs your hand and pulls you to a stop. You spin around and come face to face with Echo, who is looking at you with concern. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. To Bardo. I have to get to him, Echo. I have to save Bellamy.”

“I know, but this isn't the way to do it.”

You glare at her and snap, “Where was that eager attitude that you had five minutes ago? I thought you’d be on my side!”

“I am! But whatever reckless thing you’re thinking about doing to save Bellamy, it's not going to help. It’s just going to make things worse.”

Gabriel, who must have gotten up the ladder without you hearing him, calls out to the two of you from the other side of the room. “Hey, I think I can read this.”

You look up at him in surprise, your eyes falling on the paper in his hand, and you pull yourself free from Echo's grasp to cross the room and stand by his side. He looks up at you with a small smile, “Once it dries, I'll use the charcoal to bring out the indentations in the paper.”

You nod, and he motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. You oblige, plopping down into the seat as he turns his gaze to Hope. “Tell me about the code.”

“I already told you, it operates the bridge.”

“Right. Like the one on Octavia's back.”

Hope shakes her head, “No, that was for me.”

You all look at her in confusion, and she clarifies, “From what I gather, every mind has its own unique code. They call it a, um, a biometric-”

Gabriel finishes for her, “Signature.” He lets out a breathy laugh, and mutters under his breath, “A consciousness code, of course.”

Hope nods and continues, “When you put mine in on Sanctum, you pulled me over. Then I tagged Octavia with a tracker and sent her to the other side.”

“Did you know they were taking Bellamy too?”

Hope turns to you, shaking her head hard. “No, of course not. Octavia loves him. I made a deal to save my mother. The plan was for me to jump back in, rescue her and Aunty O, and kill anyone who got in my way.”

“Well, we’ll just adapt your plan then. We still save your mom and Octavia, but we’ll grab Bellamy too. And anyone that gets in our way, we kill them.” Hope and Echo both nod in agreement with your plan, but Gabriel, who has been fidgeting with the paper in his hand, tosses it onto the table with a huff of frustration. “We'd have to get there for that, and we are not going anywhere. Not with this anyway.”

You sit up from your seat so fast that you knock the chair backwards, letting out a frustrated groan and yelling, “Damn it! We have to get off of this freaking planet!”

You turn and stalk towards the fireplace, putting your hands on the hearth and leaning against it to center yourself. But as you do, the hairs on your arm lift, letting you know that something is off. It takes a second for you to figure out what, but you finally realize that there is warmth beneath your hands, coming from the fireplace. You turn to the others with a wide eyed look. “It’s warm.”

“What?” Echo crosses the room towards you and grabs a fire poker from beside the fireplace, using it to shift the coals around. When she does, some of them start to glow red hot, alerting all of you that the flames only recently died. Echo mutters to the others, “There's someone here.”

You look around and call out, your voice hopeful, “Bellamy?”

“He’s not here.” You ignore Hope’s voice and head to the door to the connecting room, hoping that when you push the fabric aside, you’ll see the smiling face of your fiance. Unfortunately for you, when you move the blanket that separates the bedroom from the room you’re in, you’re met with a man running at you and screaming, “Get out of my house!

He knees you in the stomach when he comes running out, and you grunt in pain from the blow. But you recover quickly when you see a knife being swung towards you, which you duck away from at the last second. The man seems caught off guard by your movement, and as his arm flies past you, you grab it, twisting his arm until he stands frozen in place. You wrench the knife free from his grasp and hold it up towards his neck, and as you turn to get a look at the others, your eyes land on the man’s arm. In the space on his wrist there is a timer, counting down from what appears to be five years. Your brows pull together as you look at it, trying to make sense of it, but you’re pulled from your thoughts when the man turns to the creepy doll from earlier and mutters, “Hope, I'm sorry. I'll come back for you!”

He knocks your grip off of him and takes off running out the front door, leaving you, Gabriel, Echo, and Hope to exchange matching looks of bewilderment. “What the actual hell?”

Hope looks over at the doll and mutters, “He called the doll Hope.”

You shake your head, trying to process the events of the last minute, and add, “The numbers on his arm were counting down.”

“It's how long he's a prisoner here. Five years.” Hope pauses, looking between all of you as she adds, “That’s how long I expect us to stay.”

You don't have time to process or disagree with her words before she’s jogging past all of you and heading out the door. You exchange another look with Gabriel and Echo, the three of you seemingly on the same page about staying here for five years. Meaning, none of you are even a little bit okay with that. You all run after her, jogging out of the house and catching up with her at the edge of the garden. Gabriel is the first to ask one of the many questions running through your heads. “You said prisoners. You don't mean this is a prison?”

“I did mean. Skyring is the place where they send people to atone for their sins.” She pauses near one of the plots, looking over it for a long minute. “This garden is one of his. We have to start planting soon if we want to harvest before winter.”

She walks off again, and you stare at her retreating figure, trying to convince yourself that she can't be serious about the four of you staying here for five years. There’s no way in hell you’re okay with that. You run after Hope again, calling out to her back, “Slow down! What the hell are you talking about?”

Hope glances over her shoulder at you as she stalks through the woods. “From the looks of our new friend, he's surviving on jellies alone. Eating like that, he won't make it five years, and we need him to.”

“Why?”

“Because he's our way to Bardo. When the timer on his arm hits zero, the disciples come for him.”

“Right, and you think they'll take us too?” Gabriel scrubs a hand over his face after asking his question, thinking, and the motion reminds you of Bellamy. You feel a rush of anxiety as you try to process your current situation, but your anxiety only deepens when you start to think about whatever situation Bellamy may be in right now. Being tortured, killed, interrogated. Wanted for bone marrow or information or god knows what.

Hope brings you back to the present when she answers, “Of course not. We kill them, take their suits, jump to Bardo.”

You grab Hope’s arm, pulling her to a stop, in disbelief that she is yet again reiterating a five year time frame. You shake your head, that disbelief written all over your face. “You have to be out of your mind if you think I'm waiting five years.”

“Funny, Octavia said that too.”

She turns and walks away before you can say anything, and you turn to look between Gabriel and Echo, silently asking them to back you up. Gabriel just puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes before continuing forward, and you turn to look at Echo, who reaches out for your hand and whispers, “We’ll figure this out.”

You nod, unable to say or do much else, allowing Echo to drag you ahead, catching back up with the others. When Echo gets close to them again, her eyes find the sky, tracing the rings that arch over the planet. “Not bad for a prison.”

You shake your head, thinking of the lack of anyone or anything on this planet, reminding you a lot of your time in solitary during your own imprisonment in the Skybox. Reminding you of your near death experience in an arena in what feels like eons ago. “I’d be willing to bet that the real prison is the isolation, like solitary.”

Gabriel nods in agreement and adds to your statement, “Depending on the time dilation relative to Bardo, you could serve a twenty year sentence here in a weekend. It's efficient.”

Echo changes the subject, watching Hope closely. “I take it you've dealt with these prisoners before.”

“One, yes.”

“Dangerous?”

“It depends. Everyone on Bardo is raised to be a disciple. Every single one of them is a warrior, not like the flower children who worshiped you.” She turns and glares at Gabriel, and you almost laugh, thinking that flower children is the perfect name for the people of Sanctum. Almost every person from Sanctum that you had the pleasure of fighting was terrible at it, and the only ones who were any good at it were the Children of Gabriel. Even they were defeatable though. Unless they were in a group. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts and bringing yourself back to the present as Hope continues, “Fortunately, they send people here who aren't pulling their own weight, not devout enough, not strong enough. If everything I've heard about you two is true, we can take him.”

She stops suddenly, bending down to inspect a small broken twig and an indentation in the dirt. She glances at the three of you over her shoulder. “All right, be quiet. We're close.”

Echo, unable to quell her curiosity, asks, “Who taught you how to track?”

“The girl you stabbed and kicked over a cliff.” Hope ends her statement with a withering glare directed at Echo, and you’re suddenly glad that looks can't kill, otherwise your group of four would suddenly be three. Echo rolls her eyes when Hope turns back around and counters, “It's a little more complicated than that.”

You and Echo exchange a look, because Octavia and Echo’s complicated history is very similar to yours and Echo’s complicated history. And despite all of the near death experiences, boyfriend stealing, and clan loyalty, the two of you are now walking hand in hand on a planet that is magically connected to a different planet that you landed on a week ago after a 125 year journey through space. Gabriel seems to sense this moment between you and Echo, because he glances between you before looking back at Hope. “Sounds like a good story.”

Hope quips, “You just heard it. The spy stabbed her ex boyfriend's sister and kicked her over a cliff.”

None of you say anything, falling into an awkward silence as she continues to lead all of you through the woods in search of the mysterious man. Finally, you break through a line of trees into a clearing, and your eyes fall on none other than...an army of skeletons. You nearly groan at the sight, the image reminding you a little too much of the body snatching Primes on Sanctum that nearly stole your sister from you. You and Echo break apart and you hand her the knife that the man nearly stabbed you with earlier, arming her as you reach for your own knife. As you walk up on the circle of skeletons, you are suddenly hit by the smell of rotten, decaying flesh, and this time you do groan out loud, but so do the others. Echo looks over the clearing in bewilderment, “What is this?”

“I have no idea. Looks like he dug up the dead so he could have company.” You eye the skeletons, some of them sitting up around a chessboard, and you feel a roll of nausea as you focus on breathing through your mouth and not your nose, in an attempt to ignore the smell. Hope suddenly rushes across the clearing, dropping in front of one of the skeletons, her voice sounding teary and broken when she whispers, “Dev.”

The man from before suddenly rushes across the clearing, towards Hope, and she scrambles away as he yells, “Leave us alone! I didn't invite them here, I swear it.”

Gabriel whispers, “Isolation madness.”

The man grasps onto his skeleton friend, continuing his mutterings, “Broke into our house. I tried to save Hope. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

Hope steps a little closer to him, kneeling down and softening her voice as she tries to console him. “Hey, I'm Hope. I grew up here.”

Gabriel, who has been standing very still to your right, seems to see something, because he starts to step away from you, his voice breaking through the soft conversation between the man and Hope. “Wait.”

It’s loud enough to spook the man away, and you all watch him jump over a tree and run off again, disappearing into the woods. Hope turns around, a glare on her face, directing her annoyance at Gabriel. “Damn it, I told you we need him!”

“Maybe we don’t.” Gabriel kneels down beside a skeleton, and you and Echo draw closer as he brushes a finger across the name patch on the skeleton’s body. It’s half degraded, eroded over time, but the first three letters remain. “C-O-L.”

Echo glances at you, and then to Gabriel. “Colonel? Military?”

He shakes his head, reaching into his pocket for a small knife as he does. “Colin, last name Benson. C.B. It was on the wall near the stone.”

He glances at you, aware that you were present when he read the letters out earlier. And then he unfolds his pocket knife and moves towards the skeleton, reaching out for the skull. He uses one hand to hold it steady, and one hand to pry away whatever disgusting gunk is on the skull, quickly revealing something you weren't ever sure you’d see again.

“A mind drive?” You look between the drive held proudly in Gabriel’s hand, and his face, confusion written across your own features. “How?”

“Eligius III was here. We're on planet Beta.”

Gabriel pauses long enough for his words to have an impact on all of you and then he takes off running back towards the cabin. You, Hope, and Echo follow behind him in confusion, calling out to him as he moves, but his mind is only focused on one thing, and that does not involve briefing the three of you. So you all just have to watch him in confusion as he crashes into the cabin and heads for his bag, digging around for a second before pulling out a tablet, and only then does he start to explain. “Everyone on the Eligius mission got one of these. Becca Franko designed the memory drives to be a data retrieval system so the mothership crew could determine what happened if they returned to find a mission team dead. You know, like an airplane black box.”

The three of you shake your heads, none of you familiar with the concept of an airplane black box. But Gabriel ignores it and barrels on, “Russell and I reverse engineered their tech to hold an entire mind.”

You process his words before pointing down at the tablet in his hand. “Wait, that'll play his memories?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel tugs a different mind drive from the tablet, glancing at you as he does. You’re already well aware of what sociopath previously existed on that tiny piece of hardware. “Josephine?”

“I needed to make sure she was really gone.” He slides the new mind drive into the spot on the tablet, powering it on, the screen fuzzy and staticky. You look at it with worry, and Gabriel must sense your growing anxiety. “Just wait. It's repairing corrupted data.”

“So what are the odds that Eligius III randomly chose two planets connected by Anomaly Stones?”

Gabriel shrugs, “Long. I'd say it suggests that the people on Bardo descend from Eligius as well, and if I'm right, it could mean that the species that created the stones thousands, perhaps millions of years ago, were looking for a new home too. I mean, think about it, right? No need for spaceships or cryo or mind drives. You could explore an entire universe.”

Your mind starts to wander at the possibilities of the stones. You’re gonna get Bellamy back, and then the two of you can explore the stars like real space explorers. You can travel the Universe without worrying about the time it takes to normally do something like that. You can discover new planets together and experience everything that the Universe has to offer. You’re starting to think that’s the most exciting idea you’ve ever had. Hope breaks your reverence though, and brings your crushing reality right back to the forefront of your mind. “Not to point out the obvious, but if your friend here figured out how to operate the stone, he'd have used it to leave. He wouldn't be here playing chess with the dead.”

“No, no, no. Colin was a quantum physicist, a Fields Medal winner. If anyone could figure out how to-” He’s cut off by a video suddenly beginning to play on the screen. A woman, dressed in a lab coat, her dark hair swept to the side, leans over someone sitting in a chair. “Dr. Benson, blink if you can hear me. Dr. Benson.”

Gabriel lets out a surprised laugh, “Becca? God, I had a crush on her.”

“Wait, that’s Becca?” Gabriel nods, and you look at the woman again, finally able to put a face to the woman that created Nightblood and the Flame. The woman who accidentally caused the end of the world, who later became the first Commander. Despite living in her mansion and her lab for a while, there were never any pictures or magazines with her face lying around. You never really knew what she looked like. Clarke told you that Becca and Alie looked the same, which she knew because she saw them both in the City of Light, but since you never took a chip and saw Alie, you never really knew what that was like. Still, it’s weird to see Becca now, in this video, before she causes the end of the world and before she becomes the center of religion to the Grounders.

On the screen, Becca continues talking to Colin. “The procedure was a success. The implant will start collecting your memory now. If you die out there, my face will be the first that the follow up team sees. I envy you, you are going on the greatest adventure in the history of history. Lightbourne, the pompous ass, thinks that Alpha is the one. He's afraid that Beta's too far from the black hole relative to the others, but if you ask me, time dilation is sexy as hell. You'll get to the future faster.”

Gabriel mutters, “The black hole, of course. That's why time is so accelerated here.”

Echo, eager to get to the memories that get all of you out of here counters, “Can you fast forward?”

“Quiet.”

Echo rolls her eyes and turns to face you. “This is gonna take a while.”

You nod, your mind drifting back to the man who tried to kill you not long ago. “And I’m sure that guy out there is eager to come home. I’ll take first watch.”

Echo nods in agreement, and you head for the door and step outside, wandering through the garden path and stopping just at the edge of the garden, leaning up against one of the structures and looking out into the trees beyond. You sit out there for a few hours, watching the woods and waiting for any sign of the madman, but you never see him. Towards the end of your watch you start to get bored, and your eyes wander from the woods and over to the garden at your back. You lean down to smell the flowers that are behind you, the patch of purple flowers reminding you of Shallow Valley and you get a pang of longing for your home and your twin and for Bellamy. All you can do is pray to the Universe that Gabriel figures out the code and gets all of you off of Skyring and onto Bardo.

As your eyes roam over the flowers near you, they fall to a bottle, sticking out of the dirt. Curious, you pull it free, shaking it slightly and listening as something shifts around inside. You pull the lid off and turn it over, a rolled up piece of paper sliding out and into your hand. When you unroll it, your eyes fall on a letter, the handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar, and as you start to read, tears tug at your eyes.

Bell,

I hope against hope that this letter reaches you. I need you to know that you were right. There was a darkness in me, but Diyoza helped me past that darkness. It's behind me now. I need you to know that I finally understand all you did to protect me, watch over me, love me. I wish I could see your face and hug you... and tell you that I get it now. I wish I could thank you. By the time you get this, if you get this, I'll probably be an old lady or dead. I want you to know I was happy. I have Hope. Diyoza's a pain in the ass, but I love her like I love you. Please don't worry about me. You deserve to be happy, big brother.

Always yours, Octavia.

You hear the door to the cabin open from somewhere behind you, but you are too absorbed in Octavia’s lost words to her brother. Words that indicate that she was here much longer than you realized. Words that indicate that she had started to heal before reality caught up to her again. As you start to lower the letter, Hope��s voice angrily calls out, “Where did you get that?”

You motion to the dirt beside you, confused by the anger in her voice. “I found it here.”

She snatches it from your hand and snaps, “That was not meant for you.”

She walks past you, the letter still gripped tight in her hand, and her feet carry her until she’s just at the edge of the forest. You watch her in confusion at first, not understanding the anger behind her outburst, until suddenly you realize that Hope’s shoulders are shaking slightly because she’s crying. You stand from your place near the garden and walk towards her, and when she hears you approach, you watch her angrily swipe away her tears before she starts to speak to you, her back still facing you. “I remember when she threw this into the bridge, we still thought Sanctum was on the other side. It must have been how they knew we were here.”

She starts to cry harder, relieving the trauma of her past, and you reach out for her arm, trying to turn her to face you. “Hey, come here.”

She shakes you off, resisting the comfort you're trying to offer her, but you try again, aware that she needs this. You only know a fraction of what Hope has gone through, but you know that more than anything, she needs a friend, and she needs a hug. You put your hand on her shoulders, trying to turn her towards you, and she resists you at first. Until suddenly, she spins around in your arms, jumping towards you and wrapping you up in her arms. She hugs you tight, confirming what you knew all along, that she needed a hug. You hug her back just as tightly, letting her know that you're here for her as you whisper, “We'll get them all back together, whatever it takes. Gabriel will get us the code, and then we’ll get them back.”

She nods, and the two of you stand huddled together as she cries in your arms. You hum Clair de lune, comforting her the way that your dad used to comfort you, the way that Bellamy comforted you, and eventually she starts to quiet in your arms. When the two of you pull away, you move to sit at the edge of the garden again, this time side by side, watching the trees in mutual silence. Hope is the first to speak up, her voice low and ashamed. “You must think I'm so weak.”

You shake your head hard, giving her a serious look. “No, the opposite actually.”

A second voice from behind you pipes up, scaring you and Hope both, your heart jumping with fear. “We've seen your moves, and with teachers like Diyoza and Octavia, I wouldn't want to face you in battle.”

You turn around and look at Echo, glaring at the quiet spy who easily snuck up on you both. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She gives you a small smile and plops down beside you. You're not sure how much she saw of you comforting Hope, but she doesn't comment on the girl's tear stained features, and you’re sure Hope is grateful for that. She glance at Echo, responding to her initial quip. “They didn't teach me to fight, my mom wouldn't allow it. A prisoner came here a few months after they left, Dev. He taught me.”

You think back to Hope’s earlier broken cry when you found the army of skeletons. “The body.”

“Yeah.”

You’re about to ask a follow up question on what happened, but you never get the chance, because you're cut off by an excited yell from inside the cabin. You, Hope, and Echo all turn to look at the small building, watching as Gabriel comes running from the cabin, practically bouncing with excitement. “He did it! I need something to write with, charcoal, a pen, anything!”

You all jump up and follow him back towards Hope’s former home, excited to write down the code that’ll take all of you to Bardo so you can save your families. Except, as you step inside the cabin, Gabriel holds out a hand to the three of you, forcing you to stop, his eyes locked on something in the corner of the room. You freeze, already worried based on Gabriel’s body language alone, but when your eyes finally find what he's looking at, your anxiety spikes even further. The mystery mad man stands in the corner of the cabin, the tablet held in his hand. Your one way ticket off of Skyring held in his hands, and he’s turning it over, end over end, looking at it closely.

“What is this?”

Gabriel holds up his hands in surrender, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “It's okay, no one's gonna hurt you. That's a memory viewer, okay? My friend was here, and he entered a code and opened the bridge. We need to rewind it, so that we can get the code and open the bridge ourselves. You can go home.”

The man is shaking, his voice raspy from lack of use, and he starts to get panicky. “Too soon. I must serve my time!”

You feel the hairs on your arm lift, and you know that something bad is about to happen unless you can stop it. You meet the eyes of the man, careful to keep your voice soft and soothing, “Okay. If you want to stay, you can stay. Just give us back-”

And before you can finish your sentence, he cuts you off, his voice loud and upset. “No! I serve the master, I am his shield and his sword! For all mankind!”

And before any of you can say anything else or do anything else, he lifts the tablet above his head. Your eyes fly to it, watching the events unfold like they’re in slow motion. As soon as the tablet is high enough, he brings his arms down, putting some force behind his throw, and you are left frozen in place, watching the tablet fall from his hand and clatter to the ground below. You hear someone scream as it hits the ground, shattering into pieces, and later on, when you play through the moment in your mind, you’ll realize that it was you screaming. But in the moment you don't notice, because all you feel is heartbreak and despair. You sink to your knees, staring at the shattered pieces in front of you, well aware of what this means. Without the memory viewer, without the code, all four of you really are trapped here on Skyring for the next five years.

There will be no rescue missions, no saving of anyone, because you’re stuck.

You're stuck until the crazed man in front of you is allowed to go home.

You're stuck until you can kill the men that come for him.

You're stuck, separated from Bellamy.

And in that moment, you swear you feel something inside of you snap.

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 4 years ago

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Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY:

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people?

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.)

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm.

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene.

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad.

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story!

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light.

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.)

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts!

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara.

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem.

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now).

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey.

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting.

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

#stranger speaks #supergirl: woman of tomorrow #supergirl: woman of tomorrow spoilers #dc comics #comics talk #comics opinions #comics thoughts #long post #are those the right tags? I can never remember #gif

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ttttaehyungie · 5 years ago

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 2

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series masterlist

sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘ genre | angst, exes au

☘ summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘ word count | 5.6k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ warnings | none

☘ a/n | ngl this update is coming later than i intended 🙈🙈 life has been pretty demanding on me lately butttt here we go!! chapter 2 😌 as always, thank you all you lovelies for reading, and let me know what you think 💕

The blare of the alarm pierces straight through the pleasantry of slumber and has you fumbling blindly for your phone. It’s right there on the bedside table. You refuse to open your eyes to the morning light that streams into your apartment. Finally, your searching hand finds the coolness of the device that's vibrating away angrily where it sits. Within a few attempts, swiping with your eyes still stubbornly closed, you get it to shut up. Rolling over, you snuggle further down under the covers, basking in the cozy warmth.

Beep. Beep.

Of course the moment of peace is not meant to last. The five-minute snooze duration on your alarm provides but a temporary respite. You groan.

But you kick the covers off, letting the cold morning air be what shocks you into alertness. Remaining in bed is really tempting, sure.

Thank god you love your job enough to overcome the daily inertia of getting up.

You shiver a little as your bare feet hit the chilly floor. Pulling the oversized shirt that is your staple sleepwear closer to you in an attempt to retain some body heat, the thought of purchasing a fluffy robe is beginning to look less and less impulsive and more and more justifiable as a necessity. With the lack of said fluffy robe, you rush to the bathroom in search of the comfort that's found in standing under the warm spray of the shower.

Your daily morning shower always gets you sufficiently awake, or enough for you to at least be in the right state of mind to make your cup of coffee that will wake you up entirely. The coffee machine had been a splurge at the time of purchase. But it’s established itself well enough within your morning routine to be considered an investment at this point. Sipping your coffee- with cream and no sugar- in between your daily make-up routine has your insides all toasty and warm.

The hot beverage exponentially increases in importance on rainy mornings like these. It’s nothing too drastic, just a light drizzle. But it makes the concrete jungle that you live in feel extra cold, and in more ways than just in temperature. The lack of lush greenery and the stiff silence of the people rushing about to get on with their hectic daily lives often leaves the city atmosphere feeling gray and dreary.

But you can’t complain.

Not when you’re one of the exceptional cases that gets to do what you truly love. In fact, being surrounded by the robotic throngs that drag themselves to the towering skyscrapers that house these big fancy corporations of blah only makes you even more aware that what you have is something coveted.

Working as a museum curator definitely wasn’t your childhood dream. But your college days had awakened the deep passion for art history that had laid dormant in you for years.

And now, here you are. Living in the big city and working for a prestigious museum. Who would have imagined that small-town you would have achieved all of this?

You absolutely love it. This little space in the world you’ve carved out is yours. You’re chasing after your own dream and living out your passion.

Maybe that’s one thing you should be thankful for from the breakup. Being thrust into singleness had left you helplessly untethered at first what with the abrupt upheaval of all the plans you’d initially laid out.

But perhaps it was what you needed. You needed to be an individual. You needed to know what that individuality meant. And your self-exploration, free from just chasing his shadow, brought you to discover your interest in curatorial work.

Which, in turn, brought you to the city.

The very same city that the breakup had happened in.

The fates truly have a sense of humor, pulling you back to the place which was once the site of heartbreak and tragedy, but is now the launchpad for your ambitions and self-actualization.

Or, much more plausibly, it was not the fates but a matter of practicality and statistics. It’s a big city, housing multiple big-name museums. It’s only natural that the city would become the base for you to build up your career once you completed your post-grad studies.

Once upon a time, when things were still a little too raw, you’d sworn off this place entirely. The city was simply too filled with memories, both good and bad, of him.

But that line of thought simply couldn’t hold up for too long. After all, by that same logic, your own hometown would have had to be boycotted as well.

Through your extended reverie, your hands- well-seasoned to the movements they execute daily- had finished your simple make-up routine. One final spritz of setting spray, and you release your now damp hair from where it sat bundled in the towel atop your head. As you absentmindedly blow dry your hair, your thoughts wander off on their own once again.

Your decision to move out to the city was one that was made in full knowledge that Namjoon was still here. This city is not affectionately termed the city of dreams for nothing. As an aspiring writer and a boy with a city soul, it was the most natural progression of events that he chose to remain in the city after graduating from college. Living in the city made it convenient for him to meet up with his editor and publishing company.

Or so you’ve heard from Hoseok. It’s been years since your break up and neither of you have reached out to close that awkward distance that rifted between you. Anyway, when you were moving out here, you figured that in a city as big as this with such a dense population, there’s little chance that you’ll actually bump into him.

Okay. You apologize to whatever deity it is out there for your earlier dismissal of the fates. Now that you think about it, they truly exist, and boy do they have a sense of humor.

Who would think that even in a city as large as yours, you’d still manage to run into him? And not just once, but a number of times now.

The first time, it was in a diner just two streets down from the museum that you had planned to go to for lunch. That is, until you spotted him through the window, chatting with a companion, his tanned skin and dimpled smile the same as always. Suffice to say, your lunch plans changed.

Then on a quiet afternoon in the museum, your little workplace trio had slipped out together for a coffee break under Yeri’s insistence. Apparently, the new cafe down the road served an oat milk latte that was to die for, or at least good enough to drag you and Soo-eun out for.

Turns out the cafe’s reputation had reached Namjoon’s ears too, because there he was, seated by the window with a mess of papers filled with his scrawly handwriting. The choice of seating was so… Joon. He’d always justified his fascination with people-watching by claiming it to be an essential part of his creative process.

Thankfully, this creative process seemed to be going well for him and took his full attention, allowing you to slip into the cafe unnoticed. A true feat, really, considering how animated Yeri gets when she’s chatty. With your oat milk latte in hand- also this damn drink better be so good it brings you to your knees on the first sip given the things you’ve had to endure to obtain it- you’re ready to make your swift escape from this risky situation.

As Soo-eun pushes the door open, you steal a leftwards glance. Your heart stills for a second. A pair of familiar, striking eyes is trained on you, and they widen just a fraction upon being caught. You can feel your own features making their own reflex reaction as the shock runs electric through you.

The awkward eye contact is forcibly broken as you follow after your friends, refusing to acknowledge the moment the two of you just shared. That was all it was- a moment- but it felt like time came to a standstill the moment your eyes met.

This freezing of time seems to be recurrent in your run-ins with Namjoon. The next time you see him is when you’re riding the subway home. Your pubescent years had seen Namjoon shooting up in height. You can’t forget the countless times he’d had to stoop down for you so you could press a chaste goodbye kiss to his cheek. What an inconvenience it’d been.

But what a convenience it is in this scenario. His head, though bent over a book, towers over the rush hour crowd squeezed into the carriage. With his height, you’d spotted his presence within mere seconds of him boarding the train.

The shock that had jolted through you had you dropping your eye gaze and ducking your head, letting your hair fall as a shield to conceal you. And it was a pretty effective one, as your surreptitious monitoring revealed that he was none the wiser to your presence.

However your next challenge comes when it’s your stop next and he’s standing right by the exit. As the train pulls into the station, you pray hard that he returns to his book and remains sufficiently engrossed in it for you to make your escape. Keeping your gaze on the ground, you worm your way around the crowd, mumbling out ‘pardon me’s.

Perhaps that was your downfall, was what alerted him to your presence. You’re stepping out of the carriage and so close to sweet, sweet relief.

But something brushes your arm just as you’re passing by him- a hand maybe? Your breath catches. Time halts. You steel your nerves. Ignore it. Just keep walking.

As the whirring of the blow dryer switches off, so does your unrestrained recalling come to an end. Downing the last of your coffee- now barely warm- you bring it to the kitchen to wash away the dredges the same way you wash away the thoughts of Namjoon.

"One more week, everyone!" Yeri cheers, as she turns her chair, swapping her cushy flats out for some black heels. That can only mean one thing- she’s headed for a night out.

"Have fun, Yeri," you say.

"Fun? What is that? At this point in our timeline, all I know is the hustle, babe."

You glance meaningfully at her shoes.

"Happy hour drinks with one of our patrons so I can secure the loan on this piece that you listed as absolutely essential," she explains in response to your pointed look.

"Ok, ok. Go work your magic."

She smirks. "That’s right, trust me to be your resident miracle worker."

"Just make sure it comes on time, please. The exhibition spatial plotting on this one looks intense," Soo-eun pipes up quietly.

"Hey, where’s the vote of confidence in our heavenly trio?" Yeri says.

"I mean, we’re good at what we do, but exhibition design never gets any less stressful."

"Don’t worry, Soo-eun, we’ll deliver an excellent exhibition as per usual," you say, instilling in them the confidence that you genuinely feel when working with this team. "With Yeri’s charisma in securing the loans on the pieces we need, coupled with your eye in exhibition design, it’ll be great as per usual."

Ever since that first exhibition you’d all been thrown together for, the synergy between the three of you was undeniable, both to yourselves and to your other coworkers who were mere witnesses of it.

"And not forgetting your taste in selection of pieces too, ____. See, there’s the vote of confidence I was looking for," Yeri says. She applies a fresh coat of her merlot red lipstick and inspects her appearance in her compact mirror. Deeming herself presentable, she gets up from her desk, handbag casually and stylishly slung on her forearm. "Ok, I’m off. TGIF, everyone! Don’t stay too late working on those descriptions, ____."

You hum in response, your eyes glued to said descriptions that were only half-written at this point. Maybe a weekend working overtime is in order.

"Oh! Don’t forget, we’ve got brunch with Dong-In tomorrow. He really enjoyed your company the last time," Yeri says, as if she read your mind. There goes your overtime plans for the weekend that you were mentally pencilling in.

"Right. You make sure that you don’t get too wasted and miss brunch tomorrow."

"Hey, it’s a strictly professional drinking session tonight."

"Mmhm, but I’m sure you’ll find a group of friends for drinks after the meeting. When have you ever missed a night out on the town on a Friday?"

"Touche."

You smirk when she concedes. You love Yeri with all your being, but she’s a party girl at heart and you know her well. "Text me when you’re up tomorrow."

"Will do, babe. I’ve really got to run now or I’ll be late and lose you your art piece."

"All the best, Yeri!" Soo-eun calls after her.

"Thanks, and all the best, Yeri!" you echo.

Sinking back in the plush of your desk chair, you return to the write-ups and sigh.

"Just one more week, ____. Like you said, we’ve got this," Soo-eun encourages.

The next day begins much like the previous, with you fumbling for your alarm in your sleep-addled state and groaning when the five minute snooze duration passes way quicker than what five minutes feels like.

You go through your usual morning routine- shower, coffee, make-up, hair- but can afford to chill out with nowhere to rush to. Weekend mornings are to be savored for their unhurried pace. Getting up is a pain, but you relish the quiet, unbroken serenity of the mornings enough to haul yourself out of bed, even if you don’t have work to head out for.

To be frank, you’re enjoying the peacefulness of your morning so immensely that when 10am rolls around and there’s still no sign from Yeri that she’s awake- you’ve done your due diligence, you’ve dropped her at least five texts and multiple calls to check if she’s alive- the temptation to just ditch your brunch plans grows harder to fight.

Well technically, it’s Yeri’s brunch plans… So if she doesn’t wake up for them then it’s not really your fault, is it?

Dialling her number one last time brings you to her voicemail- Hey, it’s Yeri! If you’re hearing this, it either means I’m busy, asleep, or ignoring you. Just leave your message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Unless I’m ignoring you, in which case, … *beep*- and you smile as you find your scapegoat.

[10.07am] ____: hey dong in, mornnn, i don’t think yeri’s awake

[10.07am] ____: soooo i don’t think she’ll be making it to brunch at this rate

[10.08am] ____: should we take a rain check on this?

Your phone buzzes a little while later.

[10.11am] Dong-In: oh damn, ok then.

[10.13am] Dong-In: catch you another time?

You know that you should feel bad, but you can’t help the joy that washes through you at the prospect of being able to just stay home. Homebody tendencies die hard. Being conscious not to sound too happy, you type a reply quickly, letting Dong-In know you’ll check with Yeri when she’s free next.

The sudden freeing up of your day has you giddy with excitement. With your hair up in a bun and hitting play on your favorite Broadway musicals spotify playlist, you set about tidying your apartment as you sing to yourself. The mess in your apartment has been steadily accumulating in your neglect as a result of the busy schedules at work. But it’s gotten to a point where even you can’t stand it. And more importantly, Hoseok, with his particularity on cleanliness, is coming to visit next week.

When your apartment’s sufficiently clean, you make breakfast with whatever leftovers you can muster from your depleting food supplies. Consuming your pathetically pulled together breakfast omelette that consists of the last egg in the fridge and an overripe, almost-mush tomato cements the next item on your agenda. It’s time to go grocery shopping.

You’re midway to the grocery store when your phone buzzes in your pocket in quick succession as if provoked.

[12.18pm] Yeri: BINCH did you not go to brunch??

[12.18pm] Yeri: duDE

[12.18pm] Yeri: !!!!!!!!

[12.18pm] Yeri: ____ i s2g

[12.18pm] ____: well good morning to you too

[12.19pm] ____: you were dead to the world

[12.19pm] ____: i called you at least eight times and dropped you multiple texts

[12.19pm] ____: why are you coming at me this way huh

[12.19pm] ____: anyway i told dong in to postpone

[12.19pm] Yeri: ok oK too much shouting for this hungover bij

[12.19pm] ____: yeri it’s all over text…

[12.20pm] Yeri: typing in caps makes it shout in my head alrite

Yeri’s drama queen antics are truly one of a kind. It has you rolling your eyes, but you smile. Well now that she’s awake, you figured lunch and a hangout could substitute for your cancelled brunch plans. And of course, hungover Yeri is always in need of tender loving care. Your grocery shopping plans can always wait.

[12.20pm] ____: anyway your personal postmates is on its way to you so ‘hungover bij’ had better be grateful

[12.20pm] ____: see you in 20

[12.20pm] Yeri: ok i take it all back I LOVE YOU YOU’RE THE BEST

You get to Yeri’s place and it’s unexpected but not surprising that Soo-eun’s the one who opens the door to let you in. It makes sense, a weekend hangout would simply be incomplete without her. Plus, the task of nursing your hungover friend is not something to be taken on alone.

"Soo-eun!" You wrap an arm around her in greeting, which she returns.

"Hey, ____," she responds. "Yeri’s in the shower but she should be out soon."

"How bad is it?" you ask, releasing her and heading to the kitchen.

Soo-eun trails after you. "It’s been worse. And food will make her hangover better."

"It’s a good thing you’re here. We need your voice of reason to mediate the dumbass squabbles hungover Yeri and my impatient ass will undoubtedly get into."

Soo-eun simply laughs at your antics, shaking her head. She's well-accustomed to her role as peacemaker by now.

Another voice rings through the kitchen area where you stand with Soo-eun. "Wow, the disrespect! Breaking and entering into my house to gossip about me?"

Yeri enters, her usual bouncy ringlets now hang limp and wet, creating a damp spot over her chest where it sticks to her oversized t-shirt. In contrast to her usual self, hungover Yeri forgoes style for comfort.

"Case in point," you say. Before Yeri can bite back a response, you interject with a raise of the takeout bag in your hand.

"Hmph. I will forgive you this time. But only because you come bearing peace offerings."

"Only because you think with your stomach, you mean."

"Okay my hungover brain doesn’t want to argue anymore. Just want food."

With that, the three of you are crashing on the couch while Yeri takes liberal bites of her burger. The fries get split amongst you, picked at sporadically between your playful gossiping.

The upcoming exhibition- that's opening in a week, wow, where did all that time go?- is a pretty big one, and the three of you have been slogging it out for months now. At this stage of the project, having a weekend to kick back and relax has become a true rarity. It makes you treasure the time together even more.

But in that vengeful manner that time seems to get when you're enjoying yourselves, the afternoon slips by when it feels like it's barely even begun. Outside the looming windows of Yeri’s loft apartment, the sun is beginning to set. The tv is playing but it’s the equivalent of a murmur, just ambient noise as the three of you soak in the coziness of physical closeness.

None of you wants to shatter the quiet calm that has settled in like a blanket over you, but someone has to. And that someone is you.

You lift your head from where it rests on Soo-eun’s shoulder. Your light jostling causes Yeri to lift her head from where it lays on your lap.

You sigh. "I’ve procrastinated grocery shopping for the entire day. And the fridge isn't getting any fuller the longer I stay."

Yeri whines and plops her head back down onto your lap, pressing down forcefully to keep you from getting up.

"Or we could all go to the store together," Soo-eun says. Yeri's head pops up at the suggestion.

"Idea! Let's go!" she says, scrambling up from her reclined position across the couch. "You brought me Arby’s, it’s only fair I do groceries with you."

You turn to Soo-eun, but she’s replying before you can even ask. "I suggested it, of course I’m ok with it."

"Fine," you huff, but they both know it’s feigned annoyance. All three of you are as clingy to each other as the next is. "You can come along. But we’re only buying the necessities. Only. Necessities."

Your basket is full of non-necessities thrown in by Yeri. You really should have made a shopping list.

While Yeri is busy perusing the next aisle, Soo-eun removes the bags of chips Yeri had thrown in (because ‘this is a necessity! You never have any snacks when we crash at your place, I’m just thinking ahead for our future hangouts!’) and places them back on the shelf it came from. You smile at her gratefully.

Yeri returns with another armful of snacks.

"Yeri," you groan. "I came for fresh produce, not this. I already had an overripe tomato for breakfast. I’m not up for eating junk food as sustenance for the rest of the week."

"Well you could have had a nice fresh meal if you didn’t skip out on brunch. Poor Dong-In, I can’t believe you cancelled brunch with him."

"Hm," you say, walking ahead down the grocery aisle, "if you feel so bad for Dong-In, maybe you shouldn’t have overslept on us then."

Yeri chases after you to dump the snacks in your basket. "You could have just gone without me. He’s a nice guy, y’know."

"No way, that would be too awkward. What would we even talk about? We’re so different."

"You’ve only met him twice. Who knows? Maybe he belts out Broadway songs in the shower just like you and you can finally find the Phantom to your… Opera."

Walking just behind the two of you, Soo-eun’s laughter, though hastily masked by a cough, could be heard.

"It’s Christine. And if you’d watched the musical, you would know not to wish Phantom on anyone," you say.

"Whatever! I’m just saying, it takes more than two meetings to know someone. Give him a chance, ____."

"Wait." You freeze mid-step. You turn to Yeri. "Are you trying to set me up with Dong-In?!"

Yeri’s eyes roll in exaggerated exasperation. When she’s done, she folds her arms and her body language sends a loud and clear, "Duh."

You frantically pull your phone out from where it sits in the pocket of your jeans. Swiping quickly to read your text conversations with Dong-In in the light of this new information, you’re absolutely mortified by your lack of awareness and worried if you’ve come off as brash in your ignorance.

"Does he know? Am I the only one who’s unaware?!"

This time, it’s Soo-eun that pitches in. "Even as a third party, it was pretty obvious Yeri was trying to matchmake you two. So… sorry, ____, but it’s just you."

You sputter.

"It’s alright. Your obliviousness is part of your charm," Yeri says.

"And," Soo-eun cuts in before you can retort, "you have no obligation to feel anything for Dong-In. So if you’re not interested in him that way, you just aren’t."

Yeri huffs, but agrees. "She’s right. But- now that you’re finally aware- give him a chance alright?"

As it turns out, you never get to give Dong-In that chance. With the exhibition launching in less than a week, it's a crazy sprint to the finish-line, and your days are simply too packed to think about anything other than preparing for the exhibition.

The exhibition itself has a short lifespan- it'll be open to the public for a relatively short period of six months.

But accompanying it is a series of open lectures meant for public education of the arts. Yeri, who is simply amazing at patron relations, managed to rope in guest lecturers for the next few months. But the museum thought it would be an excellent idea to have one of their own resident curators to helm the first of the series of lectures.

And it was an excellent idea. Just not for the curator who had to take it on. And that curator would be you.

Sitting in the first row of seats in the auditorium, you try your best to refrain from looking back. You can hear the buzz of the audience behind you as they stream in. It sounds like a sizable amount of people. Looking back would only spook you out further, so you focus your attention on the index cards in your hands, running through your main points again and again.

You take a deep breath in, and heave it out in an attempt to release the anxiety built up in your chest. A warm hand gently pries your right hand’s nervous grip off your index cards.

"____," Soo-eun says. She's smiling assuredly at you when you look up at her. "You'll be great."

From your left, Yeri gives your shoulder a light shove. "Yeah. You've got this, girl!"

"We've seen the amount of effort you've put into this. It'll pay off," Soo-eun says.

Their words breathe a deep sense of confidence in you. After all, they're the ones who had to bear with your stress and they're the witnesses to consecutive late nights you've pulled in the office to get your script and slides done. This particular iteration of the script was a product of not just your work, but their benevolence and hard work too at editing and proofreading.

Squeezing Soo-eun's hand in yours in a bid to get rid of the jitters, you nod at them.

"We've got this," you say.

The clock hits time and you walk on stage, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and focusing on not- oh god forbid- tripping over your heels. The nerves are still present as you take your place at the podium, but you ignore the way your hands tremble ever so slightly.

You greet the audience, capturing their attention, and begin your presentation. And as you begin talking about your subject matter- the topic you've spent months researching and studying- the nerves melt away and your passion begins to take center-stage in your mind instead.

You're so immersed in the topic that you're just going and going, and soon enough you've reached the end of your script and the ‘Q&A’ slide is up on screen. Applause fills the auditorium, and you smile, genuinely pleased that people seem to have enjoyed your presentation. In the corner of your eye, you see Yeri cheering, and Soo-eun shoots you two thumbs-up.

"Thank you." You bow slightly. "I'll open the time up to the floor. If anyone has any questions, you may feel free to ask them now."

You scan across the auditorium, looking out for questions, when-

Time freezes in that way it always seems to whenever your eyes meet. Seated somewhere in one of the middle aisles but off to the right of the auditorium, long limbs crossed one over the other in his black slacks, Namjoon's eyes are wide as yours catch on him as if encountering a snag.

Oh. My. God. What is he doing here?

Peeling your eyes off him, you skim across the room again. Thankfully, a few hands are raised now and you take their questions, offering yourself a means of escape. But your attention is split and it takes intentional effort as you forcibly will yourself to look at anything but him.

"Okay, I'm afraid that's all the questions we have time for. But I'll be around with some of the other curators for a couple more minutes if anyone has any other questions about the exhibition," you say, gesturing to Yeri and Soo-eun, who wave at the public.

As the audience disperses, you walk off stage, hoping he'll just quietly leave.

No such luck, apparently. From your peripheral vision, you see him coming over as a few other members of the public come up to you to thank you for your lecture.

"Hey," he says, and the familiarity of his warm tone hits you like a punch in the gut, "um, you did a really good job today."

As if your break up hadn't happened the way it did, as if the numerous awkward encounters hadn't taken place, as if it didn't hurt you right now just seeing his face properly after all these years, you put up a front. You smile at him diplomatically.

"Thanks," you say. Your tone is kept even, professional. "How did you find it?"

"It was great, really. I've come to a couple of the museum's exhibitions, but this is the first lecture I've attended."

"Yeah, it's a new thing we decided to introduce for this particular exhibition."

"It's great, yeah. Gives more depth and insight to the art pieces and really makes the whole thing come alive when you see it from the curator's perspective."

You nod. "Nice. That was our intention."

"Anyway," he pauses and runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, "how have you been? It's been a long time."

You bite back the scathing remark that sits on the tip of your tongue. It's almost too enticing to finally let him have it after the years of torment he'd caused you after your break up. The torment that still lives in you, muted under layers of numbness that you've buried it under. Did he even feel the pain in the same measure that you did?

"I'm good." You're tempted to leave it at that. But there's just something in his eyes, something... like a plea? that makes it impossible for you to be cold to him the way your past self imagined you would be. "I've been living in the city for a couple of years now. I'm working in the museum as a curator, as you can see, and yeah, life has been good for me."

Before you can stop yourself, you find yourself reciprocating his question. Ultimately, you can't deny your burning curiosity at what he's been up to. "What about you? How have things been for you?"

"I finally got published a few years back," he says, and you nod as if this is new information to you. Truth is, on your summer break back home that year, your eavesdropping ways had brought the news to you as you heard Hoseok congratulating him on his breakthrough. He laughs lightly. "My life has kind of just revolved around writing, getting inspiration from different sources to write, then writing more. If it sounds really mundane, it's because it is."

"No way." You shake your head. "You're living your dream, Namjoon. Wasn't it always your ambition to be a published author?"

You regret it almost immediately, bringing up the past. Anything to do with the past is dangerous territory. Hell, having a conversation with him that's more than just polite small talk about cursory topics devoid of personal details and emotions (i.e. a conversation like this one) is dangerous territory.

He murmurs something, and you’re certain you mishear him. "You remember."

"Pardon?"

"No, I was agreeing with you. Yeah, it is."

In the background, your slides click off, and it pulls you out of your conversation with Namjoon.

"I think I've gotta go," you say, pointing to the podium where Soo-eun collects your belongings. "My friends are waiting for me."

"Oh!" Namjoon says, turning to look at where you're pointing. "Yeah, don't wanna hold you up any longer. Thanks for your time today."

He turns to go, and you can't help the nagging discomfort at the way things are left hanging between the two of you.

"Hey!" you call. He turns back. "Do you want to do dinner? Hoseok is coming out for the weekend, so do you want to hang out, the three of us? We're going to the diner two streets down from here."

Funny. Didn’t you avoid this diner to avoid Namjoon the last time? Again, it seems the fates truly have a sense of humor.

Namjoon's eyebrows raise in surprise, but it's momentary and quickly replaced as his features soften into a grateful smile. His dimples appear and you hate how, even after all these years, it still has the power to wring your heart out.

"That sounds really nice, actually," he says.

"Is seven ok for you?"

"Seven’s good. I'll see you and Hoseok then."

"See you," you say and he nods. This time, he turns to go for real.

As you watch his retreating figure, you wonder if you really made the right choice, opening the door for him to re-enter your life after all these years.

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