#Did he and Lars sit around and talk about his girl problems

[vampiressmoney]

The way I can barely eat my ice cream cus I'm watching James in a hoodie, looking extra tall, reference the end of an ex-gf relationship, then ask Lars when "What's her name" ended by drawing the letter K on his hand for a hint and Lars says "June '92."

[samicoke]

Jealousy.

Lars Ulrich | Metallica (Masterlist)

No one understood why the hell we weren’t together. Neither did I. Everything we did was like a damn couple. 

When I was a teen, meeting Lars Ulrich seemed like a dream. His long brown hair and accent captivated me. Eventually we became close friends, even moved into the same place once. We cuddled, played drums, sing, read, draw etc. Even told our deepest secrets. No one could separate us, but somehow we never became girlfriend and boyfriend. Call me selfish, I wanted more than that. But I knew, I wasn’t his type. 

Once he formed Metallica with James Hetfield in 1981 it was fun. I enjoyed the boys company even though I was not apart of the band, I was family and close friend. I felt special, I was the only girl able to stick around or be around them a lot. Sure, there was groupies but they weren't important. They were irrelevant. Tried replace me but never worked.

1994, been decade since I meet Lars. Guess what? Still fucking close friends. Anyways, who would have thought that the Courtney Love would hang out with Metallica. Surprisingly she became good friends with the guys. Was I jealous? Yeah. I knew she was obsessed with Lars. Why did I feel replaced? 

Problem was I couldn't just ditch them, they were my ticket back to LA. So decided to hang out with random people. As of right now, I was 5th wheeling load of bullshit. "Hey...helloo." Lars waved his hand in front of my face. “Huh?” I zoned back in looking around my surroundings and at Lars. "Finally, it took me 2 minutes. You good?" "Yeah..I'm good." Of course he didn’t believe me but shrugged it off. "Well, we're heading back to the place now. Come on." Lars gently grabbed my hand, holding it, as we all walked to the car. 

Courtney was already seated in the passenger side. James sat in the back by himself, soon I filled in the space. Kirk and Jason went somewhere else. Lars was now driving, talking to Courtney. "You good?" James rubbed my back. "Yeah, just tired from traveling you know?" "Tell me about it." James laughed softly then whispered. "You need to tell Lars about your feelings...it's been long enough." I sighed looking away. "I know James..but-" ”it's okay me, Kirk and Jason are here for you. If he rejects you then he's just being a dumb blind bitch." James knew how to cheer me up.

Wednesday arrived, didn't feel like doing anything so I laid in bed. Courtney left a day before, she had work to do. So it just me and Lars in a hotel room. Everyone had their own rooms except for us. Lars went out earlier but I didn’t feel like tagging along. "I'm back! Where are you?" Lars shut the door heading to the room. "I'm here." "You're still in bed? What's wrong?" Lars got worried sitting next to you. It was now or never.

"Promise me that this won't change our friendship." I played with his hand out of boredom. "I promise.." I sighed deeply. "I liked you for so fucking long Lars, but I guess you were so blind. Now I'm finally confessing. I don't give a shit if you reject me, younger me would but now I don't care." He was surprised. Not being able to form any words to save his life. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize, hell-" A huge frown was plastered on his face as I interrupted him. “are you and Courtney together?" He scoffed "what? No." He rested his hand on my cheek. "I like you too. Please don't leave me. I never meant to make you feel replaced or hurt." Lars moved closer towards me, being able to feel his breath on my face. "I won't. Especially everything we went through together. Never." He leaned in kissing me. No space in between.

[waynewifey]

Fading away. —

Pairing: Jason Grace x Roman!DaughterofPluto!Reader

Sumary: after moths of over working, a colapse makes you get into a coma and reflect on your feelings.

Warnings: coma, angst, Pluto as a caring dad, fluff at the end.

Words: +-3k.

A/N: This is my first Percy Jackson Franchise fanfiction, so take it easy on me. This is also my biggest and favourite one. I hope you like this! My requests are always open.

(Y/N) (L/N) had a good reason to hate Jason Grace. How could she not? Jason was so annoying, self centred, selfish, stubborn and worse of all? He dated Piper McLean. Piper was great, (Y/N) knew that and they seemed happy together. But, still, he chose Piper, not (Y/N), his girlfriend back at Camp Jupiter, who he totally forgot about. How come Percy remembered Annabeth but Jason wouldn't remember (Y/N)? And when he recovered his memory, he chose Piper. But she also loved him still, and seeing him hurt like a bullet going straight through her heart. She decided to spend a year at Half-Blood Camp to stay with her half-brother Nico Di Angelo when Gaea were defeated. She thought she could manage to see him almost every day, but she couldn't. So she started doing anything to get her mind occupied. Going on meaningless quests, travelling to New York randomly, volunteering for literally any service in the camp and barely sleeping — because sleeping meant dreams.

"It doesn't have to be like that, (Y/N)." Her brother gave her another shot of Nectar. The sunlight that entered Hades' cabin was leaving slowly as they talked, (Y/N) leaned on her bed watching her fingertips become solid again.

"I'll learn how to do it right and I promise I won't push myself too much, but I can't stop practicing." She avoided eye contact with Nico, feeling ashamed of herself. After all, she was supposed to be the one taking care of him, since she was older. She came back from a "quest" for her father, that was staying a weekend on the Underworld. She started using Shadow Travel to get there. The problem? She had no idea how hard it was, and she almost died every time. He sighted.

"I'm not talking about Shadow Travel. You should talk to Jason and sort this out. You're almost killing yourself everyday doing the craziest stuff just to keep your mind off him. He already broke up with Piper, what's stopping you now? I'm your brother and it pains me to see you suffering, I won't just sit and watch while you literally desapear." He got up and walked to the door. The (h/c) girl forced a smile so he believed she was fine. Nico left the cabin.

After hours reflecting and thinking, she heard the trumpets that announced the convocation to a game of Capture the Flag. Since she was feeling better, she changed her clothes and walked outside. The teams were: cabins 1, 4, 5, 9, 12, 14, 18, 21, 23, 27, 28, 29 vs. cabins 2, 6, 7, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 20, 24, 25, 26. They started the game. (Y/N) had to protect the boundary with a kid from Hipnos' cabin while a group attacked the opponent's flag and another protected their territory and their flag. Everything was going as planned, she hadn't seen anyone yet. Out of the sudden, she saw a blond guy running in their direction with a sword. Oh hell no, Jason Grace wouldn't attack her like that. But he did.

"What the hell?!" She screamed, reacting to the blade flying in her direction. Her teammate was asleep. She defended herself with her own sword and counterattacked. He invested against her leg, trying to make her fall. Her instincts took place, she jumped, attacked again and they started a meaningless battle. Jason looked the same as always. He was almost the same Jason that used to take her on cute dates in New Rome. But he fought like a greek. And that was when it hit her, he changed. The mixture of love and hate made her loose her senses for a bit, giving Jason the lead. He focused on her leg but hesitated to hit it, giving her time to get back on the fight. She knocked him to the floor, her foot on his chest and her blade on his neck, when she heard footsteps approaching quickly. Of course. It was a trap. She turned around and saw a son of Hebe holding her team's flag running, followed by two daughters of Hephaestus. She grabbed a knife from her belt and threw it to his leg, hitting exactly where she wanted. She then grabbed Jason's blade and Shadow Travelled. For a moment everything was fine, while she drowned into darkness, but then she couldn't get out. She saw her father's face mixed in the dark. He raised his hand and touched her face, than she was back at the forest. Realising not even a second had gone through, she attacked the — injured — boy and the two gigantic girls at the same time. She wasn't really expecting to defeat them, just trying to win some time so, hopefully, someone would come help her. The boy dropped the flag and got a small sword. The two girls had hammers... oh. The three of them attacked at the same time and she protected herself with Jason's sword, which flew away. She was out of hopes when a figure appeared beside her and started fighting them.

"What are you doing here?! You're not supposed to help me, we're enemies, remember?" She said, fighting Hebe's son.

"I guess you're welcome then." Jason replied smiling, fighting the hammers-girls. (Y/N) sighted in annoyance. Seconds later, her teammates came running from the enemies' territory with a flag and the three-people group surrendered. Everyone started screaming and celebrating. (Y/N)'s head hurt with the noise and she looked to her brother, feeling numb.

"Hey, can we talk?" Jason said, getting in front of her with a big smile. He was proud of himself for helping her? Of course he was. He was going to take all the credit for her team's win. The anger rose inside of her burning everything. She furrowed her eyebrows and with the last energy that remained in her body, she tried to Shadow Travel for the perhaps hundredth time that day.

She fell into the darkness while feeling her body desapear quickly. Her heart was very accelerated but then it stopped. She saw herself at the barks of Lete's river. I'm dead., she thought. The desperation started taking over. She remembered the face of all her friends. Her siblings, Hazel and Nico. Her mother. Her best friend Reyna. Camp Jupiter. New Rome. The Lar Vitellius. Lares? Lares! Maybe she could go back as a ghost! She would at least see her friends again.

"Didn't expect to see you this soon." A voice said with humor. She turned around, as always enlighten by her father's presence. But his face was sad. Not the everyday-sad-Pluto, but the my-daughter-just-died-sad-Pluto.

"Am I d-... dead?" The anxiety forbid her from crying in front of her father. The one she never knew and once she did, she didn't want to disappoint him.

"Yes and no. You see, my darling, there are things more powerful then death. Right now, your physical being is exhausted from travelling through darkness and light — which I told you not to, but we'll talk about this later, you have a decision to make. You're body is surrendering to Death out of hopelessness. But your soul, on the other hand, still fights for the heart beating in your chest. And your conscious, the controller of both body and soul, has to decide which one of them you'll support right now. As Lord of the Death that's all I can say to you. But as your father, I would like to say that we have a room for you in the castle, if you'd like that. And also, I feel obligated to show you what is happening on Earth." When he finished his words, an image formed in the air, sort of an Iris message, but no one saw them. (Y/N) saw herself laying on the grass, surrounded by some campers, Nico and Jason.

She was watching them from above. Jason put two fingers on her neck, trying to feel her pulse. She — the one in the Underworld — gasped as the blond boy whispered 'nothing'. She glanced at her father, who had a pained expression as he stared at Nico freaking out. Her brother had his hands on her chest and was murmuring something in greek. Then, he opened his eyes, filled with tears of desperation, and glanced at Jason, who didn't look any better. She wanted to scream and go back to up there, but her voice wouldn't come out of her throat.

"Half of her is already gone." Nico struggled to say. Everyone around gasped. "I can't Shadow Travel with her, it- it would k-kill the other half..."

"Let's take her to the Infirmary. Everything's gonna be fine. She'll be okay." Will Solace had appeared in the crowd and kneed down to take (Y/N) in the arms, being helped by the other two. As they walked, (Y/N) held herself in her arms, sobbing. She didn't want to die, not like that. The image faded away and Pluto hugged her. He never did that before. She left out all her emotions through the cry. Her father caressed her back and gently kissed the top of her head.

"Now you see, my child, what those on Earth are going through. You have a family up there. And if you'd ask me, Jason Grace is a good person, even being a son of my brother. You have a choice, so make it wisely." Pluto said, not backing away from the hug. She nodded and he immediately knew what her choice was. "You know I'd love to have you here with me, but I'd love even more to see you happy. Don't be reckless. And listen to your brother. You don't have to worry to come see me, I'll make sure to visit you during your recovery." As he said that, a white door appeared out of nowhere. "Here's your carpool." The girl started to walk to the door, when she heard Pluto say: "(Y/N) I lo-... Good luck." She smiled to him and went through into the door. It felt like eons in the nothingness. She felt so much pain all over her body. Then she gained conscience. She didn't knew how long it had passed. She also couldn't open her eyes or say anything, but she knew she was laying down something comfortable, a bed, perhaps. But she could hear perfectly well.

"... and I'm so sorry you had to die for me to gain the courage to say this. Please come back to us... Come back to me. Nico barely leaves this room and nor do I, Will had to force him to go eat. It's not the same without you, (Y/N/N), it really isn't." Jason's words gave her the urge to cry, but she couldn't. It was like her body had shutdown completely. She felt his warm hands on her cold ones and after that, a door was opened. Footsteps. Only one person. Jason didn't move. Someone sat down next to them.

"Dad- I mean, Hades said she will be okay." It was Nico's voice. He sounded extremely tired.

"Didn't he say that last month?" Grace was annoyed, but he didn't stop holding her hand.

"I know, I wish I could do more... I'm... I'm sorry Jason." The blond sighted.

"I should be the one to be saying that. I know there's nothing else to do. I'm sorry for putting the blame on you. It's just- if we've talked before, nothing of this would have happened. If only I was brave enough..." (Y/N) felt weak and her consciousness was back at nothing again. When she heard something again, it looked like a lot of time had passed by, but she wasn't sure at all. Jason's voice was happy as he told her his plans to the future.

"I realised you would like to work with me training the legion. You're obviously skilled and the payment is quite good. And I've heard they are planning to build a village here as well, but I don't know if you-..." Every time she tried to stay conscious, she felt weaker. 'Rest', her father's voice said inside of her head, so she let herself.

Some time...? A long time...? She didn't knew. But the next time she heard, she was way stronger. She waited until then, so she could stay longer and try to understand her emotions. She heard almost an entire day. Her friends entered and left cabin 13 — she found out that she was there. Some of them talked "to" her, some just sat there in silence. When alone, Nico talked a lot about Will Solace. (Y/N) smiled mentally. Then Jason entered. She could already recognise the sound he made walking. He sat beside her bed and held her hand, as usual.

"Hello, princess. You look better." She reunited all the strength she had storage and sent it all to her right hand. She softly squeezed Jason's hand, for a small portion of second, trying to say 'hi'. She felt exhausted. He gasped.

"She just squeezed my hand!" He screamed, laughing. Nico jumped out of his bed, laughing as well. They both stared at her, waiting for more. "You're there, right? I knew you were! It's been long months, but you're getting better. Don't work too hard. We'll see each other soon, don't worry." He kissed her forehead. After that, it was easy for her to let go and dive into her sleep again.

She was slowly getting better. She noticed her comas were smaller now, and she got stronger every time. She started communicating by squeezing people's hand. One time for 'yes' and two times for 'no'. But it still was exhausting. She met with her father a couple times through dreams, but it never lasted long. She was sick of it. She wanted to jump out of the bed and run through all the camp. She was alone with Jason, as he talked about the last time he went to Camp Jupiter, telling every change. She slowly forced herself to open her eyes. It wasn't for too long, just enough for her to see the big smile he had while talking, her favourite blond hair and how he gesticulated while speaking. By that time, her feelings were completely lined. She declined her childishness and stubbornness to accept the fact that she obviously loved him. Her lips were able to form a small smile. He hadn't noticed her yet. I can do this, she thought.

"J." She whispered for the first time in five months. Her eyes were already closed again. He gasped.

"Did you just say J? That's me! I'm here, i'm right here, love. Can you hear me?" She squeezed his hand one time. Yes. He chortled. "You're so strong. I miss you so much." He started softly crying. She squeezed his hand two times. No. Don't cry, she wanted to say. "Alright, 's fine, 's fine. Gods, you're coming back. I bet Aphrodite is watching us closely." He chuckled but suddenly stopped. "I forgot we haven't talked about that yet, i'm sorry. I don't wanna be intrusive, you know. It's just, by what Nico has told me, well, you still liked me." She squeezed two times. "That's... that's great, love. But don't worry about that just yet. You should take some rest now, my love."

Five days. She had woken up every single one of them, but only listening. No squeezes, no talking, no looking. Just storing strength. She knew she was close to fully waking up. She was already able to keep track of the days. It was a Sunday, the day she received the most visits. It should be morning, because she only heard Nico's snorting. She slowly opened her eyes. The same place. Different clothes. She wondered who had changed them. Perhaps Will did. She systematically moved her arms, pushing herself to sit. Her back was laying at wall. She took a deep breath. It was going fine. She wanted to wake Nico up, but she decided to wait to see if she would be able to actually stay awake. About an hour later, Nico woke up by himself. He yawned and turned to her bed. She looked at him with a big smile. He jumped out of bed.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)! You're up! How- Wait! I need to- Wait! Don't fall asleep, I'll be right back!" She blinked slowly to sign 'ok'. He was back moments running later with a bunch of teenagers in pyjamas. They all froze at the door, staring at her. Hazel, Frank, Annabeth, Percy, Jason and even Piper. Hazel was the first one to wake up from the trance. She ran to her sister and hugged (Y/N).

"Ouch." She managed to say, reacting to the tight hug that made her head hurt.

"Right, sorry! I forgot. Wait, you speak!" Hazel answered and laughed. All of the others joined in, amazed by her friend, and started talking, telling everything she had missed. (Y/N) couldn't speed properly, only a few words like 'hi', 'ow', 'miss' and 'food'. Later that day, Will came to check on her. He said everything looked just fine, but that she should rest.

"Hey." Zeus' son said, once they were alone.

"Hi."

"Gods, it's so good to finally hear you again. I've talked to myself for a long time." They giggled softly. (Y/N) wasn't showing any signs of it, but that day had been extremely tiring. Her entire body hurt but she couldn't give up just yet.

"I... heard." She whispered. "A bit." Her eyes tried to close but she opened them wide, fighting her own nature. Jason noticed that.

"Hey, no need to over do it.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"Sleep... here." She begged, placing her hand beside her. He froze for a moment, embarrassed. And then, with a rubor across his face, he sat on the bed beside her. She laid her head on his chest and quickly fell asleep.

“Go to sleep, love. We have all the time in the world.”

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 22)

Over the bathroom sink, Zhanna washed some dirt off her hand and watched as it disappeared down the drain. She and Soldier had spent some time attempting to relocate the raccoons into a small shelter, and while they had succeeded, it had not been clean work in the least. As she managed to dry off her hand on a nearby towel, Lar-Nah entered the bathroom, kneeling down to open one of the bottom cabinets.

“What you looking for, old lady?’ Zhanna wanted to know, turning back to the mirror to fix her hair.

“I spilled some water on the floor,” Lar-Nah responded, ignoring the title Zhanna had graciously bestowed upon her. “I’m going to dry it off before I slip in it.”

“Oh. That is fine.” Zhanna nodded, and she undid the bandage around the stump of her other wrist to replace it with a new one.

Zhanna proceeded to apply the clean bandage to her wrist while Lar-Nah returned to her room. Once the bandage was on, she secured it with a clip and held it up to the light, pursing her lips together. Engineer had promised to make her a robotic hand, but he hadn’t said when he was going to get to work on doing that. She considered asking him about it, but everyone was so on edge lately that it did not seem –

From the room across the hall came a crash, and then an outraged shout. Zhanna froze, peeking through the doorway. “Old lady?” she called, but Lar-Nah did not answer.

Zhanna dashed into the bedroom, arriving just in time to see a frightening sight: a weird man with bug-like eyes had broken into the room. He'd come in through the ripped window screen, and he was currently standing over Lar-Nah, holding a gun to her head. Lar-Nah crouched on the floor, holding her arms up in a defensive position.

“Yell one more goddamn time and I'll blow your brains out, you damn hag!” the man said to Lar-Nah. He clearly hadn’t noticed Zhanna’s presence.

In an instant, Zhanna sprang into action, leaping across the room and punching the man square in the jaw. He fell to the floor with a yell, the gun falling out of his hand. Zhanna kicked it further away, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and lifting him up.

“Who are you!?” she demanded to know, getting right in his face. “Why you here!?”

The man only stared blankly at her, before reaching down and pressing a button on his belt. Zhanna noticed, and she growled, flinging him across the room. He slammed against the nightstand, knocking it over and shattering the bedside lamp on the floor.

“What was noise!?” Heavy’s voice boomed from downstairs, and within moments, he came rushing up the stairs and into the room. Behind him came Pyro and Engineer, and right away, they noticed the intruder.

Heavy helped Zhanna to restrain the man, and Engineer took it upon himself to confront him. “Did Sage send you!?” Engie demanded, looking the man up and down. He then noticed the button on his belt, squinting at it. “The hell is that…?”

“He press that button!” Zhanna explained. “Is it bomb!?”

Despite the man’s thrashing and protests, Engineer yanked the belt off of him, getting a good look at it. “It’s a tracking device!” he realized. “That button must signal someone!” he glared back at the man. “All right, bug-eyes: who’d you call just now?”

The man glared back, before answering, “The name’s Grudge. And why don’t you just wait and see, old man?”

A grappling hook zipped over the window sill and through the cut screen, lodging itself into the wall. Pyro dashed to the window just in time to see yet another man, this one muscular but short, ascending a rope towards the house. Pyro swiftly pulled the hook and tossed it back, forcing the man to fall to the ground with a shout.

“Good work, Py!” Engineer praised, but it was far from over.

Olivia was in the study, and she hadn’t heard much of what had happened. She'd been too preoccupied with looking through newspapers for a new crossword puzzle to notice the commotion, when the door behind her banged open. She turned around, seeing Scout standing there, a bewildered look on his face.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, dashing towards her. “You gotta go, Liv!”

“Why? What is it?” Olivia sensed something was wrong, but the door behind them burst open again before Scout could respond to her questions.

A broad-shouldered woman stood there, a machete in her hand. Her eyes locked on Olivia, and she made a move towards her.

Scout yelled, “Oh, no you don’t!” he then grabbed the edge of one of the bookcases, yanking it down in her path to block her from Olivia. The bookshelf landed right on the woman’s foot, and she screamed in alarm, trying to free herself.

Scout then scooped Olivia up, opening one of the windows and escaping with her. Olivia’s mind reeled, desperately trying to process what was happening. As she looked back at the house, she could see a man trying to climb up into the house through a different window. The intruder was immediately besieged by angry raccoons as Soldier yanked him back down.

Scout led Olivia to the shed, which she had helped Demo, Zhanna, and Soldier convert into a shelter just days earlier. Once Scout set Olivia on the ground, he opened the door and pushed her into the structure.

“Hide in here,” he told her breathlessly. “It’s gonna be okay!”

“But…” Olivia had little time to protest though, as Scout slammed the door. She pushed up a crate, using it to stand on so she could look into the direction he’d disappeared into. He ran back towards the house, grabbing his baseball bat on the way in. An explosion rocked the air, and she could hear Demoman shouting insults at someone.

So this was what fighting was like. Despite her father's constant exaggeration of the battles as if they were some incredible event, she'd never been present for one. The idea of being on a war field, battling and taking down the enemy piqued her interest every time he mentioned it.

But…now that she was here, she felt sick. The pit in her stomach returned, though it was darker this time, so much so that she had to sit down. She drew up her knees to her chest, staring up at the window, her young heart pounding against her chest.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she sat on the shed floor, shivering and mournfully contemplating how weak she was. Had she always been weak? Or had the men her father pitted her against only been too kindhearted to fight a child? Or…

The handle to the shed jiggled. Olivia froze, her eyes going wide as she stared at the handle, realizing with horror she hadn’t locked the door. Leaping up, she quickly locked it, before pressing herself against the door in attempt to hold it shut.

The handle twitched again, and someone banged on the door. “Come on, kid!” an unfamiliar man’s voice called. “We’re not gonna hurt you, we just need you to come with us!”

Olivia’s whole body tensed, her skin covered in a cold sweat. She looked all around the shed, spotting a shovel Soldier had left behind. She grabbed it, preparing to defend herself.

Outside, Rust tried the handle again, eventually settling on reaching for his gun. Jaws had told him this was where she’d seen the girl go, just after a bookshelf had crushed her foot. He wasn’t aiming to hurt this child, but he knew it was going to be inevitable.

The pop of the gun echoed through the air, and the doorhandle fell to the ground. Rust swung the door open, but right when he did, a steel shovel smacked him right in the abdomen. He doubled over with a yell. “God! Fuck! What the hell!?”

Hands trembling, Olivia wacked him again, this time in the head. Rust stumbled back, his eyes filled with palpable rage. He yanked the shovel out of her hand, throwing it back into the grass and grabbing her by the shoulders. “Come here!”

Olivia shrieked, and she began to claw at his wrists with her fingernails, drawing blood. He didn’t let go, though, just squeezing her tighter. Her heart pounding, she kicked her feet in desperation, trying whatever she could to get away.

Rust suddenly let out a pained yell, dropping Olivia and stumbling around in confusion. Olivia wondered if she had triggered that reaction, but as Spy uncloaked behind him, she realized it wasn't her.

Spy caught Rust by the collar of his shirt, twisting him around to confront him, still clutching the bloodied knife. “Such a man you are, going after a small girl!” Spy barked in his face, before looking back at Olivia. “Run! Run into the woods, go hide!”

Olivia struggled to her feet, and without thinking, she escaped into the woods like Spy had said. She dashed into the bushes till she came upon a stump and hid behind it, her whole body trembling with fear at what had transpired.

“Let me go!” being significantly bigger than Spy, Rust managed to shake him away, but Spy tackled him again and held the knife to his throat.

“Just tell me one thing,” Spy began with a snarl. “Is she the target!? Is that why you went after her!?”

Rust grit his teeth. “Like I’d tell you, you masked rat!”

Spy slashed his knife across Rust’s face, making him yell out again. “Talk or I’ll cut your throat!”

Rust shoved him off, cocking his gun and pointing it in Spy’s face. “Look, man,” Rust began. “I got a job to do! And if that means snatching a child up for a billionaire, I’ll do it!”

Spy reached for his own gun, but as it turned out, he did not have to shoot. A bullet whizzed through the air, shredding Rust’s throat and painting the grass red. From the direction of the house, Miss Pauling came running, her shotgun in her hand. When she came closer, she slowed, taking a moment to examine Rust.

“He’s quite dead, Miss Pauling.” Spy assured, trying to keep himself composed. “Thank you…”

“No problem,” Pauling panted. “God, I think they bit off more than they could chew with us,” she laughed breathlessly. “It seems almost too easy! I think—”

Spy cut her off. “Olivia is their target.”

Pauling trailed off. “I…huh? Wait, how do you know!?”

“He said so,” Spy replied, gesturing to Rust’s body. “Sage must be after Olivia, for some reason.”

“Oh, God…” Pauling ran a hand through her hair. “Where is she now?”

“In the woods, hiding.” Spy dusted himself up, looking towards the cluster of trees. “That coward attacked her – she’s terrified…”

Miss Pauling nodded sympathetically. “I imagine, damn…I’ll go check on her, you get back in there!” she gestured to the house.

Spy nodded, putting his gun back at his side and heading back. “Of course, Miss Pauling!”

Grudge believed it was best to escape as soon as it became evident that the mercenaries had the upper hand. Zhanna had locked him in the bedroom, but he'd escaped, running through the fighting and trying to flee through the kitchen window.

Sniper, on the other hand, had noticed him and was standing behind him with his rifle, muzzle aimed at the back of his head.

“I’d get away from there if I were you, mate,” Sniper warned, his voice low. Grudge paused, turning his head to meet Sniper’s eyes.

“Why?” Grudge snarked. “Are you gonna be mad at me? Huh? Is that it?”

Before Sniper could respond, Grudge tackled him to the floor, knocking the gun away from him. Sniper let out a shout, kneeing him in the stomach and tossing him across the kitchen.

Sniper lunged for his rifle as Grudge attempted to recover, but Grudge produced a gun without notice and fired one shot. The bullet only grazed Sniper’s shoulder, but it was enough to knock him back against the cabinets.

Groaning, Sniper struggled to get back up, but Grudge stood over him, pointing the gun right in his face. “Any last words, ‘mate’?” Grudge seethed, mocking Sniper’s accent.

The unexpected happened in what felt like a single second: Sniper observed Lar-Nah standing behind Grudge, but before he could figure out what she was up to, she lifted the microwave from the cabinet and slammed it down.

It fell directly onto Grudge’s head, the glass door shattering around his skull and sending him into stunned shock. He dropped his gun and gasped for breath within the kitchen appliance as he staggered backwards, dropping to the ground. Sniper watched in disbelief as Lar-Nah stood calmly over Grudge, his body twitching two more times before stopping.

“Old hag, my ass,” Lar-Nah spat. She then turned to Sniper, looking at his shoulder. “He shot you, didn’t he?”

“Oh,” Sniper checked his wound. “It’s not serious, he only nicked me. I…” he rose to his feet, blinking. “You…you just…you saved my life!”

Lar-Nah glanced back down at Grudge’s body, and then up at Sniper. “I did,” she scratched at her shoulder. “The microwave was a gamble, but I knew it would work if I angled it just right and—”

“Hey,” Sniper reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “Thank you.” he looked in her eyes, showing her his gratitude was genuine.

There was a brief pause, and Lar-Nah smiled back a little. “You’re welcome.”

Sniper's attention was drawn away by the pop of another gun from the living room, and he dashed to the doorway to see what was going on. Much to his surprise, Helen was standing over one of the intruders, holding a revolver in her hand.

“Took her long enough to show up,” Sniper muttered, realizing that this was the first time he’d seen her since the attack began.

Helen lowered her gun, staring at the woman she’d cornered and glaring down at her.

“I assume Sage sent you,” Helen began, her voice low and menacing. “And if he did, I’d like you to take back a message for him.”

Shell staggered to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth. “Fuck you,” she snarled. “I’m not taking back any message for you, bitch!”

“Oh? Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Helen pointed the nozzle of the gun at Shell’s jaw, lightly tapping it. “When you see Phoenix Sage, tell him that he’s a fool if he thought he could take me down this easily.” She then gestured to the mess that was the battle’s aftermath. “You’ve lost a few of your teammates already, it’s in your best interest to leave before we kill the rest of you.”

“You…bitch,” Shell repeated, her eyes bearing a cold, steel glare of hatred. She backed off, however, knowing she and her remaining teammates were outnumbered. “I’m not gonna forget this, all of you are gonna pay for this shit!”

Helen could only stand there and watch as Shell gathered her live companions and walked out of the house, disappearing into the woods. Despite the fact that the mercenaries had plainly defeated the bounty hunters, they were certain to return: Helen was well aware that people like that didn't go down without a fight.

Sniper took that moment to approach Helen, clearing his throat. “You’re not gonna…kill all of them? They’re gonna tell someone.”

“Oh, please,” Helen scoffed. “They’re bounty hunters. They won’t go to the authorities, I know these kinds of people…” she smoothed her blouse out and took a breath. “Anyway…you and the others, clean this place up. I’ll be hosting another meeting to discuss what just happened here.”

As she walked away, Sniper couldn’t stop the glare that crossed his face. Once Helen was out of earshot, he muttered, “Yeah, sure, make us clean up after you did bloody nothing…”

Out in the woods, Miss Pauling searched high and low for Olivia. She hadn’t found her yet, and the panic had set in.

“Come on, Olivia, it’s okay!” Pauling assured. “That guy who grabbed you is gone, its okay!”

A twig snapped by the trees, and Pauling turned to look, going quiet. After a long, few seconds of silence, Olivia emerged from behind the stump.

Relieved, Pauling knelt down to examine her, fixing her hair. “Hey, hey! Are you okay?”

Olivia only nodded. She was still terrified, but she’d calmed down somewhat. Now she was just tired.

She rooted herself against Miss Pauling, murmuring, “I just wanna go inside…”

“Okay…yeah, I understand.” Pauling carefully picked her up, smoothing her hair back. “We’ll go inside, I’ll get you some juice and a snack, okay?”

Olivia nodded again, pressing her face into Pauling’s shoulder. She smelled like sweat and blood mixed with deodorant, but Olivia didn’t care.

Miss Pauling carried Olivia out of the woods and into the backyard, where Demoman immediately noticed them.

“Lasses!” he exclaimed, rushing up to examine Olivia. “Oh, wee thing, are you all right?”

Olivia sniffed, lifting her head. “Yeah,” she answered. “I hit a guy with a shovel.”

Demo smiled a bit at that. “Did you? Aye,” he ruffled her hair affectionately. “You look knackered!”

“I’m gonna take her to the kitchen for a snack,” Pauling explained. “She’s had a long day, and—”

“Oh, not the kitchen,” Demo grimaced. “Sniper’s mum took a lad out with the microwave in there.”

Pauling blinked, unsure if she’d heard that right. “A microwave!? Oh, wow…guess we’ll need a replacement. I can take care of that mess, though…” she sighed, handing Olivia to Demo. “Can you…I don’t know, keep her somewhere safe and quiet for a while?”

“Can do,” Demo nodded, accepting Olivia. “Come on, lass, let’s relax for a while…”

He took Olivia inside, situating her on the couch with a blanket and a glass of water. As Olivia sipped on the water, she watched while the mercs cleaned up the mess around them.

She couldn't decide how she felt...she felt much better now that the threat had vanished, but she couldn't stop thinking about the fight she'd been in. What had that man been planning to do? She didn’t even want to keep thinking about it, choosing to take another big sip of water instead.

Spy could see Olivia huddled up on the couch from the other room, and he could tell she was still terrified. A combined feeling of pity and anger burned within him, getting stronger as he glanced over his shoulder at Helen.

Perhaps Spy was not thinking straight after what had just occurred, but he blamed Helen. All of this happened because of Helen’s need for Australium, and now her own child was in danger. And did she care? That was a bit confusing...Helen was talking to Miss Pauling about something at the moment, but Spy couldn't tell what it was.

He sensed he couldn't keep what he knew about Helen a secret any longer as he went back to scooping up bullet fragments from the floor.

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

A Whole New Situation

Chapter 31

Chapter Index

“Mother!” Lars shouted, bounding through the front door.

“Lars?  What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter, it’s great news!  I’ve got a position!”

“So soon?” She smiled, giving him a hug. “And to think, you were going to be training for the Palace Guards just a few years ago.  Tell me all about this position!”

“The new Ambassador to Arendelle has selected me to be his private secretary! I have you to thank for this one, I think.”

“Oh…  you’ll be going to Arendelle?  This is official?” She stepped back, her face drawn with worry.

“Yes. Mother, is something wrong?”

“I’m just… thinking.” 

“About Father?”

She hesitated.  “Yes.”

***

Lars knocked at the door to his mother’s room after dinner.  She had suggested meeting privately, otherwise he would have been happy to meet in a booth at Hudson’s. Still, he wasn’t sure what was so private. 

She opened the door and smiled, as he stepped into the room, taking her hand tenderly.

“Mother, how was your evening?”

“Very nice, thank you. The General and Halima are very gracious hosts. And those girls are very fond of Elizabeth.”  She paused, closing the wardrobe and picking up the twine that had held together her clean laundry that she had just put away.  “How was your dinner?”

“It… I think it went well. All of the official business seems to be settled, whether or not we’re ready for the change.”

She nodded. “Elizabeth and I have been discussing that. I know it’s been a difficult decision for you, but both of us will go along with whatever you decide.”

“I no longer have a choice, it seems,” he sighed.

“Is that so?” she asked calmly but with concern, taking his hand.

“The ship that arrived from Corona today has a special emissary, as well as three candidates for Mr. Meyer to pick from to replace me.”

“Ah, well, I suppose they know what they’re doing.” 

“It does feel that way, and yet…”

“Yes?” she asked with a hint of nervousness, almost like she wanted to change the subject.

“Mr. Meyer, he seems to think that you’ve been getting particular attention from the royal families in both Corona and Arendelle.  Looking back, it does seem like we spent considerably more time at the palace in Corona than…  than most people in our… our station in life.  And then, Elsa seemed to know you.  That was the first thing she said to me, beyond the social niceties.  She knew you.”  

His mother nodded slowly, her face worried, her breathing suddenly measured and forced.

"Why don't we sit down?" she suggested as she sat on one of the chairs by the window.

Lars sat in the chair next to her, thinking about how at home she would have had some tea ready if she wanted to sit and talk.  He had told her she could ask the castle staff to bring her anything she needed, not that he cared about having tea. 

"Lars," she said, taking a deep breath, “You have a lot of questions, and I want to answer them, but I need to try to start at the beginning. I’ve never really told you very much about my life in Arendelle, have I?”

“No, you haven’t,” he replied, watching as she wrung her hands nervously in her lap. He had never seen her fidget, and when she felt restless, she would always find some chore to do, but now she seemed nailed to her chair.  

“There are things I wasn’t allowed to tell you before,” she continued,  “Very important things. The Queen herself told me, a few weeks ago, that I should tell you when I feel the time is right.  I’m not sure if now is the right time, but I don’t know if it will ever be the right time to tell you something like this.”

“Yes?” He was fairly sure he didn't want to know the truth now, but it was too late. He knew enough to realize he didn’t actually know the truth; he had to know the rest.

“The first thing I need to say," she began, "is that I've heard some rumors about my late husband. He died of a heart attack shortly after the Thaw, just like I’ve always told you. Some people have doubted this, so I just wanted to say that right away.”

"I never took any stock in those rumors, anyway," Lars assured her, putting his hand on hers. He started to relax a bit. Perhaps his brother was right, and there was nothing especially interesting, after all.

"Yes, well…" she sighed.  "I showed you the house where we lived in Arendelle.  As basic as it was, once my husband died, we couldn’t afford it.  We had very little savings, and I didn't want charity, but Karl was still a baby, and I had no other family left."

"So of course being pregnant with me at that time must have been difficult," Lars interjected, squeezing her hand.

“That’s just it,” she said, looking away, “I was never pregnant after Karl was born.”

He let go of her hand but left his hand resting on the side of her chair, as if it would keep him from falling. If she wasn’t pregnant with him, who was? He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, and now it felt like anything could be true. “But… how?”  his head was spinning. Was he hearing her correctly? 

"I was not allowed to say anything to anyone until this fall, as I told you. I was hired to be your wet nurse. It meant leaving behind Arendelle, and living in Corona. It all had to be in secret, because it was Queen Elsa's own sister who was pregnant.”  She took a breath.  “You were born in Corona, as I’ve always told you.  Princess Rapunzel arranged everything, and brought you to me when you were a few hours old.  I’ve raised you as my own ever since.”

"You… were my wetnurse?” 

“I was.”

“And Queen Anna…”

“Yes.”

He stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing, gripping the arms of his chair.  All of the mysteries in his life suddenly started making sense, and the things he had taken for granted all his life were suddenly called into question. And his more recent concerns were also explained.

“That’s why she won’t look me in the eye anymore,” he said after what felt like an eternity of silence.  “And that’s why she wants me as far away as she can manage. It's…”  He thought of the miniatures of royal portraits he’d been shown back in Corona, so that he would recognize anyone he came across.  The Southern Isles had exiled the youngest prince, so the portrait was outdated, only a few years older than he himself was now.  He and his classmates had laughed about the uselessness of the miniatures, since, after all, it might as well be a painting of Lars himself dressed in uniform for the level of detail they could see.  

“It's him, isn't it? The- my father? The Southern Isles…” his mind raced through everything he knew. “But of course, it has to be him. It all makes sense."

"They never told me anything about that," Margit Nilsen said with a nervous breath.  

"You haven't said I'm wrong, though.”  He stood up and started to walk out of the room silently.

“Lars, I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  

Lars stopped and turned around.  He knew he was being rash, and unfair to her, but he couldn’t stay in this room.  “You had no choice, I understand that.  But please let me be alone for a while now.”   

***

Lars approached the stable. He would take his mare, Amytis, and escape. He would ride away, he didn’t care where. He arrived at the stable.  He didn’t hear anyone, and hoped he would be able to go in, get his horse, and get away quickly, unnoticed. 

“YOU!” The voice boomed from a dark corner of the stables. He saw Kristoff charging toward him.

“Please, leave me alone,” Lars pleaded. “I’ll be gone as quickly as I can!”

“You little bastard!” the older man shouted, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, shoving him against the wall.  He was strong, much stronger than Lars was, much stronger than anyone he had ever wrestled or gotten in any kind of fight with.  

He was shaking.

“Please, just let me go!  I won’t bother you!”

“How do I know you aren’t just like that murderous father of yours?” 

Lars felt himself shoved against the wall a second time.

“I don’t even know him. I’ve never met him! You’ve got to believe me!”

A hard smack went across his face. “You clearly take after him! You look just like him! I want to punch in that simpering face of yours.”

“Please, please, just let me go. I’ll go away, I’ll never bother you again.”  He fell to the ground with a thud, and tried to cover himself or crawl away, but a swift kick to the stomach took away his ability to do anything for a few seconds. A punch to the head, and his ears were ringing.  Another punch and he tasted blood in his mouth. Now he was hoping to black out, anything to be able to stop this agony.

“Lars!” Elizabeth was shaking him. “Lars, you’ve been thrashing around the bed! This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

“Elizabeth… what- what did I say? Was I saying anything?” He couldn’t tell her the truth. He didn’t want to. Not yet, at least.

“Nothing I could really understand.  What’s the matter?  You’ve barely slept since Monday night, you didn’t leave this room all day yesterday, and you won’t tell me anything.  Your mother won’t tell me anything, either.”

“I’m sorry…” Lars sat up, holding his head.  He could feel the spot on the inside of his cheek where he must have bitten down, and he could still taste a bit of blood, but everything was in place, nothing actually hurt.  Somehow, this didn’t make him feel better.

“You need to get out.  You haven’t gone out riding in a while.  After breakfast, perhaps?”

“Will you get my horse ready for me? I’d really rather not go to the stables right now.”

“I… I can do that for you, if you like.”  She looked at him with worried confusion. 

Part of him wanted to tell her everything. But then what?  Was he even the man she’d married?  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t look in the mirror without a feeling of disgust.  

***

Elizabeth quietly entered the stables and went to Lars’s horse Amytis, shushing as she tacked her, and began to walk her out of the stable. She regretted not bringing her own horse when they returned from Corona with her mother and sisters.  Inga had told Elizabeth that she could ride her horse, but Inga seemed to have her own problems now.  

“What are you doing?” Kristoff demanded from the back of the stable.

“Oh, Your Highness! I’m sorry, Lars wanted to go riding, and asked me to get his mare ready for him. I hadn’t realized anyone else was here. I apologize for the intrusion!”

“No, sorry, you’re fine.” He stepped forward, slouching slightly and rubbing his temple.  As she met his eyes, she thought he looked almost sad.  “He sent you to get his horse ready? Is he doing okay?” 

“He hasn’t been feeling very well, but he won’t tell me anything about it. I told him some fresh air might do him some good, so he sent me down here because he wasn’t feeling up to it himself.  I wouldn’t have suggested taking a ride if I thought he wasn’t up to tacking his horse, but if this is what it takes to get him out of the room, I’ll do it.”

Kristoff nodded.

“Do you know anything?” Elizabeth asked, quickly continuing, “since he talked to his mother Monday night, he hasn’t really… he hasn’t been himself.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you,” Kristoff said.  

“Oh,” Elizabeth mumbled, walking the horse out to the courtyard.

“Wait,” he called, following her out. “Are you planning to ride with him?”

“No, my horse isn’t here, and, well, I don’t have any clothes for riding.” 

“Where was he going to meet you?”

“Um, just outside the gate.  Why?”

“Can you tell him he needs to come to the stable himself, make up some excuse for him to help you out, but please don’t tell him that I’m here.”

“But…” Elizabeth tentatively moved her hand with the reins toward Kristoff.

She took a deep breath and finished handing him the reins.  She walked nervously toward the gate as Kristoff slowly led the horse back into the stable.  

***

Kristoff stood inside the stable, stroking the mare’s nose briefly before grabbing a carrot from a nearby sack to offer her.  Sven snorted, and Kristoff glared back at him. “You can share.”  

Anna had mentioned that Margit Nilsen had come to speak to her the day before, to let her know that she had told Lars the truth. Elizabeth obviously hadn’t been told anything, but he couldn’t do anything about that.  He had, however, befriended Lars his very first day, and he knew he had been avoiding him the last few weeks.  He needed to fix that.

Elizabeth returned a few minutes later.  He could hear her saying something indistinct, and Lars muttering in reply.

“I’m going to check in with your mother,” she told Lars, and ran off. Kristoff was glad that he hadn’t needed to ask her to give them time alone.  He stepped out of the stable door.  Lars saw him, and the color drained from his face.  He tried to turn around, but Kristoff placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Lars,” he said gently, “she told you, didn’t she?”

He looked frightened. “She did.”  

“Let’s go inside,” Kristoff suggested, “unless you want to talk outside, but I really wouldn’t suggest that.”

Lars seemed to have stopped breathing, and his eyes were wide almost as if he were confronted with a wild animal. 

Kristoff didn’t want Lars on the defensive.  “I’ll be in here,” he said, returning to the stable.

To his surprise, Lars followed him inside a moment later. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” Kristoff apologized, “but there have been a… a lot of things that could have been handled better.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

 “How much did she tell you?” 

“Enough. I think I can figure out the rest,” Lars replied, guardedly keeping his eyes on Kristoff.  

“It’s a lot to find out all at once.” Kristoff leaned on the inside wall, crossing his arms, watching Lars, and waiting for him to speak.

“A lot of things make sense now, at least,” Lars muttered, briefly looking up at Kristoff.  Then he looked the opposite direction, like he was talking to the horses.  “What am I expected to do with this knowledge?  Be overjoyed to learn that I have royal blood?  Bask in the wonderful opportunities that come from being a royal bastard?  At least before I thought it was my own talent that got me here.  Now I’m doubting even that.  I had a respectable life.  I was happy.  I didn’t want…”  

The young man sank down into the straw on the floor and sat against the wall.  The horses began neighing.  Kristoff checked outside, and closed the stable door to be sure they had some privacy.  He took a few minutes to check on the reindeer, giving Lars some space.  

Lars looked up, his eyes obviously wet even in the low light of the stable, but he took a breath and spoke with only a slight strain in his voice. “I know it’s not you- at least, I’m almost certain that I know who he is, but maybe I’m wrong.” He looked straight ahead, obviously thinking.  “No, I know it’s not you.  Even if you hadn’t married her right away, I’m sure they would have kept me here in town, or maybe at a farm a short distance away, and you’d probably have found some convenient excuse to take in an orphan boy a few years later.” 

Kristoff breathed deeply, and slowly sat down where he had been standing. He thought back to eighteen years before, when he had just gotten permission to ask Anna to marry him. 

“Anna told me,” he told Elsa.

“Told you?” she looked at him, then understood. “Good.  It’s… it’s good that you know.”

“I’ve known for a while now.”

“It’s… almost funny... but I suppose I can tell you this now.  When she told me she was pregnant, my first suggestion was to marry you.”

“What?” His mind had jumped to conclusions over Elsa’s words.  “But… we… I couldn’t have been the father. You have to believe me. I couldn’t be- there’s no chance of anyone, not just her-” 

“Please, Kristoff, stop.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I just mean- I trust you.  I think I can, anyway.  She… she reminded me that once you were married, any child would be considered legitimate and legally yours. She didn’t want to start off with a lie, even a legal fiction.”

“I know,” he replied with a solemn nod.

Kristoff usually tried not to think about what might have been, and whether that baby really needed to be sent so far away.  He understood the need not to be public, or not to be officially acknowledged.  Still, so much would have been different.  He couldn’t imagine everything else being the same with such a profound change so long ago.  

A snort from one of the horses jerked Kristoff out of his reverie. He looked over and saw that Lars was quietly looking at him.

“I had read what happened,” Lars continued, “back then- I read about it long before I came here.  I mean, what they presented us was a sanitized version, which I suppose is what nearly everyone believes, with nothing suggesting the virtue of the princess had been seriously damaged-  It’s obvious, though. I was a political liability, and not just because of a young lady’s reputation.  My entire existence is an international scandal waiting to happen. I suppose it’s less of a risk now, but I know very well, when I was born, Arendelle was very close to having a succession crisis.  If my existence had been recognized, it would be very convenient for certain parties…  Maybe it still would be.”  

Lars looked around.  He had become calm and logical while contemplating the politics of his situation.  But he suddenly put his hands to his face and leaned his head back on the wall.  “I don’t know.  I did pass the exams.  That was me.  They had only planned on giving me a position in the castle guards, I know this.  That’s what my mother had told me- or- I don’t even know what to call her now.”

Kristoff looked up. “She raised you, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Lars answered, swallowing hard. “That’s real. And the funny part is, now that I think about it, she always had an odd way of talking about those things.  The stories were always about ‘my husband’ and ‘the day you were born’ but never calling him my father, or talking about my birth. I suppose nobody really hears about their own birth? I don’t know.  But I always figured it was some quaint way of speaking, not being from Corona.  My brother and I… she never treated us differently.  Well, she did, but we were different.  She didn’t force us to be the same. But of course, she knew. I don’t know if I’m even making sense, sorry.”

“No, that makes sense,” Kristoff assured him.

They sat in silence, with only the sounds of the animals surrounding them.

Kristoff spoke up. “I didn’t know about it.  I mean, not right away, not when it mattered. It was a year later, right before her twentieth birthday. And I would have married her right away, if she had wanted to…  But you’re right about the politics.”  He looked over at Lars hoping he understood his meaning.

Lars shivered thinking about the age.  When he was born, she wasn’t yet nineteen.  Elizabeth was already nineteen.  "I wouldn't blame you if you hate me.” 

"You haven't done anything wrong. I hope you don’t think that I- that your promotion... It's…” Kristoff swallowed hard. “It’s not about that."

"But it is. Maybe you don't hate me, but it's awkward."

"Well, I’m not saying it isn’t for the best, you know. The position, I mean," Kristoff sighed. 'You'll do fine. People like you. You make friends easily."

"Do I? How can you be sure it’s not just an act? How do you know I’m not just good at fooling people… like him?" Lars began to speak almost frantically.

Kristoff nodded slightly, understanding the meaning behind the question.  “Do you think…  Do you- Would you really be asking that if you were like him?”

“So you knew him?”

“No, not really. I saw him once. If I had known, I wouldn’t have held back.”

Lars looked down again. “You should hate me.”

“You think I should hate you for something you had no control over?  And, besides…” Kristoff glanced over, then looked straight ahead again.  “I don’t think you take after him. Not in any way that matters.”

Lars looked away.  "Does she hate me? She won't even look me in the eye. I came close to ruining her life, so I don’t blame her if she does."

"No. She doesn't hate you. She-"

There was a knock on the stable door.  “Your Highness?” Kai asked through the closed door.

Kristoff groaned as he stood up. He didn’t open the door. “What is it, Kai?” 

“Her Majesty wishes to know if you will be attending the dinner with the Belgian ambassador.”

“Sorry, I think I’m going to skip that.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Kai replied as he left. 

“You should go on that ride,” Kristoff said a moment later.

“I don’t know if I feel up to it,” Lars sighed.

“Your wife is right, though.  You need the fresh air,” Kristoff told him. 

***

Lars couldn’t remember exactly where he went on his ride, except that he went out of town right away.  He followed the path up along the cliffs that he had ridden over the summer.  He came to the fork in the road where Frederick had told him about the path leading to the trolls.  Part of him wanted to follow that path to see what he found, but something in his gut told him that would be unwise.  

After that, he rode along the path until he was well into the mountains.  It appeared to be late afternoon, and he realized he needed to head back.  He avoided getting lost, and avoided the wolves he had heard stories about.  He felt like he had been in a trance.  It was getting dark when he finally got back to the town. He dismounted and walked his horse back into the castle, not sure what he should expect, or who he would find.  

It was quiet.  Not eerily quiet, as he could still hear the activity of people both in town and around the castle, and see lights where servants were preparing the bedrooms and serving dinner. It was simply quiet.  The stables were full of the sounds of resting animals, but no other people were nearby. He settled Amytis in, and went directly to his room.  Elizabeth wasn’t there, but a glance at the clock reminded him that it was dinner time.  If she was eating with… yes, his mother.  That would be good.  Elizabeth liked her.   

He wasn’t hungry now.  Perhaps he would be hungry in the morning.  Things would work out, somehow. A fresh start might be good. They would have a fresh start.

[imacrowcawcaw]

Eyes of Juniper Ch. 1 (A Metallica Fic)

Ao3 Link

Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr Pairing: Lars Ulrich/James Hetfield, Kirk Hammett/Cliff Burton, Lars/Female Character (briefly), Lars/Male Character (kinda, more just awkward one sided flirting then Lars gets rescued by his knight in a ratty Motorhead shirt) Fandom: Metallica Tags/warnings: Sex-swap AU, early 80s era 'tallica, smut, gay smut, also het smut since the whole gender switch thing, drinking and alcohol, lots of cussing and profanity, should warn that Lars goes into detail about taking a piss cuz ya know it's new to him, Idk I'll add tags per chapter as I think of shit

Notes: 

1. Okay, so I spent like months thinking about whether to do this or not. On the one hand, yes this has so much potential to be fun (and I've seen some other sex swap stories i like). On the other hand, a lot of the whole sex/Gender swap thing is really stereotypical gender shit and goes against what I personally believe. But, creative juices won out and I'll try to keep true to character as much as possible while also making this funny and not too misogynistic (if that's possible).

2. This is a work in progress! I started it a year and a half ago, and now a friend is helping me continue 

3. This story is inspired by the song 'Jewel of the Summertime' by Audioslave (on their album Revelations) I love this song and it is awesome you should totally go listen to it.

4. The witch-lady is inspired by Aine, Celtic goddess of love, summer, wealth, and sovereignty. I literally just googled 'goddess of love' then scrolled through a list to find someone other than Aphrodite (don't get me wrong I love Greek mythology but it just wasn't right for this fic) and came across this girl. I only did a quick Wikipedia read, I'm not planning on going too heavy into her myth and more just using her for the plot but.... If anybody is more well versed in Celtic mythology and I seem to get something wrong, please feel free to comment and I'll try my best to make it accurate!

5. Woo damn that was a lot of stuff, I don't blame you if you didn't bother reading it. Now, on with the show!

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1984 (Lars' POV)

The first thing I felt when I woke up was this odd sense of.... well, just something being fuckin' off. Like I was missing something, but also like I had gained something? I felt like a brand-new person, although in my gut I was still me.... Man, I must have had WAY too much Jager last night, it's fucking with my head.

I slowly peeled the itchy fleece blanket off of my body and rolled onto the floor, which was about a foot from the bare mattress. We really needed to invest in some sheets, especially if we wanted to keep bringing chicks back to the house. Apparently, most girls are not at all impressed by stained, lumpy mattresses with almost no bedding on them.

Speaking of girls and mattresses, didn't I bring one home last night? I raised my head slightly from its position from the threadbare carpet and looked at the bed, trying to see if Anna (Was that her name?) was still there. Yep, there was a naked hippy still passed out in my bed, sweet!

I groaned quietly as I stood and shuffled my way out the door and down the hall to the bathroom. It was then I noticed that I didn't really have the usual alcohol-and-early-morning-and-piss induced erection, but my bladder was still straining. Huh, weird.

Whatever. I just wanted to pee, get rid of that feeling in my gut, and get that dead possum taste out of my mouth. Pushing open the door and wincing as the creaky hinges screeched through my headache, I pulled down my boxers and reached for my dick.... What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK?

WHERE WAS MY MOTHERFUCKIN DICK?!

Trying not to panic, I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment so I wouldn't have to see right away. But, of course, that kind of defeated the purpose of looking down, so I opened them again. No dick. The hell was going on?

Taking a deep, calming breath, I tried to think through this rationally. My dick, for whatever reason, was not where it was supposed to be. But, my bladder was still full and begging to be released, so obviously my system or whatever was still working. That need to pee was turning into a burning pain, so I tried to come up with a solution. If I don't have a cock, then I can piss through....what, exactly? Is there anything down there at all? What is even going on!?

Pulling in another deep breath through my nose, I let it hiss out between clenched teeth as I slowly, so slowly, touched my fingers to my abdomen and moved them downwards, dreading what I would find. Annnnnd....... Yep, there it was.

Velvety soft lips, slick, pungent juices; anatomy I knew so well but never, EVER expected to feel on myself. My crisis would have to wait a minute, though, 'cause my bladder was going to explode and no dick be damned I needed to do something about it.

Gingerly sitting my ass down on the toilet (god, so weird sitting down just to piss) I tried to slowly let it out. The feeling was...well there was certainly relief of the pressure, but it also felt strange in a way I couldn't really describe. I could possibly get used to it, not that I'm planning on staying like this or anything.

Cringing as I wiped, I slowly pulled the boxers back up to my hips that I just now noticed were a little wider than usual. And my hands, were they smaller? Softer? My chest too....HOLY SHIT I HAVE BOOBS! That, I might be able to get used to.

I turned to the mirror, and was quite shocked at what I saw. There was a girl standing there, with large, doe-like green eyes staring back at me from underneath brown bangs. She had a nice tan on her upper body, although her breasts were still pale where she clutched at them, small rosy nipples poking through her fingers. A pair of black cotton boxers stretched tight around the small curve of her hips, but hung loose around her milky thighs that almost touched. And this...this chick was me. ME.

Shaking my head, I splashed some water onto my face and rubbed my eyes, hoping it was just a fucked up dream. No such luck.

I was considering hiding in the bathroom forever, because no way in hell could I let the guys see me like this, let alone figure out how to explain, when I heard a scream. It sounded a lot like Kirk's voice, so I pushed my problems to the back of my head and ran into the hallway, stopping dead in my tracks at what I saw.

Anna, or whatever her name was, stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in flowing black robes with green Celtic designs all over them. She had jewels and charms hanging from her waist, wrists, neck, and ears, each tinkling as she tossed some sort of... Powder onto a very shocked looking Kirk. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was Kirk. He (she?) seemed to be in the same boat as me as far as bodies were concerned at the moment.

With a final dusting of powder, witchy-chick turned to me and smirked. "I hope you learn your lesson, I'll be back in a week. And as for you...." She turned to Kirk, "Well, you're just too damn cute! I couldn't resist seeing what a pretty girl you'd make!"

"This is your fault? You bitch! " I yelled. "Why the hell did you do this to us? Who are you? Change us back, then get the fuck out! I don't wanna be a damn girl, and neither does Kirk!" God this was fucking insane, that chick was crazy!

She hissed at me, eyes flashing in a way that could not be human. "Now you listen, GIRL. You'll stay like this for as long as I deem fit. You need to learn some respect for women, and being one is the best way to do that. I suppose you don't remember what you did last night?" She asked, looking bored and ready lo go fuck up someone else's life.

I thought hard, then it came creeping back to me. The bar, the Jager, the flirting with a group of girls, copping a feel and getting slapped, then her changing her mind and coming home with me, talking dirty in her ear, then unworldly sex, her whispering what sounded like a spell in my ear as I came... Holy shit.

"Is this about me grabbing your ass? I'm sorry! Please don't do this!" I begged, finally starting to let the situation sink in and desperation set. This could not be happening.

"Hmph," she snorted, "Begging isn't going to get you anywhere. I've seen humans beg for much less, and they still didn't get it. No, you'll love your life as a woman for a week, both of you, and hopefully you'll come to realize the struggles and terror that comes with it. If you've learned your lessons and are truly sorry, then you will be turned back. If not... Well you'll just have to stay like this until you do."

And just like that, she turned with a flourish and disappeared into thin air. My morning could not get any crazier, I was sure if it. But, because I wasn't actually sure and was suddenly doubting all logical occurrences in the world, I knocked on the wooden railing. That done, I turned towards Kirk.

He (seriously, do I call us he's or she's now? This is so fucked up) was shaking like a leaf, looking like he'd fall over any moment. I went over to grab him, calm him down, something.

"Shh shh, it's all right, Kirk," I muttered in his ear, awkwardly patting his back. I never thought I'd need to, but it really fucking sucks I can't comfort him any better than this. It was like this sour feeling in my chest that nestled in right next to my heart, whispering how awful I was at this and how he's probably mad at me for getting him into this situation.

Before I could ask him if he wanted to punt me out of a window, though, I heard some shuffling and talking coming from downstairs. James and Cliff were headed up here. As much as I wanted to hide for a week until my fuckin' "lesson" was up, I couldn't exactly drag Kirk into the hall closet in his current state, so I stood my ground.

"Hey, ladies, we do appreciate the service you've done our ugly ass friends, but could you keep the cat fight down until you've left the house?"

Ah, James, the man still didn't know how to talk to women after all this time. He was either too shy to form a sentence, or he put on this macho bravado that turned him into a drink asshole. Either way, this lady was not pleased.

By now I guess the guys had reached the landing Kirk and I were at and saw me hugging him, because Cliff chimed in, "Aww, they've made up! Good! Now, can I ask what exactly you two were telling about so loudly that it woke me and my boy James up? Did Lars do something?"

My back straightened at that, and I turned my head to him indignantly. "I did fucking not!" I retorted, even though apparently this whole situation was my fault. No need for them to know that, though.

"Holy shit, Lars!?!" James screamed.

I sighed. "Hi, Jamie."

----------

Chapter 2

[womanwhowritesformany]

We’ll Be Alright

Ellie x Original Female Character

summary— When Ellie and Joel arrived in Jackson County years ago, Lars was another teenage girl that Ellie met. The two of them instantly clicked over their shared experience of losing family, knowing how to use a gun and bonded over the nature of Wyoming, drawing and the music they found. As Lars and Ellie grow up side by side their friendship grows stronger, and when they're old enough for patrols, it goes further than friendship... but sometimes things like this is hard to figure out, especially when you barely have experience.

*this one shot can also be found on my A03 account @ womanwhowritesformany

warnings: none + no spoilers. just fluff. friends to lovers

When Ellie and Joel arrived in Jackson County years ago, Lars was another teenage girl that Ellie met. The two of them instantly clicked over their shared experience of losing family, knowing how to use a gun and bonded over the nature of Wyoming, drawing and the music they found. As Lars and Ellie grow up side by side their friendship grows stronger, and when they're old enough for patrols, it goes further than friendship... but sometimes things like this are hard to figure out, especially when you barely have experience. But when a girl named Ellie and her dad Joel (she assumed it was her dad, but later found out that it wasn't actually her dad), Lars immediately showed Ellie the county.

Although the man, Joel, was very protective and followed the two around the whole entire day, not leaving Ellie's side. But as the days and weeks went on, Joel realized Ellie had made a friend. Lars and Ellie were close, doing almost everything together and it gave Joel a reason to smile, despite everything that was going on in his head. “Hi! My name is Lars.” She’d introduce herself, smiling very big, missing a baby tooth or two. “Lars is just my nickname, my real name is Larsa. Please, don’t call me Larsa!” Her eyes were wide.

“I’m Ellie.” She would say, standing with her arms strictly at her side with her posture straight and chest out (like Joel had stood most of the time to push off the impression he was strong).

Ellie felt a bit overwhelmed at Lars’ presence; She was very eccentric, the way she had worn mixed up clothes but somehow made it work, the way her hair was cut short and usually messy, but extremely stylish. Lars may have been awkward with things she would say, or how she stood, but she was always an extrovert, and that worked. But within the hour that they met, Ellie was extremely excited to have a new friend.

For the few years they had become friends, their friendship blossomed into something special. It was like they had known each other since they were young, but in reality, it was just a couple of years. And now, they were finally old enough to go out on patrols together. When the days they weren't out on patrol or going on runs, they were either hanging out like teens normally do with others. But sometimes, almost every night, Lars and Ellie would stay up talking all through the night about anything and everything. They were always both curious, except Ellie was a bit more reserved with her feelings; that’s where her room really showed off who Ellie was. And Lars loved that. Posters, music, books and numerous drawings of Ellie’s and even sketchbooks lying around. And as for Lars, well, she was very energetic and always spoke about the movies she remembers and the movies she would see here in Jackson, Lars was curious about everything, and soon enough, she became curious about love. She saw in the movies all the time a man and woman falling in love, so she wondered if that would ever happen to her.

Lars took the definition of love from the movies she saw and the books she read (the books were from Ellie’s room) and the more she focused on it, the more she applied it to herself and Ellie. And that had suddenly sparked an epiphany on her feelings towards Ellie.

No matter how much Lars constantly spoke and hardly ran out of energy, Ellie liked it. And that’s where Ellie felt curious about feeling something for someone.

Curiosity for them both, was more than just their realization of what they felt for one another. Obviously, they kept it to themselves. But the curiosity for liking each other had reached a small amount of physicality. Their hands would brush against each other whenever they were alone in Ellie’s room, or during a movie at the small theater in Jackson. (They were both completely oblivious to their feelings, but other people weren’t - they picked up on a special bond between them two. Especially Joel. Joel knew something was happening before they did. He knew, and he was happy for Ellie - happy for Lars. He could barely admit to himself, but he was excited to see it blossom).

They were on patrol. Ellie was sitting in a chair with her gun by her side, watching the trees that moved in the distance as the leaves would fall off of the branches. Winter was about to arrive, and they felt it as the air got colder and crisper. Lars stood just a few inches away from Ellie, her back against the wooden wall of a small cabin like home. It was getting darker out, and soon they would leave so another pair could take over for the rest of the night.

"Whatcha thinkin' about over there?" Lars asked, as she observed Ellie's face, the moonlight shining on her making her face glow.

She shrugs in response and tilts her head to look at Lars. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Jesus, Ellie, your face is so scrunched up." She laughs, walking over to sit by her. "You alright?"

"I think so," ellie answers, "just your typical teenage stuff."

"You know I understand all too well! I mean, just last week, Jesse was trying to go on a date with me. A date! Like seriously, where do you go on dates around here? The community's hall where you eat? And besides, Dina and Jesse are good together. I think. They do argue a lot, but then again it's not my problem. Also, Jesse is cute--adorable and all, but he's not my type. At all."

Lars looks over to Ellie, who wears a blank expression as she blinks at Lars. "What?"

"You really ramble a lot." Ellie smiles.

"Oh sorry."

"Lars, when do you ever have to be sorry to me?" She bumps her shoulder into hers. "You're being you, and that's great. You're great."

Lars starts to panic internally, as she takes in Ellie's compliments and her support of her awkwardness. "Oh Ellie, thank you." Her cheeks begin to heat up.

"So, why don't you like Jesse? Besides Dina being in the picture."

"I said he's just not my type." Lars answers, looking away. She begins to think about Ellie, the friendship they shared all these years. How grateful she was to find someone like Ellie, the way she just came into Jackson and in her life out of the blue. The nights they spent together, whether it was up and out here on patrols, or inside her little home with Ellie's drawings and posters and books and sketchbooks everywhere. The way Ellie would look out for her and the way she would look out for Ellie. She felt almost too lucky... and suddenly, Lars is staring at her, without noticing that Ellie is paying attention. She looks at all her freckles that cover her face faintly but still noticeable. She likes her nose, the way it's small and just perfectly fits Ellie's face. The way her eyebrows pull in and her lips scrunching up to the side. Oh.. her lips. Her pouty, adorable lips.

"Can I kiss you?" Lars blurts out, and immediately regrets it as she averts her gaze away from Ellie's and to outside. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Lars." Ellie pulls her shoulder so that she could look at her. "Its okay, really."

"Yeah, good. Just forget it." She nods.

"No, really. It's okay."

Lars is confused, but once Ellie pulls on her arm, she cups her hands on Lars' jaw on both sides and looks into her eyes. "It's alright."

"You don't have to do this for my sake, Ellie. Just forget it." She didn't want sympathy, not now and not ever. From no one, especially Ellie.

Ellie chuckles, then pulls her face in and hovers her lips over Lars'. They face each other, lips centimeters away. Lars' breathing picks up as she panics, gulping away as she's so not ready for her first kiss. But then it happens. She feels the softness of her lips, but such a strong force it was. It was euphoric, Lars swore she was on fire by how heated she got, how the butterflies in her stomach were an infinite amount, just fluttering away with nowhere to go.

It was sorta ironic, a bit funny too, that Ellie was the one to be so energetic with the kiss and not being shy about it. Whereas Lars was the shyest she had ever been. The kiss between the two friends had advanced from a peck, to a full on almost making out, lips fighting each other for dominance. Although Lars wanted to be the one to control it, Ellie wasn’t having it; the way she held Lars almost still as her lips molded onto hers, very rarely giving a bite or two, it had made both the girls let out their own type of moan; Lars’s surprisingly like a wince, and Ellie’s almost like a growl.

Once Ellie pulls away, they sit breathless, eyes still closed. .

“I really want to say what's on my mind right now, but I am so scared.” Lars admits, keeping her eyes shut.

“Hey there, don’t go shy on me now.” Ellie kept her hand on Lars’ cheek as she emphasized the ‘now’. “It’s okay, it’s just me, Lars.”

“Yeah I know,” she scoffs, “that’s what makes me scared.”

Ellie leans in and kisses her jaw, then slowly up to the corners of her mouth and finally reaches her lips, tongue slightly running over her bottom lip. Lars shivers as the gesture. “Whatever you want to say, I guarantee you I won’t run.”

Lars opens her eyes to see Ellie staring at her. She sighs and squeezes Ellie’s thigh. “I think I’ve loved you for some time.”

“Loved?” Ellie teases.

“Ellie…” She sighs as she blushes. “I do..I do love you.”

“I love you too, Lars. Just like you, I think I always have.”

They sit there during the remaining time on patrol, waiting for the others to come relieve them. Side by side, their thighs are squeezed against each other as they keep their hands on their weapons, to be responsible and ready for any clickers, stalkers or even people that come along. Ellie glances over at Lars a few times, just soaking the feeling of how she made her feel, in. This meant something more now, more than just a friendship.

"By the way, what and who the hell is your type?"

Lars shyly smiles, leaning into Ellie's tattooed arm, "You."

“Was it like the movies?”

“What are you talking about Ellie?”

“The kiss. This…” She intertwines her hand with Lars’ and squeezes it. “Was it like the movies you’ve seen.”

“No,” Lars tilts her head up on Ellie’s shoulder and stares. She can see Ellie’s eyebrows furrowed in, and her lips in a pout. “Because when I watched every movie with love or whatever, it just never had someone like you or me. So, I guess I’m trying to say it was better than the movies.”

Lars tilts her head back and lets her lips kiss on the inside of Ellie’s neck, and that’s when she relaxes, finally content with something in her life. “This isn’t going to ruin anything right? Between us.” she asks as she cuddles further into her neck.

“Nah,” she feels Ellie shake her head. “I think we’ll be alright. Yeah, we’ll be alright.”

[peaky-shelby]

When he sees me [5]

Pairing: Chris Evans x oc

Summary: Delilah is a simple shy girl. What will happen when famous actor, Chris Evans sees her? Will she hide, will she run again? Will he make her come out of hiding instead?

Episode 5: The one with That day

Read: prologue, episode 1, episode 2 , episode 3 episode 4

Words: 2.344

Based on When he sees me by Sara Bereilles

Warnings: awkwardness, mentions of anxiety and a fight

Author’s note: sorry for the delay, from now on updates will come every Friday!! luv ya xx

8:00 AM

“AH!”

Delilah’s heart dropped out of her chest when she saw Sebastian coming out of her bathroom. His hair were messy and of course he was naked from the waist up, looking like a complete god. “What are you doing here at eight in the morning?” she hissed at him, hitting him in the shoulder for scaring her like that. “I could have been naked! wait- have you been here all night?”

“Good morning to you too shorty!” he replied, giving her a smile. Delilah hit him again, this time the punch was harder and Sebastian stepped back out of instinct “Ouch!” he rubbed his arm and frowned his eyes “jeez, you’re dangerous in the morning- have you talked to chris about that?” Sebastian walked to the kitchen before she could hit him again, laughing at his own joke, because he is a dork.

“wait-” Delilah rushed behind him “if you were here all night... did you-”

“yeah we did. We were spying on you two from Laura’s window, you can’t imagine the way she screamed when she saw you kissing-” Sebastian started making coffee, totally ignoring Delilah’s little cries for help. That kiss was already bad enough but to have Laura see it, that was way worse.

“Well you should tell her that it meant nothing”

“You can tell her that when she wakes up but I doubt she’ll believe you. Coffee?”

“why wouldn’t she believe me?” she questioned sitting down on the kitchen table and nodded about the coffee. Sebastian left her the cup on the table, smiling.

“Because I don’t even believe you, because you are lying.” Finally he took a seat next to her and a sip from his coffee. He looked so comfortable around the house, moving like it was his own apartment. “Chris is a nice guy, you shouldn’t run away. Not this time.”

“How do you know about my running away history?”

Sebastian tilted his head and smirked like the answer was obvious and then it clicked for Delilah too. Laura.

“look” he cleared his throat and leaned closer to her “You don’t have to talk to me, you barely know me but I know chris, he wouldn’t have kissed you on the first date if it meant nothing. He never does that. Don’t run way and If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for him. He looks tough but he is not all that tough.”

“I-” Delilah bowed her head, her thoughts felt too heavy “don’t you and Laura have better things to talk about?”

Sebastian chuckled and at that moment Laura came in dressed in his long black shirt, her black hair up on a bun, she slid her hands down his chest and leaned down to kiss his cheek “Morning” she sang in his ears. Sebastian’s face lit up the second he sensed her standing behind him.

“Good morning doll. I made coffee”

“You’re an angel.” Laura raised her head to look at her friend and gave her a quick kiss “good morning D” she poured herself some coffee and took a seat across from Sebastian “Did Chris call yet?”

“Laura its eight thirty in the morning , what do you think?” question Delilah.

“He’s probably gonna call later, we got press today. Which reminds me I’m gonna need my shirt” he pointed at Laura smiling but she pouted “Oh come on doll, you can come with me, it will be really boring-”

“I can’t I have rehearsals today, all day.” She reached to hold his hand and winked “But Lilah could come with you”

Delilah chocked on her coffee as a response to her friend’s suggestion.

“Sure! I bet Chris would love to see you-”

“I can’t! I have to go to the coffee shop-”

“But you have the night shift today” reminded Laura

“Actually Zac called me, he is sick and he asked if I could fill in for him”

“You mean he texted on the group chat if anyone could help and you said yes because it was an excuse not to deal with Chris Today.”

Delilah took a sip from her coffee, looking at her friend like an innocent kid.

“Unbelievable”

Sebastian could only laugh and shake his head. “wow”

1:00 PM

“D, your phone is ringing!” Called Paul as Delilah entered the kitchen. She walked over to him wiping her hands on her apron. “Is it Laura?”

“No, it says Evans”

Delilah stopped on her tracks and her entire body turned white, matching the walls of the kitchen. Should I answer? No? Maybe? fuck.

“D?” Paul asked, worried by the way she looked “D?” He asked again, trying to wake her up from her nightmare. Delilah looked up at him and grabbed her phone, very quickly shutting it off.

“No talking when we are working.” she explained, she was mostly trying to convince her self that what she did was right. She turned around, picking up a tray and walking back out the tables. She was replacing her thoughts about Chris with orders.

2:00 PM

“how much time do we have left?” Asked chris, sinking back at his chair. This was the worst Part about being a Hollywood actor, press could get very exhausting, you would sit in a room for hours answering the same questions, to different people and most time the chairs were so uncomfortable.

“A little more Buddy!” Sebastian gave his friend a light pat on the knee. “You ok?”

Chris opened his right eyes just a little to look at sebastian “you said she’s working, right?”

“oh god” he laughed

“What?” Chris at up straight opening his eyes completely “I’m just asking”

“Yeah I know You’ve asked about twenty times”

Chris groaned and sank back at his chair again. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm his mind “I’m an idiot- I shouldn’t have kissed her, It was just the perfect moment and her eyes looked so pretty, her lips- I couldn’t help myself.”

“Dude calm down!”

“I really like her, she’s feisty but cute at the same time, she’s got this mystery about her...”

“Of course there’s a mystery. She’s a writer, mystery is what they do best.” Sebastian sighed “Look, you can drop by the house tonight with me, I was gonna go anyway”

Chris thought about it. he leaned back, looking at the ceiling, all he could think about was her and her smile. Her lips, her taste, her smell. He had to see her again.

7:00 PM

“Ms. Green, I promise I’m fine, I don’t have to go home yet-”

“Delilah you’ve been here since nine thirty, its time to go home.”

“Why can’t you be like the other bosses who force you to stay all day instead of kicking you out.”

Ms. Green laughed, the wrinkles in her face getting more visible by the way she smiled. She was a very kind woman, with lots of stories to tell and the owner of the coffee shop “Sweetheart, what ever it is you should go home and deal with it, overworking yourself will not solve the problem.”

“How do you always see right through me?”

“Go Delilah.”

8:00 PM

When she opened the door she didn’t think she would have to deal with her problem, she didn’t think that he would be sitting on the couch drinking tea and laughing but there he was on her couch, talking and laughing. The keys dropped off her hands, landing on the floor and earning everyone’s attention. Laura was the first one to sit up, ready to run in case Delilah was going to attack her. Sebastian tried to hide in between the pillows of the couch, pretending like he was innocent and Chris smiled, that boyish smile with that adorable charm.

“Hi.” he whispered in her direction.

Delilah knelt down to pick up her keys, not taking her eyes off chris while doing so. She tried her hardest to fake a smile and look comfortable in this situation but in reality she was freaking out. Every bone in her body was telling her to run and the voices in her head grew louder and louder, drowning her in doubts amd fears.

“I didn’t know you’d be here” she gulped.

“Oh yeah, it was a last minute call, Laura offered to cook and I was exhausted by the press and I thought I’d stay and surprise you”

“Well I’m surprised” She answered in a high pitched voice “I love Surprises- But I actually have to go out again-”

“Delilah!” Warned Laura, making her way towards her. Delilah shot her a killing look in response, warning her to back off and then looked back at chris with a sympathetic smile. “My friend Zac he is really sick and he asked If I could go watch after him, I can’t say no-”

“Yes you can Delilah, You are not his nurse!”

While Laura and Delilah were arguing, Chris bowed down his head, looking at his hands. He was feeling like an idiot, he scoffed at himself as he got the message, she didn’t want him here, she didn’t wanna see him and she didn’t answer the phone because, she didn’t wanna talk to me. He stood up hiding his hands in his pockets, the two friends stopped arguing when they sensed his tall figure getting up and looked at him. “I’ve left didger alone at home, maybe I should go too-”

“No!” Laura replied quickly “neither of you has to go! I cooked! I never cook! So you will both stay here and appreciate the food that I made you!”

Chris wanted to be kind to Laura and stay but looking at Delilah, god she was so easy for him to read. He could see her trying to hide behind that wall that she was always carried around, behind that smile but he saw it in her eyes, that hurt and pain, that fear. He wasn’t going to push her anymore than he already had and maybe she would eventually come to him instead.

“Lar I’m sorry I’ll make it up to you I promise.” He stepped closer to Laura and kissed her forehead and then smiled at Delilah, he was trying to let her know that it was ok but he doubted she’d listen to his voice among all the voices in her head. He turned to the door to leave when he heard his name.

“Chris, wait-” She walked to him and gave him a sad smile “walk with me?”

He hesitated at first but nodded “sure”.

Neither of them said anything until the came out of the building

“chris-”“Delialh-” they both laughed awkwardly and motioned for the other to go on.

“You go first”

“No you, insist” he smiled

Delilah took a second to gather her thoughts and remember all the things he wanted to say. She was never good at this things, being open about her feelings, talking about her fears. “I..” She scoffed at her inability to speak “I’m sorry-”

“No you did nothing wrong.. You don’t have to apologize-”

“But I do, because I’m about to use the most cliche line in the book” she stopped walking, he turned around to her, looking at her with those magic puppy eyes “Ok here it comes... It’s not you It’s me”

Chris really tried to hold himself from laughing but failed miserably. The laugh escaped his lips as easy as he breathes, it was shirt but loud. Delilah nodded in understanding, she deserved that laugh. “chris..”

“No I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh but you really used the most cliche line in the book... problem is you are wrong.”

“I’m wrong?”

“Its not me but it’s not you either, its the noise... only noise.”

Delilah bit her lip and this time it was her turn to scoff. god it was so annoying how everyone talked about that noise, how everyone acted like they had her sort out. “you don’t know me Chris, and you definitely don’t know the noise in my head”

“D-” “No! Stop! Just-” she sighed “I’m tired of everyone pretending they know what I;m going through- this is why i don’t get close to people, I don’t need this in my life, that smirk and your smart-ass!”

“Delilah!”

“Chris, this is not gonna work-”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know me! And in the end I will only break my heart and maybe yours too! Because I don’t know how to get close to people! because I can’t-” she paused, swallowing down the anger and the sadness but tears had already started falling down her eyes. “and you can’t either! You can’t deal with this and you don’t have to so I’m giving you a pass because I can’t let you in and then have you run away-”

“Funny you accuse me of being a smart-ass but what about you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you know exactly how this will end, you make the decisions, you have it all planned out in your head and you listen to no one but yourself because you think you know everything but you don’t!” Delilah looked at him in shock and anger. She was pissed for only one reason even if she wouldn't admit it and the reason was that he was right. “You know what you’re right, this is not gonna work if you’re not gonna let it work. So let’s save ourselves some trouble”

“That’s a great idea” she spat out

He stopped closer, only a kiss away from her “Tell me to stay and I’ll stay, say go and I’ll leave and you won’t have to see my face again”

Delilah looked at him with her teary eyes. Her heart was pounding, she wanted to kiss him, hold him, she anted to love him and she was so close into doing that, only one second away. She was ready to say the word when another came out her lips like venom.

“Go.”

@annoyinglydarktriumph-us  @purely-myself-03  @yelyahcardella​ @tfandtws​ @thejemersoninferno​

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

His Smile Will Keep You Safe - Chapter Eleven

Warnings: angst; mention of drugs, depression, and panic attacks; implied police brutality, racism

Word Count: 3 636

Naturally you were not the only one who had noticed that things were off. In fact everybody had noticed the changed dynamic between Ryan and you, but most of the guys had enough on their hands to do, so they did not really care. After all, you were adults who had to figure out their own problems.

The only one who really seriously started to worry, not only about the suddenly strange behaviour of Ryan, but also because of his rapidly declining mood, was Dallon. It was difficult for the bassist not to be affected by Ryan’s mood. After all, they not only shared a stage, but also a room most of the time.

And the room was filled with a brooding dark cloud as soon as Ryan stepped into it. Dallon had never really considered himself the Agony Aunt kind of guy, but it was obvious that his friend had trouble, and needed help, even if he probably did not want it. But then again, Dallon had never really cared much about what other people though either, so after the show on Friday, five days into Ryan’s changed act, he decided it was about time he had a serious talk with him.

As Dallon had expected, Ryan was not incredibly willing to open up, but once he did, in the privacy of their hotel room, and a shared bottle of wine later, it was like a wave broke free. And so Ryan shared everything that had happened. From how he had started to like you more and more, to how he knew for certain that you had stolen his heart away, how you had spent the night in the hotel lobby after the bus had been stolen, the night on the bridge, and how you had fallen asleep, curled into his side after the show that had been so sparsely visited.

And then he told Dallon about Lars. He told him what he knew about your past with the electrician, about the conversation he had had with him, and about the doubts, the insecurities and abysses, which had been awoken inside of him.

“You need to talk to her,” Dallon exclaimed.

He was overwhelmed by the story Ryan had told him. Of course he had known that the drummer and the photographer had slowly started to reach out for each other, but he could not believe a single word Lars seemed to have told Ryan. Never would you do something like that, not you. It was obvious that your affection towards Ryan was pure and honest, and non-existent towards Lars. That the other man’s words caused his friend to feel so broken and worthless, enraged Dallon beyond words, but that would all be fine if Ryan only would talk to you, so you would clear up the situation.

“I can’t, I can’t, Dallon,” Ryan cried, “I couldn’t stand the look in her eyes if she only confirmed everythi-“

“But she won’t! Do you really believe that she could do this to you? You haven’t seen the way she looks at you the way I do. She wants to be with you, she wants you to be happy, Ryan! And she couldn’t care any less for this bars- Lars! I’d go as far as saying that at the moment you’re her entire world, but you’re gambling with this, if you don’t go and talk to her; or at least share any interaction with her!

“No, no, no, Dallon, no. This way I at least have the glimmer of a hope that none of what he said is true, but if I talk to her then it becomes reality-“

“You’d rather miss out on the amazing time, the care and love of such a sweet girl than to face the pain of rejection,” Dallon’s eyes were wide, and he wanted to shake some sense into his friend, who had buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t take it, knowing she just used me,” Ryan whispered.

These words shut Dallon up for a while. He could not remember the last time he had felt this way about somebody. He was lucky enough to be married to the girl of his dreams, to have two beautiful, healthy children. It had been way more than a decade ago that he had faced this problem.

In a last attempt to console his friend, Dallon reached out his hand to pat Ryan’s shoulder, but he only flinched away, making Dallon realise that there was nothing more to do for him. He watched sadly as Ryan pulled his legs up to his chest and fell backwards on the bed, where he turned to the side, away from Dallon and curled into a small ball, closing his eyes.

~*~

It had been more than a week since Ryan had stopped talking to you, and to make things even worse, tour was almost over. After tonight, there were only two shows left, and the thought, to part ways with Ryan like this, after you had had so much fun together, was beyond painful to you. Having given up on trying understanding his changed behaviour, you had retreated into spending time mostly on your own. Charlie, Dallon and occasionally Lisa were the only ones who you had regular conversations with.

It seemed as if everyone had slowly but surely used up all their energy, and desperately needed the end of the tour to come as quickly as possible, to recharge. On stage the bands were still along the best ones you had ever heard, but between shows their power was obviously drained. The chatter and excited banter from the beginning of tour had died down, especially during the past days, and it felt like everyone was running on auto-mode, hoping to get home as soon as possible.

The only time things still felt the same was during the shows, when the music made everyone’s body and soul vibrate, and the enthusiasm of the fans fuelled the musicians throughout the evening. Even though you did not want to admit it to yourself, you felt the exhaustion too. Luckily you had successfully fought off your depression most of the time, but that in itself was energy draining. It was the same kind of draining as if you had a bad cold, and tried to function properly, but at least you did.

But without Ryan’s cheerful personality around, his smiles lighting up the room like rays of sunshine to catch during the days, the days blended into grey goo, one as bleak as the other. And even the shows lost their colour and magic, starting to feel more like a duty to you, than fun.

It was early afternoon, and you were sitting under a tree close to the venue. Since everybody was busy, you had gotten lunch on your own, now munching half-heartedly on some fries.

Lucas and Bill were busy with some last minute problems the venue had had with the electricity, Lisa and Lars had gone out to a restaurant, the “Three Beats” were sitting backstage, writing music, and Dallon was sitting on the bus together with Ryan, who did not talk to you.

Over chewing an especially limp fry, you punched a short message to your mother into your phone, and pressed sent. You did not want her to know that you were feeling really down right now, but you really missed your parents. After all, nobody else was around to console you.

Without a warning the door to the bus flew open far more violently than should be allowed, and made a huge bang, crashing into the side of the bus. Looking up, you saw Ryan almost falling out. Quickly he turned his head in both directions, and when he spotted you, he started sprinting over. Confused you furrowed your brows, and put your phone away, waiting for whatever Ryan seemed desperate to share with you, after one and a half weeks of not talking to you.

“You need to see this,” he almost shouted, coming to a halt in front of you. He looked irritated, and almost scared, which immediately rang some alarm bells in your mind.

Not daring to ask what had happened to shake him up like this, you jumped up from your place on the ground, and followed Ryan, who had immediately turned around, and ran back to the bus.

Inside the bus your eyes needed a second to adjust to the dimmer light. Ryan was standing right in front of the couch table, accusingly pointing towards one of the sofas. Dallon was standing next to it, a pair of scissors in hand, the other hand pressed into his side.

Stepping out from behind Ryan, you finally were able to see what they were staring at. The fabric that covered the seats of the couch had been torn, or rather cut, open, revealing something that did not look like the ordinary sofa cushion you would have expected.

Instead, peeking out from underneath a thrown back cushion foil, were things that looked like white bricks. From just one glance you could tell that each seat’s upholstery on the sofa had been replaced by at least fifteen of these white, milk-tetra-pack-sized objects.

Carefully you took a step closer, and then it hit you.

The white, in plastic foil covered bricks, were drugs. They looked different from what you had seen in movies, where they usually were wrapped with a brown tape, but there was no doubt that what Dallon and Ryan were showing to you was a heap of drugs.

“What-“ confused you turned to Ryan, who was still staring at their discovery.

“We were fooling around and accidently tore the fabric. That’s when we saw that it looked strange,” Dallon explained in a monotonous voice.

“We need to call the police,” you stuttered, already reaching for the phone in your pocket.

“I’ll do that,” Ryan decided, “You need to take pictures, so they know how it looks, in case this gets changed somehow.”

As in trance, you nodded, and quickly pushed past the two men towards the back, where you grabbed your camera off your bed. Turning on the rarely used flash, you started shooting pictures out of different angles, careful not to accidently move or touch anything. Ryan was talking on the phone, trying to explain the situation, but his voice faded into the background. Pedantically you captured everything you saw, then you took out the SD-card, and slipped it into your wallet.

“What are you doing,” Dallon asked, who had watched you.

“Taking pictures on the internal storage, just to be sure,” you explained, before you snapped a couple more pictures, then you plucked the SD-card back in.

No ten minutes later a police patrol had arrived. When Dallon and Ryan showed them the scene, they immediately called backup.

What followed were endless questions by different police officers, who took Dallon’s and Ryan’s fingerprints to rule them out, and confiscated the drugs. It turned out that underneath the top layer of each seat, another three layers had been hidden. In total there were almost 200 kilograms of drugs.

Of course the rest of the crew had noticed that something was going on, and everybody got questioned all over again. You were reminded of the night when the bus had been stolen, except that Ryan was a lot more distant now.

“Were there any suspects when the bus got stolen,” the police officer asked after most of the questioning was done.

Lucas shook his head.

“Not while we were around, and they didn’t tell us anything so far,” he explained.

The officer nodded and turned to one of his colleagues.

“Contact Minneapolis, ask if they got any lead on that,” turning back to Lucas he explained, “My best guess would be that while the bus was stolen, the drugs were hidden in there.”

“And the bus was returned so we would act as the carrier,” Bill completed the thought.

The policeman nodded.

“But how did they know where we’re going? And how did they think they would get the drugs back,” Luis asked wide eyed.

“The must’ve had an insider,” the man answered.

The whole time you had the strange feeling that he was always looking into Jay’s direction.

Of course the entire bus was confiscated by the police, searching for evidence and more drugs. This, once again, posed the problem of the lack of transportation.

In a desperate number of phone calls, ten minutes before the show started, Lucas manged to rent two vans that would hopefully be big enough to drive the team plus instruments across the county.

The atmosphere that night was strange. Obviously nobody was allowed to tell anyone, especially the fans, about the discovery from the afternoon, but the whole crew was tense and nervous. The idea to have been sitting hours and hours on several kilos of drugs made you feel sick, and you wondered if there really was a connection between the bus being stolen, and the drugs being hidden on board. But it was too crazy to be a mere coincidence.

As soon as “Three Beats” was done playing, and the stage had been set for Dallon and Ryan, Lucas and Bill headed to the car rental to get the vans. The whole situation made you feel sick. Everything was too stressful and too much to handle right now, and Ryan was back to not even talking to you, which made everything ten times worse.

You felt like you were suffocating in the hot air and the mass of bodies, moving to the familiar beat of a Brobecks song. Slowly you knees started feeling weak, and your breath got faster and faster.

This time you recognized the panic attack before it reached its high, and remembering Lucas’ offer to draw back when you needed time for yourself, you quickly left the venue.

The air outside was cool and refreshing. Thankful, you took a few deep breaths, managing to steady you breathing, and then slowly but surely your heartrate as well. Deciding to wait a few minutes before going back in, you walked up the street towards the backstage entrance, where Charlie, Luis and Jay were standing, quietly talking amongst themselves.

When they saw you, they waved you over, and Jay handed you a bottle of soda, which you took a few sips from. The sweet liquid was helping your dizzy mind to clear up quickly, and shortly after, you were listening attentively to the conversation.

“Look, I think they found something,” Luis suddenly pointed out, nodding into the direction of the officers that directly headed towards you.

“Let’s hope it’s good news,” Charlie whispered, and squeezed Luis’ hand tightly.

“Jay Campbell,” one of the officers asked.

“Yes, Sir?”

Jay peeked up at hearing his name, but his expression changed once he saw the aggression in the policemen’s faces.

“You’re under arrest for smuggling illegal substances,” the same man spoke, placing his hand on Jay’s shoulder, and turning him around forcefully so his back was facing the policemen.

With a quick motion he had cuffed Jay’s hands behind his back before anyone could even register what exactly was happening.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to-“

The rest of the Miranda warning drowned in the rushing of blood in your ears. You could feel your cheeks heat up with hot anger, while your heart started hammering in your chest. But your blood felt like it had been replaced with ice crystals.

How dare they? How dare they accuse Jay of being a drug trafficker? He was one of the gentlest people you had ever met, never in a billion years would he do something like smuggle drugs, especially not after what he had told you about the town he had grown up in.

It did not surprise you that the first one to protest was Luis. With red head and babbling too many words at once to understand a single one of them, he stepped towards the police men who had cuffed his friend, shouting at them to let Jay go.

Charlie and you both noticed the small movements of the policemen, who placed their palms at their sides, where they had their guns. News articles mentioning yet another man shot by police flashed in your mind, and Charlie and you both synchronically reached out to pull Luis back, before anyone had the idea to do something very stupid.

Luis was still shouting, and struggled against you, while Jay was being led to the car, too surprised to do anything. The last thing you saw of the singer were his dreadlocks, held together by a band in the colours of his parents’ country of birth, Jamaica, disappearing behind the tinted windows of the closing car door.

Luis was still shouting when the car was long gone. Charlie and you had let go of the outraged man, who now was violently throwing his fists into the air, while kicking everything in his way, and screaming obscenities. You did not even notice that tears were running down your cheeks until Charlie handed you a tissue. Sniffing you took it, and watched how he carefully approached his friend. It took him a few minutes, but eventually Luis allowed the bassist to hug him, and snuggled into the embrace.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Charlie promised, and placed a soft kiss on Luis’ lips.

Admittedly slightly surprised, but not as surprised as you would have imagined to be, you decided to give the two some privacy.

You headed back towards the main entrance, where Bill and Lucas just arrived in the newly rented vans.

Lucas jumped out, proudly pointing towards the vehicles.

“Look at these beauties! We should have no problem to get everything inside! They have so much space! Now we have everything back in order,” he grinned, but stopped immediately when he saw your expression. “What’s wrong?”

Bill had jumped out as well, curiously walking over, and speeding up when he saw you were crying. Protectively he wrapped his arms around you, something he had never done before.

“They arrested Jay,” you whispered, letting out a shaky breath.

Lucas stayed calmer than you had imagined. Secretly you had thought he would throw a tantrum worse than Luis’s, but instead he pulled out his phone, and immediately started calling people. Then he climbed back into the van, and drove off, most likely towards the police station to find Jay.

When the others were finished with their jobs, and learned about what had happened, they reacted pretty much exactly as you had predicted. The men looked unbelieving, but too exhausted and done with the world to get really angry, and Lisa started crying.

Originally it had been planned to drive over night, so you would reach Cincinnati, the second last stop on tour, in the morning, so you could spend the last free day in the city, and did not have to worry about being late.

Now Bill organized a room in a small hostel instead. While Lisa, Luis, Charlie and Bill drove to the hostel, Ryan, Dallon, Lars and you started packing together. Bill later returned to pick up the equipment, and took you all back to where you would spend the night. He had even managed to organize a garage, after, according to Charlie, he had almost started crying in the attempt to explain why they could not risk getting the vehicle stolen.

The room you had been booked into was a dorm with ten beds, a sink, a long table in the middle, and a few armchairs scattered around the room.

Everyone was eerily quiet while settling in. Lisa was lying stretched out on the bed she had chosen, and only looked up as Lars sat down next to her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. You had a feeling that they had ended up getting quiet close lately, and even though you were disappointed Lisa had not listened to your advice, you did not find it in you to care about her life choices. And it was not your business anyway.

That night nobody dared going to sleep. You sat on the table, staring into the distance, while everybody else was following their thoughts individually. Again and again your mind circled around the image of Jay being taken away in handcuffs; and how the policemen’s hands had immediately moved towards their guns when Luis had stepped forward. You did not want to believe what your brain was telling you, that they probably would not have reached for their guns if it had been Charlie, Bill, Lucas, Lars, Dallon, or Ryan who stepped towards them. But Luis, with his black hair and black eyes, and the slightly Arabian features… and then what about Jay?

Lucas had called shortly after you had reached the hostel, saying that they had no evidence against Jay, but wanted to hold him. If they had no evidence, then why had they arrested him in the first place? Again and again a word swam to the surface of your conciseness, but you could not believe it. There was no way that this was happening to one of your friends.

“We’re all thinking about Jay, aren’t we,” Dallon eventually mumbled.

It was about four am, but nobody was lying on their beds. Not knowing what the others were doing, you nodded your head quietly.

“And we’re all thinking the same thing, I guess,” he added, and you knew he had his head hanging low.

It was Charlie who eventually answered after a long break.

“Fucking racism.”

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter seven - part two (the injun doth speak too much)

There really isn't much here in Monticello as Maya takes the first exit off the highway. But she insists on feeding me. She's the only one with money after all.

There's a cute little diner on the edge of town and she treats me there.

My headache's starting to come back, but this time I think it's from not drinking any coffee or hardly any water this time around.

Lucky for me, she guides me inside of the place and we take a seat at the little table closest to the front door.

She just asks for a glass of water with a lemon wedge while she gets me a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. I'm absolutely famished: that hospital food wasn't bad, but I hadn't eaten anything this morning. The stack is bigger than I imagine but I don't really mind. The cakes are fluffy and accompanied with lots of melted butter and a bit of maple syrup. I offer her a bite but she again refuses.

“Come on, Maya, you've got to eat something,” I tell her with my mouth part of the way full. But she shakes her head. I shrug my shoulders and insert the bite. I'm like a little boy eating breakfast with his auntie or his grandma: I eat everything on the plate and drink down the coffee even as our waitress pours me a second cup. I lean over the plate with my arm resting on the top of the table and my other hand holding the white mug up to my mouth. My stomach is warm and feeling soft again.

“Feel better?” she asks me: the overhead lights are illuminating the scar on her forehead to where it's pure white.

“Very much so.” I drink up the rest of the coffee, and she pays and leaves a tip for the waitress. She leads me back out to the car like she's my girlfriend. Some people are kind of looking at us like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, even though we're not. I'm the guy who saved her life. Although in a way she kind of does feel like my girlfriend because she's sharing stuff with me that she doesn't want to share with Lars or anyone else.

Rather, she's just a girl who happens to be my friend, treating me well and paying it forward back to me.

We get about ten miles up the road when she stops again, this time for a refill of fuel and a milkshake for me. I'm not even hungry but I take it because it's chocolate. No sooner had I drank it down about twenty miles outside of Syracuse when she stops again, this time it's for me to take a piss. When I return out of the men's room and back outside, I find she's gotten me a wedge and a bowl of clam chowder.

“My goodness,” I confess as I take the spoon from her and hold the little bowl right before my chest. I'm really not hungry at all, and those pancakes filled me up plenty, but I'm seduced by the warmth of the chowder and she has those little oyster crackers in her hand. She sticks one into her mouth before handing them to me.

Oh, I see now.

I crumble a couple of them over the chowder before taking a bite. The potatoes are perfect and the chowder itself is creamy and warm. It all feels like a warm hug on the inside. It's like she wants me to have my cup full at all times. As we make our way through the donut hole that is the heart of Syracuse, I'm feeling pretty full at this point. I don't think I've ever eaten this much in just a couple of hours before. Not even when I was with Anthrax did I eat this much. Come to think of it, I don't think I ate this much the other night before the accident.

We pass by that one exit I took to visit Brick in the hospital.

Oh my fucking God, Brick.

I hope he's alright. I hope the feathers sprouting out of his head have gone away. I can hope that as I set down the empty cup on the center console and rest a hand on my stomach. I'm feeling so warm and so full that I'm about ready to fall asleep right there in the seat next to her. Maya, meanwhile, seems to be completely unfazed by the fact she's barely eaten all morning, or who knows how long for that matter.

I run my fingers through my hair as I lean the seat back to ease the pressure on my stomach. It doesn't actually hurt, I'm just feeling really full.

We're not too far from home when she picks up the wedge for me and hands it to me.

“No—no—” I resist her, keeping my hands on my stomach. “I can't. Not now.”

But she doesn't let go of it as we near the outskirts of Oswego. I recognize those lush trees near the golf course and the country club when she hands it to me again.

“I still can't. I think I ate too much—”

We reach my apartment complex and she still hasn't set the damn thing down or put it out of my sight. She takes it with her as I lead her to my front door.

Now I know how Lars felt the other night when he ate and drank too much at the bar: I'm trying hard to not lose my balance as I stick the teeth into the keyhole and open the door.

I feel tipsy.

I pretty much collapse onto my couch, flat on my back and with my feet hanging over the arm. I unbutton my jeans and lay there with my shirt riding up my body. I lay there with my eyes closed for about a minute when I feel her fingers running up my bare skin towards my chest. I open my eyes to see her looming over me, still with that long wedge in her hand. She unfurls the plastic wrap and takes out the half in her right hand, and holds it over my mouth like she's going to shove it right in.

“No, Maya—please,” I beg her, pushing back the half. “I can't handle another bite.”

“Come on—you're hungry,” she insists in that breathy voice. “I can feel it. I can feel the hunger within you.”

“I'm not, though. I swear to you. I've been eating all morning long.” I push down the waistband of my jeans and pull up my shirt. “Touch me. Touch my belly.”

She sets the wedge down on the table next to the recliner, right next to the phone and the lamp, and then turns back to me.

“I am touching you—” She rests her hands on me. Her touch is uncomfortable with everything she's fed me, but then she moves her hands up towards my chest. She brings her lips closer to mine, and for a second I think she's going to kiss me. But she never does.

“I feel you—” she whispers into my face. “And I want to know what it means to love.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. She's putting too much pressure on me, but she's on me. Her hands are caressing all over my chest.

“You're so warm and so delicate—just, dare I say, skin and bones.”

Right. She's one to talk. The one thing she ate today was that little bit of oyster crackers when I had that bowl of clam chowder. My stomach is still very flat but I feel like I've just swallowed the entirety of Lake Ontario.

Maya leans in closer to my face.

“Please—” I beg to her. “Please—”

“With pleasure—” She puts her lips onto mine. She tastes like stale old bread and regret.

“Wha—whaaaaat?” I'm so full, I can't even think straight.

“Methinks the Injun doth speak too much,” she whispers into my mouth before kissing me again. I feel it within me.

I let out the biggest, hairiest belch I've done in a long time right over the crown of her head.

“Ohhhhhh, God damn,” I groan out. “I can't believe I ate that much.”

“I've got you now,” she whispers to me. “I've got you around my finger.”

“Wait, what?”

She lifts herself off of my chest and straddles my hips like she's about to ride my dick. But she doesn't. Instead she gives me these light little kisses on my belly. Oh fuck, that feels good. After the pressure she just put on me, that's such a lovely sweet feeling.

She's going down to my belly button and part of the way onto my happy trail, and then she rests her head on my lower belly. I feel like a pillow now. A fluffy soft pillow in a skinny boy's body.

She kisses me right on the belly button and then she lifts herself up so as to look at me in the face.

“Better eat that sandwich, big boy,” she whispers to me with a light tap on the tip of my nose. She then climbs off of me and rounds the end of the couch. I lay there staring up the ceiling, still feeling her lips on my skin and still tasting her. And then I realize she's not in here anymore.

I stifle another little burp in my throat before hoisting myself up on my elbows. My back twitches but that's the least of my problems at the moment.

“Maya?” I call out. Silence.

“Maya? Where'd you go?”

I swing my legs over from the arm of the couch and I sit upright, still with my shirt pulled up my belly and my pants unbuttoned. I strip off my jacket because I'm so warm.

“Maya?” I call out again. Silence.

I stand to my feet, albeit with a bit of difficulty because I'm still very full. Careful not to lose my balance, I head into the kitchen. She's not there.

I look down the hall. Nothing.

I take a peek into the bathroom. Empty.

My bedroom? No one there.

But the arrowhead pendant which I left on my nightstand is missing.

She took the pendant.

I have a hunch now.

“Looks like I'm going to have to make a trip over to Boston,” I say aloud.

[aph-oklahoma-46]

Pirate AU Part 2 [insert gif here]

Hey, so before y’all get into this, I’m just gonna list out some of the content warnings here.

Tw: Implied death, murder, and abuse. I think that’s all

They thought about leaving Emily and Catalina at the camp, but Catalina wasn’t really old enough to be caring for herself and Emily, and the girls’ faces were already appearing on posters on the trees. So, the girls went with them to the docks to meet this ship captain Elizabeth had been so excited about.

Angel pulled his hood a little lower as they passed a group of sailors. His sisters weren’t the only ones with reward posters up, and the last thing he needed was to be recognized here.

Elizabeth lead them right to a boat in port. Angel looked up at the ship and studied it. It was different from the one he had stayed on, smaller and less flashy, and it had no discernable crest that he could see. Catalina and Emily’s little gasps of awe could be heard lower down as they saw the boat. Though they’d spent all their lives on a ship, Angel supposed anywhere that wasn’t Antonio’s ship was probably a new and fascinating adventure for the girls.

“So, are we gonna meet this captain somewh- where are you going?” Angel watched Elizabeth continue right up onto the boat without breaking stride. He grabbed Catalina and Emily’s hands and hurried after Elizabeth.

“Wait,” he shouted. “You can’t just march onto someone’s ship unannounced! And what if someone recognizes us, where can we go?”

Elizabeth stopped, turning to smirk and say, “You worry too much.”

“No, I worry exactly the right amount! Besides, I don’t know this man, I barely trust you, and one of the most feared pirate captains on the seas is after my head, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget. This guy likes me, so you can trust him as much as you trust me, for whatever that’s worth at the moment. Besides, Ned would rather eat his own foot than help Antonio in any way.”

With that, she spun on her heels and continued her march onto the boat and straight to the captain’s quarters. Grumbling, Angel hoisted Emily onto his hip and lead Catalina after Elizabeth.

Pushing open the door, Elizabeth stepped aside to reveal an office with walls plastered over by maps and charts. A desk that was more of a table with drawers pushed against the side was tucked into the far corner, facing the door. A coat and hat hung on the wall to the right of the door, and there were a couple of chairs pushed against the wall on the opposite side of the room than the desk. Sitting at the desk, leaning over a book filled with numbers—Angel recognized them from his time bookkeeping for Antonio as some kind of financial information—was a tall man.

“Lars! It’s been too long!” Elizabeth exclaimed, stepping into the room. The man, Lars, looked up as she did so. Elizabeth gestured to Angel and his sisters before opening her mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by Angel.

“Captain! Hello, my name is Angel F- er… Garcia, and I’d love to know if you could help me out?” Angel grinned widely and stepped out to be seen better. Behind him, Elizabeth glared at the preening.

The captain looked from Angel to Elizabeth and back again.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

With some of the wind taken out of his sails by that, Angel was pulled back by Elizabeth.

“This,” she said, annoyed, “is Angel. These are his sisters. Somehow, he managed to make Captain Carriedo very upset and now half the Caribbean is after his apparently very valuable head. Angel, could you use your actual head to think again an explain what happened?”

“Well, you don’t have to be rude,” Angel huffed. He turned back to Lars. “Um. So, I’m on the run because I kind of pseudo-kidnapped Antonio’s daughters and stole one of his boats to escape.”

Lars blinked. “Wait… I didn’t think Antonio had children.”

“Oh, he doesn’t! And now he knows that, and that’s kind of the crux of our problem.”

At that, both Elizabeth and Lars looked at him confused. Angel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. This was going to be a long story.

“I can explain, but…,” he glanced back at Catalina and Emily, who had climbed up onto the chairs against the wall and were watching a little bug crawl across the wall.

Angel knew what had happened when Antonio realized the truth about who the girls’ father was. But neither of the girls had seen or heard what Antonio did, and as much as they deserved to know, Angel couldn’t tell them. Not yet.

Captain Lars followed Angel’s gaze and cleared his throat.

“Elizabeth, could you take the children to the galley? There’s probably some sweets there.”

Emily and Catalina shot up at that, and they trotted after Elizabeth when she left the room. Angel and Lars were now alone.

“Have a seat, kid.”

Angel sat and took a breath. After a moment, he decided to just jump right in before he could think too much.

“I, uh, my mother and me, we ‘joined’ Antonio’s flagship crew when I was really young. He told my mom that I had potential and that he’d give me an education if she went with him. We didn’t have much at the time, she was insistent that I was gonna be educated, no matter what, so she agreed. And Toni taught me, or at least hired tutors, and kept his word on that. Made me one of his bookkeepers when I was older. But his real reason for doing that was to get Mama to go with him.

“He liked her, claimed he loved her, but she was already married to my dad. Mama knew that he just wanted her close, of course, and that that was the best way to get her close. She played along with him, agreed that she wouldn’t go back to my father and that she’d love him instead. Still, whenever we docked close to home, Mama would take me back home and we’d see Papa. We lived in a pretty busy port city, so Toni was always busy when we were there and didn’t notice. Sometimes, my dad would travel to a merchant that Toni traded with and that my parents knew personally, and he’d help them meet up without Antonio’s knowledge.

“This all worked out for a while, until my mother got pregnant. Luckily, Toni just believed it was his child and didn’t question it. A few years later, it happens again. The second time, Mama almost was caught, because she had been visiting Papa more than usual and Toni was starting to get suspicious. After that, she decided to stop visiting for a while to avoid rousing anymore suspicions. After that, my parents only saw each other every now and then.

“Catalina grew up knowing who our father was, because Mama was determined that she know the truth. But Emily… Emily was born at a time when Antonio was suspicious, so she was raised to believe he was her father. She’s only met our Papa a few times, and I doubt she remembers much about him… None of us have seen him for a long time, actually…,” Angel trailed off, lost in thought.

Lars spoke to get the boy’s attention back from whatever memories it had drifted off to. “So, the Spanish bastard makes you and your mother live with him to fulfil some domestic fantasy, your mother makes sure you still get to see your father while also lying to Antonio about your sisters being his children, and now… your sad you haven’t seen you father in a while?” He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“Look, kid. I’m sorry you haven’t got to see you daddy in a bit, but if this is what you came here looking for help for, then un-,”

“Wait, it’s not! I mean, if you could take us to my dad, that’d be great, but, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“Then finish your story. If helping you will piss off that bastard, then I will be glad to do so, but I’m not going to risk my life or my crew just to taxi a bunch of kids to who knows where.”

“Okay, okay,” Angel picked up his story again. “Recently, Toni noticed things about my sisters. They don’t look like him at all, but they don’t look exactly like my mother, either. He was getting suspicious again, and he… he’s not a great person anyway, but he’s worse when he thinks your manipulating him. Mama and I are on edge around him, walking on eggshells, trying to keep the girls out of his way and away from his temper. One day, I guess Catalina was mad at him for something, and she yelled at him that she didn’t have to listen to him because he wasn’t her real father. He didn’t do anything, and I took Lina and Emily to their room while Toni cooled off. Nothing happened and I thought he had brushed it off as just the words of an angry child.”

Angel bit his lip and paused. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned at the memory of what came next.

“But he didn’t?” Lars asked, quietly. He was well aware of how Carriedo could be when he thought he had been wronged. It wasn’t hard to imagine where the boy’s tale was going next.

Rubbing his eyes, Angel shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice trembled a bit. “He didn’t. That evening, I went to go look for my mother, because she usually comes to check on us when something like that happens, but I hadn’t seen her all day. I eventually went to Antonio’s quarters because I looked everywhere else. I was quiet because I’m not supposed to be there without permission, and I didn’t want to risk making him mad.

“There were voices coming from the room; Mama was arguing with him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just bits and pieces here and there, but I knew it was about what Catalina had said. I ran back, away from the door, and I-I hid under the stairs that lead up to the deck. I heard things being th-thrown, I think? I… I don’t know what happened after that. I ran up the stairs and up to the deck; I felt like I could breathe down there.

A handkerchief was held out to him, and the was when Angel realized he’d started crying.

“I don’t know how long I stayed on deck, but at some point, Toni cornered me by the edge of the ship before I noticed him there. He was angry and he grabbed and asked if I knew that she had lied to him. Obviously, I told him no and that I didn’t know what he was talking about. He kept yelling at me to tell the truth a-and then he just… stopped. H-he let me go and stood back, told m-me he wanted me to come speak with him later, a-and then he just left. As he left, I saw the stain on his shirt. It was covered by his jacket, but the w-wind caught it when he t-turned, and I knew…,” Again, Angel stopped. He took a few breaths and wiped his face. Across the table, Lars shifted awkwardly, not sure how to respond quite yet. Before he could, though, Angel spoke up again.

“I don’t know why he wanted to talk to me that night, but I knew it would end badly for me, so I waited until after sundown and snuck my sisters onto one of the smaller boats. We were close to shore at the time, thank god, so that’s where we went. Then I met Elizabeth and she said that you could help us get away from here before Antonio can find us. That, um… that’s all, I guess.”

Lars took a deep breath. He still wasn’t sure what these he was expected to do beyond keeping these kids away from Carriedo, but he knew what his answer would be.

“I’ll take you where you need to go. I can’t promise anything beyond that, but I will make sure you get to wherever you need to be safely.” The captain stood and moved around the desk to extend a hand to Angel. “And I’m sincerely sorry for what’s happened to you. I assume your sisters don’t know?” Angel shook his head.

“Alright then. You look like you haven’t had a change of clothes or decent meal in a while, so let’s go find Eliza and your sisters so you all can eat.”

Angel nodded, wiping his nose with the handkerchief, then paused. “Wait a minute. I thought Elizabeth didn’t let anyone call her that.”

“Oh, she doesn’t, and she’ll be very irritated if she finds out that I just did, but I feel like if she can march unannounced onto my ship like a commander with orders for her troops, then I can call her Eliza.” He smiled wryly and Angel laughed a little.

“We are going to need a way to hide your identities, though. If Antonio is looking for you, then he’ll have posters out calling for your return and a reward for whoever brings you to him. The entire coast will know your names and faces.”

Angel thought for a moment. “Well… Angel isn’t my given name. Antonio wanted us to change our names when we joined his crew, and Angel is what my mother chose for me.”

“Really? What’s your real name?”

“Colonneh.”

Lars put an arm around Colonneh’s back and guided him out of the office and toward the galley.

“I think that’ll do just fine, kid.”

[nethwan]

It Was You

NedTai Week

Day 5: High School AU

Summary: Sometimes people are not what they look.

Also here: 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13220186/5/NEDTAI-WEEK

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954381

Mei walked quickly; she wasn’t late even though she spent a lot of time getting ready. It was the first day of school. She was so excited. That year she’d have other classmates, among them, Jake, the boy of her dreams. She felt her heart beating fast, she was sure she’d have a seat next to him. They didn’t talk too much, but he was always nice with her. She thought that if they sat together then she could make her move.  

She took a deep breath and opened the classroom door. Her smile disappeared when she saw him next to another classmate. The only two free desks were at the back of the classroom. Mei was disappointed, but she didn’t want to give up. Then a guy appeared and everyone looked at him in silence, as if they feared him.

When he took the seat next to her, she could hear her classmates murmuring. Then the teacher arrived and the class started. Actually, Mei was too busy trying to figure out how to capture her crush’s attention so she didn’t realize that one of the most fearsome guys in all school was sitting next to her.

There were more whispering until a severe glare of the teacher made them be quiet. Later the teacher announced that they’d be partners for every class project. Some of her classmates laughed and others murmured again. That boy didn’t react, as if he were used to that kind of situations.

“Great” she thought sarcastically. “This is going to be a great year”. Mei cursed in her mind, but she didn’t want to feel intimidated by him. She was too proud for that.

Mei observed him down and up: boots, torn jeans, a rock band t-shirt; he had spiky dirty blond hair, it reminded her to a tulip; he had a piercing in the ear and other in the eyebrow, and above it there was a scar. He looked very scary. She thought that it could be very difficult, and boring, to work with him.

On the other hand, Lars sighed annoyed. He didn’t want to work with that girl. She looked very delicate and she wore too much pink. He knew she was observing him as if he were a bug. Probably she was one of those spoiled girls who think no one deserves them. He was about to ask the teacher if he could work alone, but she spoke.

“So, we are going to work together” she told him.

He nodded.

“Well, I’m Mei”

“I’m Lars” he said.

“What if we meet after class in the library?” She asked him.

“Alright”

---

Lars waited for her. He spent some of his free time in the library because he liked silence and read. Also because he didn’t have so many friends, but he didn’t really care. Most of the time. Then she interrupted his reading.

“Do you like that author?” she asked, smiling.

“Yeah, so?”

“I just ask, because…”. Then she looked away. “Nevermind. What if we make a list of what we are going to do?” she suggested.

They discussed the theme and some ideas they had. Working with him wasn’t bad at all. He was too quiet and serious, but he was smart and organized, and he seemed to know a lot about literature. Also, she was still curious about the book he was reading, she liked it too. It was a romantic novel.  

As days passed, they met in the library and talked about their work, but later they started talking about other things. Well, only her, she was a chatterbox; she told him every single thing it came to her mind. He had to admit that it was very pleasant to spend time with her, she was funny and witty, she told him jokes to make him laugh, but he just smiled shyly.

One day she invited him to her house to finish the work. Yao gasped when he looked at him. He didn’t say anything because Mei pouted when she noticed his expression. Lars knew since the beginning that he wasn’t going to be welcome there, but she insisted and somehow he couldn’t say no.

“Why did you invite that criminal to our home? You are lucky that mom and dad are at work” Yao told her when she went to the kitchen for a drink.

“We are project partners, what is your problem?”

“My problem is that you can’t bring people like him to this house” he said.

The two siblings argued while Lars could hear everything from the living room. He felt sad, but he knew he didn’t look like a good guy. He was about to tell her he wanted to go home, but then she arrived and smiled at him, and for a moment he forgot the incident.

-----

Mei tried to be friends with Lars. Also she felt really guilty for Yao’s words. Her brother was a judgmental person, and she was sure he listened to all that conversation. Lars wasn’t a bad person, and he was always alone so, probably he needed a friend. More than fear, he inspired her curiosity.

“What are you going to do this weekend?” she asked while she took a sit next to him.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t know she was referring to him. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that… the project is done… we don’t have to spend more time together. Maybe you prefer to spend time with your friends”

“I know… but I thought we could be friends” she said, blushing. “I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again” she said quietly.

“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry. It’s just that I am not used to have people around. That’s all” he admitted.

Mei smiled and both started talking. The fact that she followed him everywhere was something unexpected, but he truly enjoyed her company. One of those days, he asked her if she wanted to go to his house. Mei’s smile got brighter and accepted.

His house was very big and it was in an elegant neighborhood. She was really surprised. His parents weren’t at home, but his siblings did. Also they were surprised because he had a guest.

--------

Little by little she forgot how he looked. He liked reading and gardening, and he had a rabbit as a pet. Also he ended up for accepting her in his life. She made him laugh, and it was very easy to talk with her about everything. She made his life brighter.

They spent most of their free time together. Sometimes they did homework together, went to the cinema, rode their bikes or played videogames at her home. Other times they went to his house to help his sister to bake cookies or cakes, or they just were outside listening to music. He thought they made a very odd pair, but it seemed that she didn’t care about it.

He wondered why among all the people in school she preferred to spend time with him. She had other friends, and she still hanged out with them. Sometimes she invited him to join them, but he felt strange with other people, so he said no.

When he wasn’t with Mei, he missed her; he didn’t know why he wanted to spend all his time with her and why he had a strange feeling in his stomach, as butterflies, when she was around. Then he realized he probably liked her.

That was a big problem, because he knew she liked another person. A guy that smiled and who was being himself. Not like him who had to wear that costume to pretend he was different. However, he liked her too much to want her to be happy.

---

“When are you going to talk with him?” Lars asked her, while she observed Jake from afar.

“I tried, but he is always surrounded by his friends” she sighed.

“Maybe you should try, anyways” he said and put his hand on her head. “You are thinking a lot”. Then, he sighed and told her, he had to go early because he had an appointment with the dentist. He was lying, but she didn’t know it. Mei thought that since he encouraged her too much, then that means that she still felt something for Jake, and Lars could notice it.

Actually, Mei hadn’t been thinking about Jake in a while. At that moment she observed him because she was wondering where those butterflies she felt when she saw him were. She still thought he was handsome and cool, but she didn’t know what was happening. Lars told her that she needed to tell Jake about her feelings if not, other person would do it.

-----

The spring ball would be in some weeks. Mei and Jake talked more often thanks to Lars’ encouragement. It hadn’t been too difficult because he was friendly and outgoing like her. Mei could say that they were friends. They got along really well and spent more time together. People said they could make a great couple. Mei just smiled.

Lars felt his heart aching every time he saw them together, but if she was happy, he had to be happy too. And maybe it was true what others said, they could make a great couple, not like him and her that were a very strange pair. She deserved someone better.  

Mei wasn’t really sure about her situation. Yes, Jake was the boy of her dreams, but it was something on him that didn’t convince her, she didn’t know what it was. Also she missed to spend more time with Lars, and she felt a little bit upset every time a girl talked with him. Since she was his friend, it seemed that no one feared him anymore. She told him that his appeal as a bad boy was working, and she faked a smile.

-----

“Are you going to go to the ball?” she asked Lars.

“I don’t think so. I don’t like dancing” he said annoyed. “And you?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

“Well, I still don’t know, Jake hasn’t asked me. I even received a tape this morning, probably is his. So old fashioned, but that makes it even more especial” she said.

“Maybe… you could ask him instead” he said, trying to hide his bitterness.

Mei looked at him. He pointed at Jake, who was alone and encouraged her to go. She hesitated, but tried to do it and for her surprise he said yes. She wanted to look at Lars, but she saw him talking with some girls, so maybe she’d tell him later.

----

Lars rejected all the invitations he got. He didn’t want to lie to those girls and he couldn’t lie to himself. He liked Mei, and only Mei. He liked the way she played with her hair when she was distracted, her jokes, each of her expressions and her sweet smile. She was very special for him; she was there for him when no one wanted to talk with him, even though their friendship was like an accident.

He would like to invite her to the ball. He hated dancing, but he’d have done it for her. It was him who made that tape. He knew that it was a useless effort, but he wanted to express his feelings in some way. So he put it in her back pack when she wasn’t watching, but she thought it was from Jake.

He imagined the ideal scenario in which she realized it was him who gave her that playlist as an invitation to the ball, and she said yes. Now it was ridiculous to think about it because that guy surely liked her back. What kind of person wouldn’t like her after spend time with her, he wondered.

-----

Mei sent him a message, but he replied some hours later, he told her he was busy. He didn’t want to know details about her date. He told her he wouldn’t go to the dance, she understood. Before she went out, she sent him a picture of her. He thought she looked gorgeous in that dress.

Lars was really heartbroken, but probably she was happy enjoying the ball. She didn’t need him anymore. Then his phone rang. It was Mei. He hesitated, but what if she needed something.

“Lars, could you come here? Please” she asked him. Her voice sounded strange, as if she was sad.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, just please come here” she said almost desperate.

“Don’t worry, wait for me” he said.

When Lars arrived, he found Mei outside the school.

“Sorry for bothering you, but I really needed to talk with you” she said.

“He did something bad to you?” he asked.

Mei shook her head. He waited until she was ready to talk, they walked for some minutes. Mei was very absent-minded, so probably what she wanted to tell him was very serious and important, Lars thought.

Before she confessed her feelings to Jake, he smiled and told her:

“I think I am not the person you wanted to invite to the ball. You look sad. You’re thinking of Lars Janssen, aren’t you?”

Mei didn’t know what to say, because probably he was right. Then he explained her that he liked someone else too. Actually, he wanted to invite that person to the ball, but they were an exchange student. However he was glad that she had invited him because she was a good friend of his.

Somehow Mei didn’t felt bad about that. Then she wondered that if Jake didn’t send her that tape, then who? The first person she kept in mind was Lars, he secretly liked love songs, but he encouraged her to talk with Jake. Then she took the risk and called him.

Mei stopped and looked at Lars. She looked in her purse and showed him the tape.

“It was you who sent me this, right?”

He looked down and nodded.  

“Why?”

“Because you weren’t afraid of me, you gave me a chance. You are very special to me”

“But… as a friend… or?” she asked embarrassed.

Lars blushed, he was glad it was almost night so she couldn’t notice it. However it was his chance to tell her what he was keeping in his heart for a very long time.

“I… I like you”

Mei looked at him. She was so happy to hear that. She took his hand.

“I think I am the dumbest girl ever. I invited the wrong guy to the ball. Lars, forgive me, probably you suffered too much because of my fault”

“Don’t apologize; none of us were honest with our feelings”

They embraced for some minutes. Now their hearts were in peace, as if everything was in their right place. They didn’t want to come back to the ball, instead he gave her an earbud, and both danced slowly at the rhythm of that love song that made him thought of her.

---------

[hannigramfanfic]

The Pearls in the Sand Collection ( Second Story) We Are Now Conjoined by Events That Have Shaped Us Both. Only Our by Unknownmusing and Vintagefloof

Summary:

After the events of “Kiss Me, Hold Me, Taste Me, Fuck Me,” Hannibal has taken Abigail with him to Florence, Italy, leaving behind Will who has just woken up from a coma. And yet, he is not himself.

Pearl-Lace, his alter ego, has taken over.

Meanwhile in Florence, Hannibal finds himself attracting the attention of the mysterious Mr. Coquille who owns “The Firenze Masquerade Club” and whose true identity is unknown.

Notes:

For Hannibalsimago, purplesocrates, DaringD, TheSeaVoices, Krey9J, slashyrogue, JGogoboots, ThatRedBean, Willsblackstag, Hanni Bunny Lecter (carrionofmywaywardson), GhostGurlGamer, Damonfreak89, erodingthebluff, TreacleA, KatherineKrawl, TigerPrawn., tentaclees.

Chapter Management

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Chapter 1: Waking Up a New Person

Chapter Text

THREE DAYS AFTER WILL HAS WOKEN FROM HIS COMA

Pearl-Lace/Will’s P.O.V.

They say my name is “Will Graham” when a nurse and a doctor come into the hospital room to check up on me. They notice me frowning at them at the mention of the name.

“Who’s Will Graham?” I ask, voice coming out slightly feminine, but still masculine underneath. The nurse and doctor talk quietly among themselves, then the nurse approaches me, hesitant but gentle.

“Um…Honey, do you remember anything of what happened? Of the accident you were in?” she says, only to see another frown appear on my features at the words “…accident you were in.”  She moves away to allow the doctor to check me over.

I turn my gaze to him, noting he has light hazel eyes. He reminds of someone – a face that appears in my mind’s eye, only to dissolve like ink in water before I can fully grasp its identity. The doctor walks away, whispering something to the nurse. She comes back over to me and with a gentle smile tells me that they’re going to give me something.

Something that will help calm me for now.

What happens next - I am not sure how it happens, only that it does. I forget everything afterwards.

I look down and see blood dripping from my hands. 

Chapter Management

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Chapter 2: Mr. Coquille Makes His Move

Summary:

In Florence, the mysterious Mr. Coquille enters Hannibal’s new life. Hannibal and Abigail are living as Dr. Roman Fell and his daughter; Abigail is attending the University of Florence.

Notes:

We are imagining Lars Mikkelsen as Mr. Coquille. We know this is wrong on so many levels, but just remember: He only looks and sounds like Lars.

Chapter Text

 Hannibal’s P.O.V.

Sitting on the outdoor balcony balustrade, unable to sleep, I calmly sketch the view of the sun rising over the tall, beautiful, red and dusty yellow bricked houses of Florentine architecture. I had found sleep eluding me in my large, luxurious but mostly empty bed without someone else beside me to hold and with whom to greet the morning.

I missed Will deeply, and yet felt somewhat betrayed by him for keeping his identity as Pearl-Lace a secret from me. I recalled my last sight of him, flung backwards by Jack’s bullet hitting him the shoulder, forcing him to drop the knife he had intended for Alana.

I finish sketching and lower the pencil, pursing my lime-green lipstick-covered lips as I think about the other problem that had arisen shortly after my arrival in Florence with Abigail.

Mr. Coquille – a tall man with slicked back ash blonde hair and pince-nez glasses - had rescued me when I had nearly been pushed off the platform by some transphobic young men who had spied me in my “Nimue” persona.

He caught me just in time, amid screams of shock and horror from passing travelers. I found myself gripping his suit sleeve tightly, my heart furiously pounding against my rib cage as if it sought escape. I faintly heard him introduce himself, mentioning that he owned a club on the other side of town.

“Hannibal?” I hear Abigail’s voice. I turn to look at the somber young girl who has become like a daughter to me. She is wearing a simple flowery dress with a black woolly jumper over it. She looks delightful, but her face is shaded with sadness. I smile softly at her.

“Yes? Is something wrong?” I ask her. She walks over to me and looks down at the sketching I’ve just done. I reach up to cup her cheek lightly and stroke the delicate cheekbone with my thumb, wiping away the remnants of a tear trail.

“Umm…there is a letter for you. I left it on your writing desk,” she replies, slipping away from me and keeping her head lowered to avoid my gaze.

“Did it say who it is from?” I ask. She shakes her head and turns to go back inside. I sit for another moment, wishing I could ease whatever is troubling her fragile mind.

  The letter is just where she had said. Picking it up, I see on the back of the envelope the initials of what translates to “The Firenze Masquerade Club”. Slitting it open with a penknife, I slip out the enclosed card.

It is an invitation to the club (from its gracious and charming owner, Mr. Coquille) to attend a celebration there this coming Saturday. I bring the card up to my lips, tapping it against them lightly, and begin to ponder.

Who was this man – Mr. Coquille?

Why was he interested in me? What had attracted him to me?

Did he know who I really was?

Did he somehow know about the tableaux I had presented here in my youth?

I slip the invitation card back into the envelope, placing it in the writing desk drawer to examine in greater detail later. At this particular moment, I need to prepare for work at the Palazzo Capponi – where I am now the curator. Securing this dream job was a simple matter. All it required was deposing the former curator, Mr. Erico Bergucci, via a few seconds’ work and a modest outlay of two bags of cement.

I recalled fondly the Bella Arti Committee ballroom soirée, where, under the scrutiny of Professor Sogliato, I recited the poem “La Vita Nuova” by Dante. Reluctantly impressed, he then informed me that he wished me to be tested by the Studiolo , to determine whether or not I was qualified to lecture on Dante. Named for the ornate private study in the Ducal Palace in Gubbio, the Studiolo is a small but fierce group of scholars who have unashamedly (and with great pleasure, I understand) ruined a number of academic reputations. They met often in the Palazzo Vecchio.

  Sunlight streams through the large windows of the Palazzo Capponi and fills my work space as I step through the tall double doors. I approach the sixteenth century refectory table I use to examine the many documents the Capponi Library needs to be updated, revised and/or translated.

Nimue – my alter-ego – has taken over again. Deep down, however, I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed embracing this new side of me. I circle the large table and place my satchel down, unclasping it and sliding out the documents I had been working on. I had finally finished them late at night at the Florentine apartment I shared with Abigail.

For today Nimue has chosen black lipstick embedded with flakes of gold, curved golden claw earrings, and a simple crème suit. I am busy going through the documents once more, catching any possible mistakes, when footsteps echoing off the polished floor make me raise my head to see Mr. Coquille.

He stops before me and stands there with his coat over his arm, looking at me calmly.

“Mr. Coquille. This is…unexpected. What brings you to the Palazzo Capponi?”

“You.”

  “ You.”

 Satisfied the documents I had been perusing are free of errors, I place them down with a faint look of surprise at Mr. Coquille. He comes round the large table to stand next to me, while I reach for the documents that need to be translated.

I feel him move some strands of hair that have gotten into my eyes, gently tucking them behind my ear. Slightly flustered, I turn my head to look at him and say “I need to get on with my work” when his lips suddenly cover mine in a chaste kiss. As he pulls away, I can see gold flakes attached to his top lip and I cannot help but smile.

Perhaps he mistakes that smile as some kind of approval, for he leans forwards again, kissing me more boldly. I move my hands up to his chest to push him away, only to rest them there. He gently pulls me up and out of my chair and presses me up against the long edge of the table, changing position each time to deepen the kiss.

I don’t know what to do. All the thoughts in my head, even those concerning my dear Will, are being overwritten. He grips both my cheeks in his hands, kissing me more heavily, devouring my lips. A weak whimper escapes me as I shakily attempt to turn my face away, only for him to pull me back into the kiss.

His mouth is hot and wet. I feel him flick his tongue over my lips, begging admittance. Trembling heavily, I manage to pull away when I hear voices coming from the hallway. One I recognise as Prof. Sogliato.

“You need to leave,” I tell Mr. Coquille, quite firmly. When I attempt to pull away, he grabs my hand and bends down, slowly licking my wrist. I tremble with the heat of it.

He raises his eyes, observing me trying to control myself and failing. A faint smile ghosts across his lips as he turns and walks toward the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He spares a mild glance at Prof. Sogliato, who spears him with an irritated glare in return. The professor then approaches me, hands behind his back.

“I do hope you won’t be making a habit of becoming so… distracted during your working hours, Signor Fell,” Prof. Sogliato says to me. I turn around and attempt to sort the documents on my desk while quelling the urge to stab the ornate feather pen into the side of his temporal lobe. “Who is he?”

“Mr. Coquille was just passing through. He…helped me during an accident,” I reply. He looks over at the man behind him, now hovering near the large bookshelf as though waiting for me.

“See that his time here is limited,” snaps the professor. He turns and stalks out of the room, shooting another glare at Mr. Coquille. After several more seconds of smirking knowingly in my direction, Mr. Coquille breezes out of the room himself. I am left standing there gazing at the empty air, frustrated and worried. 

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Chapter 3: Fragments of Memories, Dangerous Acquaintances

Summary:

Pearl-Lace begins to remember fragments of their previous life. Hannibal renews an old acquaintance and gets in too deep with a new one. The chapter starts with Hannibal’s P.O.V., continued from the previous chapter.

CW: Homophobic language, graphic violence, and Mr. Coquille not knowing the meaning of the word “consent.”

Chapter Text

After finishing my work on the documents, I head down the flight of polished marble stairs. I desire nothing more than to return to my own apartment and avoid the sinister Mr. Coquille.

I don’t trust him. There is something about his aura that sends shivers down my spine.

Reaching the bottom of the flight of stairs, I walk into the large courtyard. I pass beneath the stone arches spreading above me, and the Corinthian pillars with frond-like filigrees carved at the top.

The sunlight is streaming down into the open courtyard, filling it with soft-toned golden light. I can hear voices as I round a corner, and see Anthony Dimmond speaking to a companion.

He gives a sigh, ruffling a hand through his hair. He bids farewell to his friend and moves to head off. He stops when he notices me standing near the pyrus salicifolia (also known as the weeping pear tree) that line the walk. He comes over to me.

My heart rate speeds up slightly and a light blush rises on my cheeks as I find myself tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in a coquettish way.

  Pearl-Lace/Will’s P.O.V.

Crimson petals.

The blood of my victims stains my hands completely. I am unaware of what happened, only that it felt strange and euphoric experiencing the deaths of the fake nurse and doctor - who were actually aspiring killers who considered themselves superior to the people “below them.”

They had no idea. The Predator in me had laughed at their demise as they begged me - the supposed innocent Prey , they naively believed - with tearful eyes and pleading down on their knees to let them go.

The barking of dogs makes me lift my head up to see, close to an old hunting cabin, a woman with long hair which hangs down her back.

There is something about her that reminds me of… Whatever it is is snatched away before I can latch onto it.

Do I know her?

Who is this woman?

These thoughts swirl around my mind without answers. I want answers.

“WINSTON!!”

The strange woman shouting the name of a golden retriever startles me out of my reverie. The dog approaches me, snuffling and whining heavily as he paws at me, trying to make me recognise him.

“Winston, what are you doi….Will!?”

Her voice. As soon as I hear the shock, horror and surprise in the strange woman’s voice, a faint memory, blurred like an old film on a reel, appears before my eyes.

A shot ringing out.

Pain shooting through one’s shoulder, followed by crimson spurting upwards to cover the face of a man with maroon eyes.

A knife falling to the floor with a dull clink on a polished kitchen floor.

Blood dripping on a carpet. Labored breathing and one’s heart thudding against one’s rib cage.

I come out of the fractured memory trembling greatly. I begin to look around the snowy landscape, feeling nothing more than the desire to get out of here, now.

Then I remember….. the Chesapeake Ripper, his voice telling me to search for him.

I want him here.

Holding me to anchor me. Without him, everything seems lifeless and empty.

Shivering slightly, I wrap my arms around myself and feel Winston - the golden retriever - nudge against me, as if to reassure me everything is all right. The strange woman steps hesitantly towards me.

I step backwards. There is something about her that makes one of the stitched wounds on my lower torso twinge with a faint remainder of a knife stabbing into my body.

But had she been holding it? Or had it been the man with the maroon eyes?

I can’t tell, the memories are too hazy and fractured. I have yet to understand what the fake nurse had meant by “ the accident" , as they had called it.

But had it been an accident?

What had triggered it?

What had set the chain of events in motion?

  Hannibal’s P.O.V.

"Nimue!!? I didn’t expect to see you here of all places.”

Anthony Dimmond - wearing a fine but threadbare suit and a knitted scarf around his neck - steps close to me with a smile as I take his arm and walk him away from the complex of the Palazzo Capponi.

“Yes. Well…I was looking for Mr. Fell. It seems he is not around at the moment,” I say. He turns me suddenly into a dead end, where there is a bench with two sakura blossoms trees curving over it to make a small enclosed canopy.

He accompanies me to the bench, brushing away the soft, delicate petals before we sit down.

I open my mouth to say something, but the gentle brush of his lips against mine stops me. He slips an arm around me to draw me closer to him.

His kisses are light and gentle. His head tilts slightly this way and that as the kisses deepen. He leans back slightly to look at me, a curious but fond gaze. I am quickly pulled back into another kiss. Pressing myself against him, I caress the nape of his neck. I can feel his tongue as it seeks admittance between my lips.

I open my mouth, and it feels like wicked tongues of flames are licking at me, heating me up from the inside out. I suddenly and shamelessly find myself straddling his lap. If anyone can see us, I do not care.

Our tongues entwine, dancing in erotic harmony as electric sensation courses through our veins.

I am grinding my hips down into the now very evident bulge in his suit trousers. I moan and gasp softly when he grinds upwards in answer.

I am so close. I know that anything else he does will bring it closer.

I am so close. The tingling pressure is building to a climax within my body, and I am helpless to stop it.

I am so close.

  Afterwards, I exchange phone numbers with Anthony and with a kiss, I take my leave of him. I walk back to my apartment, slightly dazed but happy, and up the winding flight of stairs to the top landing and our front door. Retrieving my key, I slip it into the lock and push the door open, revealing the darkened hallway.

I remove the key, step into the hallway and move to close the door behind me when something or someone slams into me. I quickly twist in their grip, but not quick enough. I am slammed down to the floor, knocking the breath out of my lungs with such force it winds me.

They lean over me, covering me with their shadow while checking my pulse with two fingers. Satisfied, I am hauled off the floor and dragged down the hallway by the collar of my suit into the sitting room. I am harshly thrown onto the ornate sofa, where after nearly sailing over the back, I land on the pillows with a thud. While acting more disoriented than I actually am, I surreptitiously slip one hand down behind one of the pillows and reach for the scalpel hidden there.

Momentarily I hear footsteps approaching. Continuing to feign exhaustion, I keep my head down and wait for the right moment. When it comes, my head snaps up with a snarl and my arm flashes out, slashing across their throat with the scalpel. I watching a thin line appear on the skin, followed by crimson slightly spurting outwards.

I had missed the main artery because they had managed to step backwards just in the nick of time. I get up and stalk towards them, watching them stumble and collapse on the floor next to a round table with a vase on it, filled with flowers. One can never predict what will catch one’s attention in times like these. They are holding their throat with one hand to staunch the bleeding, gasping for breath and regarding me with hate-filled eyes.

“Who… sent… you?” I hiss at them, gripping the scalpel tightly. They dare to spit at my feet, getting a goodly amount of their disgusting saliva on one of my Italian patent leather shoes. I ignore it - for now.

“Filthy….faggot…..all high and mighty with that look you wear. You….just can’t help it, can you? Disgusting faggot bitch,” they sneer at me. I grab them, haul them up and fling them onto the sofa. They manage to pull a handkerchief from their trouser pocket and hold it to the wound, glaring at me all the while.

“Do you speak to your wife with that tongue?” I ask. For the second time today I straddle a man’s lap, but this time is much less pleasant than the last. They clench their right fist, resting on the armrest, and make an aborted attempt to punch me. I click my tongue at them, placing the scalpel against the hollow of their throat as a warning.

“You..fucking….psychopath…GET THE HELL OFF ME!!” they shout, but I place my finger to their lips to shush them.

“Shh, now. We don’t want to wake the neighbors, do we?” I whisper. I slip one hand down, feeling Nimue within me rise to the surface, and cup the very evident bulge in their suit trousers. “And, in addition….you are aroused by me.”

“You’re lying!! Don’t be…stupid, I’m not attracted to….disgusting filthy people like you,” they protest, pushing me forcefully off their lap. I land softly on the carpet and look pointedly at their groin area with a smirk.

They look down as well, only to look back up, shocked and horrified at the tent that has formed in their suit trousers. Getting onto my hands and knees, I crawl toward them on all fours until I reach their thighs. I place my elegant, manicured hands on them and gently push them apart, still smirking. I arch up slightly between their thighs until our faces are so close I can see a bead of sweat begin its slow trickle down their forehead.

“Hmm, well….have you heard of….Il Mostro di Firenze , perhaps?” I ask coquettishly, watching their eyes widen in fear. I lunge forwards, grabbing the thick offending muscle in their mouth with my teeth, ripping it out hard. I hear a choked, guttural scream of shock, horror and pain.

I rise and step away, panting slightly. I watch them start to choke on the blood filling their mouth and gushing down the sides of their face, their hands twitching uncontrollably. White froth from their mouth mixes with the blood, the whole mess starting to drip down the front of their suit. Their eyes begin to roll up to the back of their head. Their body gives a final jerk and goes still.

Taking a handkerchief out of my breast pocket, I place the tongue into it and fold the fabric around it. I lean against the round table momentarily for support. Placing the wrapped tongue onto the table, I take off my suit jacket, roll up my shirt sleeves and approach the body.

It has been a while since I have had…such good meat appear at my doorstep.

  Abigail is not yet back from her classes at the university. I pause while preparing dinner for the both of us - Crisp Lemon Calf Liver and Parmesan Crumbled Lamb Brains. As I look out the kitchen window, I see the sun setting over the buildings of Florence, turning the sky above brilliant shades of soft lilac, gentle-toned yellow and fiery orange.

I walk around the small kitchen island and approach the half-moon-shaped window. I lift one hand up into the moonlight that streams down into the dimly lit kitchen. I step close to the window and rest my forehead against the cool pane of glass with a sigh.

“Pearl-Lace…where are you…mano meilė?” I whisper in the silence of the kitchen.

I close my eyes and see Will lying in his hospital bed, still sleeping, looking so small and lost and alone. My eyes had been wet when I turned at last and silently left him behind.

Why hadn’t I taken him with me?

There had been nothing to stop me. I could have easily brought him here to be with Abigail and I, if she had wanted him here.

She has been acting oddly ever since we arrived in Florence. Something is eating away at her. She refuses to tell me what it is; any attempt to coax it out of her always ends with her turning from me with downcast eyes and fleeing to another room.

The sounds of a key turning in the lock and the front door opening drag me out of the memory. I do my best to pull myself together. I walk out of the kitchen, through the sitting room, and into the hallway. Abigail is standing there, but she is not alone. My hackles rise as I see who is with her. The one person who makes my Inner Predator come awake on high alert.

Mr. Coquille.

He is saying something to her. His gaze soon turns straight toward me, however, and it is enough to send me quickly back to the kitchen. I have to lean against the island for support, feeling myself grip the stone edges tightly as my chest heaves in anger.

How dare he?

How dare this….unknown man attempt to influence the young orphan I had taken in after the death of her parents? Will had shot her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs - “The Minnesota Shrike” - sending him flying against the cupboards in that tiny kitchen, his blood splattering onto Will’s face. Abigail lay on the floor, her throat slit by her father. She was nearly drowning in her own blood, Will begging me with his eyes to save her. It was at that moment that I knew Will Graham had to be mine.

I wanted him. Wanted Will to be my equal, and… my lover.

  Asking Mr. Agustuv-Magnus Coquille to stay for dinner is most certainly not my intention. But dear Abigail insists, telling me he is one of her college lecturers, teaching Historical Art and Latin. And hearing that she has enthusiastically praised my cooking skills (“My dad is such an amazing chef! You will love it!”) is a definite stroke to my ego. I allow him to stay.

After a very satisfying meal, Abigail excuses herself to bed (“Big exam tomorrow!”), leaving me alone with Agustuv-Magnus. I clear away the dishes from the dining room table and head to the kitchen to place them in the soapy water of the wash basin. I start washing the fine china plates quietly as he comes in to stand next to me.

He brings his nearly finished glass of ruby red wine to his lips to inhale its scent, a gesture I can’t help but feel is slightly affected. He knocks back the remainder of the wine and places the glass on the polished counter. He wanders slowly out of my field of vision, then I suddenly feel the back of a knuckle stroking down my spine. My back arches slightly at the unexpected touch.

I try to ignore my growing unease as I continue to wash and dry the dishes. I come to the cutlery at the same time his hands touch my sides. I stiffen heavily, gripping a knife under the soapy water. He slides them further down to take hold of my hips, pulling me suddenly back against him. The knife is jolted out of my hand.

If he ever noticed that I was holding a knife in my hand, the fool shows no sign of it. He starts to grind his hips into me from behind in a way that feels like he is… actually penetrating me. My hands shoot out of the water and grip the sink edge for support. I would have collapsed if he were not holding me up.

Gasping in anger, I manage to wrench free. I walk away unsteadily to catch my breath, putting as much distance between us as I can manage. It is as if he is taking up all the oxygen in the room and snuffing it out so there isn’t any left to breathe.

“Get…away from me. Don’t ever….come near me again. Or my daughter,” I snarl at him, panting. He marches up to me and slaps me hard across the cheek, splitting my bottom lip and drawing blood.

He grabs my chin. Fine, manicured nails dig harshly into my cheek, drawing beads of blood. He places his free hand on my hip and yanks me flush against his chest. I glare at him, but I see no emotion in those dead eyes. Only harsh, unforgiving coldness.

A smirk plays across his thin lips. Turning my face by my chin, he leans close and licks the drops of blood from my cheek, then places his lips against my ear. His voice is like the hiss of a snake. Where is my Mongoose?

“With one snap of my fingers, I can easily get rid of your … daughter…by arranging some kind of…accident. Or, you could agree to my terms right now.” Twisting out of his grip, I reach quickly for a sharp knife from the knife block.

“Not happening!” I growl. I bend low to sweep his legs out from under him when a knee slams into my jaw with a force that leaves my teeth rattling. I fall backwards, weakly coughing up blood that splatters onto the polished kitchen floor.

He nearly shattered my jaw by doing what had just did. He will regret that. I bring up a hand and wipe my mouth, smearing the gold-flaked black lipstick with the blood, creating a manic, macabre grimace.

“Harm her and I’ll tear you apart. I don’t care if I’m caught doing it,” I hear myself snarling in Nimue's voice.

Without warning, a bottle of expensive wine slams into the side of my head.

I stumble to one side, falling against the wall and sliding down to the floor. I can feel blood lightly trickling down the side of my temple. He lowers the half-smashed wine bottle, placing it on the kitchen island.

“Such a sad waste of fine vintage wine,” Agustuv-Magnus Coquille muses. He ignores me lying against the wall, still tightly gripping the knife. Using the wall for support, I manage to get to my feet.

This man, who I know nothing about, is decidedly mad, bad, and dangerous to know. I lunge at him, still in a bit of a daze, only for him to grab my wrist and twist my arm behind my back. I cry out harshly at the wrenching pain as he tightens his grip, forcing me to release the knife. It clatters to the floor.

He presses himself against me and grabs me tight around the throat with his free hand, effectively cutting off my oxygen supply. My vision begins to dim, going in and out of focus. He squeezes tighter against the pressure points in my neck.

My eyes flutter rapidly, darkness sweeping in like raven’s wings. I go limp in his grasp, sinking down as my eyes finally slip shut. My last thoughts before losing consciousness are of Abigail… and Will. I remember nothing thereafter.

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Chapter 4: Meeting the Past, Bound in the Present

Summary:

Pearl-Lace receives care and kindness from someone in their previous life. Hannibal navigates dangerous territory with Mr. Coquille.

Translation of the nursery rhyme according to Google Translate: “A man stands quite still and silent in the forest, he has a mantle of pure purple….”

Chapter Text

Pearl-Lace/Will Graham’s P.O.V.

“Here… drink this.”

I’m handed a warm mug of something sweet and hot by the strange woman called…Alana Bloom….while I sit in the living room of her apartment, wearing some fresh new clothes she had bought for me.

She had been reluctant at first to buy me feminine clothes. Yet here I am sitting in her armchair wearing a black off-the-shoulder top, white jeans with a rose pattern stenciled onto them, and feathery earrings with little white teardrops attached to them in my ears .

Bringing the mug to my lips, I take a sip of the warm tea with honey, feeling it soothe me for now. And yet, every cell in my body yearns to leave to find the Chesapeake Ripper.

“I need a favor. Can you….explain to me what is this accident I had, that the nurse at the hospital mentioned to me?” I ask Alana. She nearly drops her own teacup at those words. She takes a deep breath and walks over to the armchair across from me.

“What do you remember? Anything?” she asks as she sits, curious about my answer. Holding the warm mug with both hands, she crosses one leg over the other, her eyes keen yet apprehensive.

“Just fragments, which are like…shards of glass tinkling all around me and I can’t put them back together again,” I reply, circling the rim of the mug with a lacquered blue and lime green nail. I can’t help but notice how she seems to be edgy and nervous in my presence.

What is frightening her?

“Oh….I see. Is there anything else you need?” she asks, avoiding my question. I place the mug down on the little table next to the armchair. I see there a vase filled with flowers - sweet smelling buddleia, honeysuckle and heather. I reach out and gently brush some of the blossoms with my fingertips.

The delicate umbels of the tiny flowers bunched together look so fragile, easily broken. I softly pick one of the flowers from the vase, then stand and walk to the window to sit on the window ledge. I can feel Alana’s eyes follow me.

A gentle breeze is blowing through the open window, making the light yellow and orange curtains billow back and forth like sails in the wind. I slowly pick the little flowers from the stem and allow them to be wafted out of my hand into the soft breeze.

  Hannibal’s P.O.V.

“Ein Mannlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm, Es hat von lauter Purpur ein Mantlein um….”

A whisper of a nursery rhyme I had once sung to Mischa when she had been alive makes me snap my eyes open, revealing Augustuv-Magnus Coquille sitting in a high-backed dark green leather armchair with oak arm rests. His gaze behind the pince-nez is cold and calculating, and focused entirely on me. He is idly tapping a long light sabre-style device that glows a faint neon purple against the side of the chair.

I try to move, only to gasp and wince at the agony that shoots through my entire body, radiating from my shoulders, neck and spine.  

As I become more fully conscious, I realize that my arms are stretched above my head, and I am chained to the ceiling of an unknown room by leather cuffs attached to my wrists. My feet barely touch the floor, and save for my black silk lace knickers, I am naked. My neck, torso and groin are encircled and bound in rope, in the style of Japanese rope bondage or shibari.

“Where is Abigail?" I manage to croak, my breath ragged and my glare murderous. "I will skin you alive if you have harmed her.”

Coquille rises languidly from his chair and strolls over to me, tapping the long glass tube against his thigh. “Ah, you’re awake,” he drawls. “Have no fear, she is still sound asleep in her bed in your apartment, just as we left her. This little matter is between you and I.” A switch is flipped somewhere on his person, and the device glows a deeper purple. He waves it before my face. “Are you familiar with the violet wand?”

I have heard of it, and I know what it does. I remain silent, merely nodding once. The murderous glare, however, remains.

“Ah. Well, this little beauty is going to accompany and enhance our conversation this evening. Also, you may be be interested to learn that this,” he swirls the wand slowly around me, “all of it, is specially constructed, electrically conductive rope.” He brings the wand closer to a portion of rope around my chest, looking at me as if daring me to stop him. My heart is beginning to race, but whether from fear or anticipation is difficult to tell. I hold his gaze as he very gently strokes the wand against the rope. A shock pulses through my chest and travels up my arms, making them jerk as I cry out. Coquille turns away with a chuckle. “Oh yes, this is going to be a very interesting conversation!”

“What do you want, Coquille?” My breath is steadying and my voice is becoming stronger, now that I know what I am up against. “What is all this nonsense about? Who are you?”

I cannot see him now for he has walked behind me, and it is too painful for me to turn my neck. I can hear a hum as if he is considering a thought. “Do you recall a man from your youth? A man by the name of… Vladimir Grutas?” I hear the crackle of the wand as it travels the rope down my back. I am not sure what makes me jerk and writhe more - the shock, or the mention of that man’s name.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” I pant. Another hum from Coquille as he slowly walks around in front of me again. “How do you… what is this?” I am sweating now as the wand hovers close to the ropes down and across my abdomen. He brings his eyes to mine, and I am starting to see an ember of anger in them.

“And do you recall what took place between Grutas and yourself? And why?” The wand meets the ropes at last, Coquille pressing in harder this time. The pain is almost unbearable, causing my body to sag against the restraints. My arms feel as though they may separate from my shoulders. Sweating, grimacing and twitching, I meet Coquille’s gaze once more. The hardness of it is infuriating and…fascinating. My voice rough, I tell him exactly what he wants to hear. I mince no words.

“I seduced him, I killed him and I ate him. He was one of the men who killed my… my sister Mischa. He forced… he forced me to eat her flesh. I figured… it was the least he deserved.” In spite of the pain, or perhaps encouraged by it, my mouth cannot help but turn up in a crooked teeth-baring smile. It was, indeed, the very least the pig had coming to him.

Coquille is silent as a stone. His gaze is still nothing but cold anger. After a moment he seems to remember himself, shaking his head as if to clear it. He begins to tap the wand here and there on the ropes in a seemingly casual manner, looking down his nose as I twitch and jerk. The taps send shocks of varying degrees all over that, I confess, I am beginning to enjoy. While doing this he asks, “Do you perhaps also recall a young boy on the premises, about your age? Thin, blonde hair, glasses? He saw you leading Grutas off to that empty field, promising him - well, God knows what. Do you remember seeing him?”

The combination of the memory of killing Grutas, the shocks from the wand, and Coquille’s silky voice are proving to be too much for my overloaded nervous system. I hang my head down and close my eyes in an attempt to lessen the sensations. When I open my eyes again, I see my cock erect and hard, straining against the black lace panties. I raise my head and meet Coquille’s glare with no shame. “I vaguely remember, yes. I didn’t get a good look at the boy, my mind was elsewhere. Who… who was he?” My voice catches as I begin to realize where this was going. Is it true? Can it be true?

With a grimace, Coquille increases the power on the wand, kneels down and stares at the hard outline of my cock inside the panties. “The boy was I, Dr. Lecter.” The wand hits the rope over my cock and I convulse with a roar. When I raise my head again, I catch a glimpse of Coquille rolling the wand with both hands up and down over my aching, twitching cock, pressing in hard. My addled mind imagines him rolling out pastry dough with a rolling pin.

My entire body is bathed in sweat. There are more convulsions, more exclamations of pain and rage (and yes, I admit, a tiny bit of pleasure). Black spots begin to dance before my eyes. Just before I lose consciousness, Coquille looks up at me.

“You see, Dr. Lecter, Vladimir Grutas was my father.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am beginning to regain consciousness, my vision dark, my limbs sluggish. My entire body aches, but I realize I am no longer chained to the ceiling. As the fog clears from my brain, I find I am lying on my back in a large, luxurious bed. I still cannot see anything, even though my eyes are open. I move my head around slightly, wincing with the pain, and feel some kind of cloth tied over my eyes and behind my head. My arms are at my side, but when I try to lift them, I find they are tied by my wrists on both sides to something that is holding them down. The mattress dips as someone lies down, close to my side. A hand softly strokes my hair and my cheek, and I hear a silky, snaky voice that makes my stomach drop in disgust and dread.

“Ahh, there you are, my dear. You have returned to me. You are so lovely, my darling Nimue. So very lovely. I am the luckiest man in the world, do you know that? You are soon to be mine, precious one. All mine.”

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Chapter 5: A Trip to Florence, Paths Converging

Summary:

Pearl-Lace accompanies the Vergers and Alana Bloom on a business trip to Florence.

More memory fragments present themselves during a sexual encounter. Pearl-Lace meets Anthony Dimmond and they discuss Nimue.

Meanwhile, Mr. Coquille has forced Hannibal/Nimue into an unfortunate situation.

Chapter Text

Pearl-Lace/Will’s P.O.V.

Watching the runway of the Baltimore airport slowly recede as the large private charter jet leaves it behind, I turn my gaze away from the window to look at Alana’s friend Margot Verger sitting across from me. Her brother Mason sits across from her, plotting his next move as they play Battleship. We are on our way to Florence, Italy. Alana is napping nearby in her seat; Margot throws an occasional affectionate glance her way.

Mason Verger is a vile sticky-up little man. It is obvious to me just from the way he acts around people, and especially from the hateful way he treats Margot. Winston, sadly, is in a crate in the hold below, as animals are not allowed in the main cabin. Deciding I need a drink, I rise from my seat.

I walk over to the bar and pour a couple fingers of whisky into a tumbler, followed by the clink of ice-cubes into the amber liquid. I stop to wonder what had made me pour this particular type of drink. Sighing softly, I take it with me back to my seat. Mason flicks his gaze up to me and, before I can protest, grabs hold of me by my hips and pulls me down onto his lap, causing me to nearly spill the drink. I place it down carefully next to the Battleship board with a playful huff.

“Mr. Verger, would you mind letting me up, please?” I ask, forcing myself to flirt. He chuckles lightly and grins, placing a hand on my thigh and slipping it upwards beneath my long black skirt.

Placing my hand over his, I manage to stop him from going any further. Yet he is so insistent that I decide to use it to my advantage. I slide off his lap and saunter down the aisle to the sleeping area, glancing coquettishly over my shoulder at him. He stares for a moment, then says something to Margot, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He rises from his seat and smooths down his suit.

“You know, in your get-up, Pearl, sweetheart? You look delightful wearing what you do.”

Mason purrs in my ear as soon as we are in his sleeping cabin, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back flush against his chest. His hand is back on my thigh, sliding up under the skirt to cup me through my lace knickers. He turns me around, pushing me back towards the bed, stripping off his suit jacket and tie.

I fall onto it and he follows me, crawling over me with an eager grin. Never breaking his gaze, I reach one hand into the chest of drawers near the bed and retrieve a condom packet. I playfully dangle it in front of his face, and he pouts and sighs. Reluctantly he sits up to tear the packet open, grumbling non-stop. I unbuckle his belt, looking up at him coyly from beneath my lashes. He eagerly takes care of the rest and is soon nude from the waist down. He rolls the condom onto his stiff cock as I roll up my skirt to expose the Sinful Delight lace thongs attached to tights with black ribbons. Pulling the lace to one side, I allow him to push his hips forwards into mine.

Mason flips onto his back and takes me with him. He grabs hold of the lace thongs, ripping them to shreds and tossing them unceremoniously to the far side of the room like so much garbage. I stare at him incredulously, ready to start a fight. He merely places his hands behind his head with a smug look, thrusting his hips up and down, indicating I ride him.

I fetch the lube from the same drawer and apply it generously to his sheathed cock, kneeling between his thighs and smiling seductively. I must be a very good actor, for on the inside I am feeling close to murder. I straddle him and reach behind to slick some lube between my cheeks. Smirking, I place my hands on his chest, nails painted crimson with silver ferns. I lift my hips up, reaching back to grasp his condom-covered cock and guide it to where it needs to go. Slowly I slide myself down onto him, closing my eyes and lolling my head back with a feigned sigh of ecstasy (play it up good, he will love it). His hands squeeze my hips and ass and he stares at me with a lusty grin as we get a good rhythm going. Again I close my eyes and toss my head back as he meets each of my downward thrusts with an upward thrust of his own. Soon I’m not faking a thing. It’s starting to feel very, very good, but it is not Mason beneath me…

My body gradually stills and Mason frowns up at me. My head snaps back up and I stare down at him. Fragments of memory are flashing before my eyes, starting up like an old film reel. Without a word I slip his cock out of me, scramble off the bed and make my way to the bathroom. Mason watches me indignantly, shouting something I don’t hear. I close the door, sit on the toilet seat and let the memories overtake me.

Sunlight filtering through a curtain.

Dogs lolling in a garden.

Maroon eyes and a soft whisper of “I want to make love to you. May I?” A voice purrs in reply, “Come here, H…i…bal.”

Walking seven dogs in dappled sunlight, a kiss shared and arms wrapped around each other.

I slowly come out of this second fractured memory. In a daze I rise, open the door, and rejoin Mason on the bed. He is, to put it mildly, not happy, grumbling something I can’t hear. He grabs me roughly, pulling me back onto his lap. I manage to mutter an apology. Then comes the tedious business of sorting the condom for a new one, lubing ourselves up again, lowering myself onto his cock again. I go through the motions, my body present but my mind elsewhere. He grunts slightly and rolls me over onto my back. He starts thrusting hard, jolting my body up and down and burying his face in the crook of my neck. Yet I’m not even thinking about what he is doing to me with his pig-like rutting.

I’m thinking of something else. Turning my face to one side on the stark white pillow, I wonder if my imagination is beginning to blur with my reality. A creature of black ochre and unseeing eyes of white is watching me being taken as it crouches in the shadows, waiting. My body tenses beneath Mason, eyelids rapidly fluttering as I gasp breathlessly.

I can hear him groan heavily as I drag my nails down the man’s back and clench my thighs tightly around his waist. The creature is still watching.

“Ripper…" I whisper as I come.

After landing in Florence and deplaning the private jet, we go straight to the hotel - The Courting Muse . Mason had insisted I share a room with him. We are in the large bedroom, jet-lagged and attempting to unpack.

"So… who's Ripper?”

“Just….someone I met a long time ago.”

Mason gives a small "Hmm" upon hearing my answer, stabbing out his cigarette into an ashtray on the bedside table as he sits up against the mound of pillows on the hotel bed. He watches me as I calmly change into some new feminine clothes Margot had given me - ones she didn’t wear anymore or had never worn before. I check to ensure the corset is not too tight and smooth the tights so they don’t crinkle, then turn to see he has gotten off the bed.

He heads over to the wardrobe, reaching in to bring out three dresses - a long ruffled black one, with a group of silver fish swimming around and around up to the v-neck, where they split apart to flow over the shoulders of the dress; another one which laces at the back and flares out slightly like a ballgown; and finally, an emerald ribbed dress with stenciled black ivy.

I walk over to him, reaching out for one dress, only to change my mind. I choose the v-necked one with the fish, taking it off the hanger and slipping it on. Mason places the others back into the wardrobe and turns to me with an appreciative eye.

Smoothing the dress down over my chest and hips, I look at myself in the mirror and am pleased with what I see. My hair is neatly shaved on one side, while the rest is slicked to hang down the other side of my face; light sea blue-green feathered earrings sway from my ears; and lilac lipstick outlining my lips completes the transformation. I can hear the faint strains of Bizet - Habanera - starting to play in my mind.

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

My back arches off the silk sheets of the large king size bed as my orgasm subsides and my breath slows. Augustuv-Magnus Coquille rolls off of me, panting, sweating, and satisfied. I can feel him turn onto his side and caress my lips with his thumb. I am still blindfolded and bound. To my immense shame I begin to whimper pitifully, tilting my head back on the pillows as tears run down my cheeks and onto the sheets.

“Ahhh…sweetheart….don’t cry. Don’t cry,” I hear him whisper soothingly in my ear. He reaches behind my head to untie the blindfold. I see him looking down at me with possessiveness in his eyes.

I turn my face away from his gaze, wishing my beloved Mongoose, my sweet Pearl-Lace, mano mylimasis, was here to rid me of this snake who traps me by wrapping its body around me and constricting me in its embrace.

“There is something I want to show you. Will you behave, Nimue, my sweet?” he asks me, gently grasping my chin and turning my face toward him. Knowing what will happen if I disobey, I nod silently, and he smiles.

————————————-

The black long-sleeved dress with a ruffled lace collar that rises to my neck, adorned with a large fiery opal, accentuates my figure, while two splits near the hem allow me to move my thighs. Underneath it, I am wearing crimson and black rose-patterned thongs and clip-on tights that rise above the knee. They are embellished with lace ruffles in the shape of ornate roses of crimson and black.

I lift up my head to look at myself in the large mirror, revealing the red wedding veil he has placed over my face. His hands touch my shoulders, and he places his lips against my ear.

“It suits you.”

At those words I feel the formation of a solitary teardrop. It runs down my cheek to drip onto the wooden floor, forming a small sad puddle.

  14 DAYS LATER

Location - Florence, Italy - The Courting Muse Hotel

Pearl-Lace’s P.O.V.

Mr. Anthony Dimmond - a poet at heart and a kind-hearted soul - had been introduced to me by Margot and Alana when we had both come downstairs to the large dining hall of the hotel - The Courting Muse . I now sit with him at a round table in the hall, talking about a person he had met called Nimue, who I suspect has some connection to the Ripper.

They had fallen in love, but he soon discovered that Nimue had since been married to the prominent club owner Mr. Agustuv-Magnus Coquille. He had only been able to see them from afar, sadly watching them stand unhappily next to that snake of a man. A part of me wants to find this person and try to get some answers from them.

Sighing softly, I bring the glass of wine up to my lips. I stop suddenly when I hear Anthony give a broken whisper of  “Nimue!?” Following Anthony’s startled gaze, I turn my head and see them descending the staircase in a black lace dress adorned with golden swirls, with matching gloves. Around their throat is an ornate choker with fiery gems shaped like snake’s eyes. I look also at the man who accompanies them.

Anthony starts to get up, but I place my hand on his arm, shaking my head with a warning glance. He reluctantly sits back down. The man is no doubt Mr. Augustuv-Magnus Coquille. He has slicked back ash blonde hair and wears gold-rimmed pince-nez glasses. There is a ring on his left ring finger, as there is on Nimue’s. Nimue does not look in our direction, and in fact keeps their eyes downcast, looking at nothing and no one.

Anthony is bristling next to me, obviously longing to get up and confront the man who has stolen his beloved. I place a hand gently over his. He turns his face to look at me, and calmly I lean forward to nuzzle affectionately against his cheek. I am fully aware that Mr. Coquille is watching us out of the corner of his eye. I am wagering that my little performance fools him into thinking I am Anthony’s new beau or lover.

“Darling, I’m starving. Shall we order?” I ask Anthony, who summons a waiter. At the same time, another waiter arrives at Mr. Coquille’s table. We allow Margot to place the orders. She is slightly more relaxed lately as her brother Mason is away on business, acquiring new stock for Verger Farms.

Alana, it seems, has gone rather pale and is starting to tremble. She politely excuses herself, saying "I feel a headache coming on. I think I’ll return to our room and rest for a while.“ With a quick reassurance to Margot, who grasps her hand with concern, Alana heads up the staircase and disappears from sight.

"You know, I don’t think it is coincidence that he is here with Nimue. He just wants to show me I can’t go near them at all," Anthony whispers, making it look to our fellow diners - especially Mr. Coquille - like he might be whispering something sultry into my ear.

"Darling, I thought we agreed to wait until after we have something to eat. God, you are incorrigible!” I say with a grin, loud enough for the prying ears of Mr. Coquille to hear. I lean close and whisper back: "If he has harmed Nimue, I won’t regret gutting him or even finding a way to get rid of him by using Mason’s pigs.“ I kiss his cheek lightly, enjoying our performance, as our dinner finally arrives.

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Chapter 6: A Life Ruined, a Life Saved, a Life Lost?

Summary:

Hannibal dreams of Will while being taken by Coquille. He sees Anthony and Will in the hotel dining hall, and runs away in shock. Anthony pursues him.

Chapter Text

Hannibal’s P.O.V:

"Ahh, there you are, my dear. You have returned to me. You are so lovely, my darling Nimue. So very lovely. I am the luckiest man in the world, do you know that? You are soon to be mine, precious one. All mine.”

There is a blindfold over my eyes, and my hands are tied by my wrists to the sides of the bed. I am naked. My body aches from the torture it has endured from Coquille’s violet wand. I am weary, but I crave some kind of relief, some kind of rest. I feel his lips and tongue greedily travel over my skin - lips, neck, throat. Down my chest, encircling and biting my nipples, down to my abdomen. His hands caress and stroke me, his touch surprisingly gentle.

I find myself grateful for the blindfold. It provides me with a means of surviving this ordeal. It allows me to imagine that it is not Coquille doing these things to my body, but… Will. My beloved Pearl-Lace. He has become my salvation and my refuge.

My cock is still embarrassingly erect, and I feel his tongue glide up its length as if he were licking an ice cream cone, while a hand caresses my balls. His soft moans of pleasure vibrate through my groin as he slowly slides his mouth over my hard length, taking it all down until I can feel the head bump against the back of his throat. He swallows several times, throat muscles contracting around my cock and causing a deep moan to escape my lips. Oh, Will. Will, you are amazing, my darling. That feels so nice.

Several minutes pass as I revel in Will’s skillful mouth and tongue. My arms strain against their bonds; I wish I could run my hands through his beautiful curls. I thrust gently into his mouth as my lips soundlessly form him name.

Without warning his mouth slides off me with a final swirl of his tongue. I am bereft, but not for long. His hands spread my thighs wide, and I hear the snick of a bottle of lube being opened. A hand slips between my ass cheeks and I flinch at the sudden coolness of the liquid as it is swirled around the rim of my anus. I gasp as a finger slips inside teasingly for a moment. His other hand, also wet with lube, strokes my aching cock several times as I begin to whimper in anticipation. A low voice murmurs endearments all the while. It is Will’s voice.

At last, both strong hands slide up the backs of my thighs, under my knees, and wrap one leg around his waist and the other onto his shoulder. “Are you ready for me, my angel?” a voice purrs. Will’s voice. Oh God, Will. Yes, my love. Take me. Make me yours forever.

“Yes” is all I can say. With a sigh he pushes his pelvis forward, and I can feel his slicked-up cock slowly breach my rim and slide into my body. I feel his hands all over my torso as he begins to thrust. I want to sing. Will. Will! I love you so much, my pearl. I am in heaven.

It does not take long for the passion to build. The sounds of flesh slapping upon flesh, grunts, moans, groans and gasps fill the air. I can picture Will above me, his head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, sweat in his lovely hair and on his beautiful body, my name on his lips. It is enough to push me over that glorious edge, and I come like a tidal wave, roaring my ecstasy into the void. My cock is trapped between our bodies, white pearls - pearls! - shooting out onto my sweating skin. I don’t quite remember why I shouldn’t, but it takes every ounce of willpower I possess to refrain from shouting his name.

Will! Will!! Oh God, WILL!!!!

Moments later, my mind beginning to clear, I am flung most rudely back to earth. The man above me is gripping my shoulders, hard enough to bruise. He is ramming himself into me with brutal force. I feel his foul breath on my face, his sticky, clammy body against me. He is cumming, filling me with the sickly warmth of his seed, at the same time moaning lustily.

“NIMUE….SWEET NIMUE!!!!”

The spell is broken. The illusion is gone, snuffed out like a candle flame. Will is not here. He never was here. There is only him. My heart shatters into countless jagged pieces, and I am alone.

  “Sweetheart, is something wrong? You look pale.”

I lift my head to look at Augustuv-Magnus Coquille - my husband. He had forced me to marry him the night he had claimed my body so thoroughly, so that I knew I belonged to him and no one else. Taking a napkin folded into the shape of a swan, I unfold it and smooth it over my lap.

“I’m fine,” I reply, knowing my answer has not convinced him. I continue to smooth out the napkin as the waiter arrives, another waiter approaching the table across from us at the same time.

Something about the group of people there makes me turn my head to look at them.

Time seems to stand still. Every sound in the crowded dining hall fades away except the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Is it… can it possibly be…..Will!!!?….in his Pearl-Lace persona? My love, my darling, my fallen angel?

Anthony Dimmond is seated next to him; they appear to be engaged in flirtatious conversation. Apparently I rise from my chair - I have no memory of doing so - for dimly I can hear Agustuv- Magnus inquire “Nimue, darling? What’s wrong?"  I make an attempt to answer, but no words are forthcoming.

I cannot speak. Trembling with the shock of seeing him here in Florence with Margot Verger, I turn to run out of the large hotel dining hall, passing people coming in from the tennis courts down below the large veranda. I knock over a waiter carrying a tray of drinks to a family enjoying the sun streaming down upon the veranda, amid exclamations of "Good gracious!” or “Signora, are you all right?"  I continue to run, barely registering the chaos.

I stumble down the flight of stone steps, nearly knocking over a couple coming up.

Blindly I run toward the cliff-face path. I am not in control of myself. My world seems to be shattering like a fine china teacup that has been dropped from a great height, dashing itself to a million tiny fragments.

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

"NIMUE!?”

I leap to my feet and pursue them as they race heedlessly from the dining hall. I barely register Will standing and calling after me in concern. I follow Nimue outside, momentarily losing sight of them, shouting their name desperately. At last I see their figure in the far distance, wearing the beautiful black lace dress with golden swirls upon it that I remember so well from that first night back in Baltimore, seemingly a lifetime ago.

They are standing at the very edge of one of the tall sea cliffs close to the hotel, the wind whipping the dress about in its grasp. I almost stumble in my running towards them and yet, my heart is furiously pounding in my ears and my mind is screaming  Reach them!!! Reach them!!!

Hannibal’s P.O.V:

“NIMUE!?”

A voice shouting my name from afar makes me slowly turn my head to see a figure running towards me. Stepping back from the sea cliff edge, I wait until they reach me. I see it is Anthony, panting heavily from running down the path to the sea cliffs. He bends over, hands on his knees to catch his breath, then wiping his mouth he stands up straight.

“Nimue….don’t be a fool. Your life is worth so much more than to be thrown away like this,” he implores, stepping closer to me. I step backward, sending some pebbles skittering off the cliff edge to fall down into the crashing waves.

“You…..think I don’t know that?” I ask, only mouthing the words because I can’t say them out loud. He steps even closer as I shake my head from side to side, trying to stop him.

Suddenly I slip on the moist ground and find myself falling backward into empty air. I feel a jolt, then a slight pained grunt coming from Anthony. Lifting my head slightly, I see he has managed to get us halfway back onto the cliff, gripping me tightly with one hand digging into the bare earth.

He manages to fling me up onto the cliff, my body rolling slightly onto the path. I watch him lift his head to look at me - gentle, soft eyes filled with love for me. He weakly smiles, letting go of the earth he has dug his hand into. With a gasp and a cry, I scramble upward and reach out for him. But it is too late. I watch him falling in slow motion down into the roaring white waves.

Just before he falls, our fingertips brush against each other. His beautiful patterned scarf flies up in the strong wind and lands beside me on the ground. I pull myself away from the edge, picking up the scarf with trembling fingers. I sit on the ground hunched over, trying to curl in on myself and disappear. I can feel thick, heavy tears squeeze from my eyes and run down my cheeks, glittering in the light of the setting sun.

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Chapter 7: Reunions, Interrupted

Summary:

“Where sorrowing they weep in the stream forever. Each tear as it falls shines in the water. A glistening drop of amber.” from Ovid's Metamorphoses

Chapter Text

 14 DAYS LATER

The still body of a man floats slowly down a shaded river until it comes to rest in the long, large roots of entwined poplar trees, their leaves murmuring over the bank of an unknown river. The cool light of dawn streaming through the canopy of the poplar trees reveals it is Anthony Dimmond.

Blood trickles lightly into the water from a wound on his forehead, causing little amber swirls to spread outward in the clear light blue water. A soft pained moan escapes from his lips, hands twitching weakly. Suddenly a shadow covers him. Strong hands slip under his body, lifting him out of the water.

Cradling him in their arms.

His head lolls into a warm chest as he sinks into unconsciousness. He remembers nothing thereafter.

———————————————————————–

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

The English Cemetery, Florence.

Black stone-carved statues in paroxysms of death-like ecstasy line the long pathway as I walk down to the temple, wearing a long black funeral dress and veil. Coming to a stop, I see in the distance Anthony’s remaining relatives gathered around an open grave as a coffin is lowered into the ground.

Detective Pazzi of La Poliza had discovered a body near a river named for the river mentioned in the story of Phaethon and the tears of the Heliades. I remember Pazzi well from my youth when I had killed here in Florence, becoming Il Mostro di Firenze and seducing my prey through my Nimue persona. I had gone under a different name at the time - Mariska Undine Dvaras.

In my lace-gloved hands I hold a bouquet of the flowers Geranium phaeum ,or Mourning Widow flowers. Although I am not Anthony’s widow, I am grieving as though I were. Next to me in the round temple in which I stand, close to the archway, is a black marble statue of a woman with a skeleton ripping itself out of her body, holding its bony hands out to a shrouded angel with spreading wings.

Sunlight filters down from the ocular window above, adorned with rose patterns. Shadows in jewel-like tones of crimson, soft yellow, warm orange and lime green are thrown onto the floor of the temple area attached to the long pathway.

Anthony’s relatives have left, but I remain standing quietly in the temple. After a time I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see….Will. He is standing there wearing a suit, looking like his regular self. I can see, though, that he is still wearing earrings, and this time his lips are covered in Apple-Kiss Bon lipstick. I turn to fully face him and we just stare into one another’s eyes for - well, who knows how long. He is still the most beautiful human being I have ever seen. I wait for him to speak.

“I…..remember…..I remember,” he starts to say, causing my heart rate to speed up. I step closer to him until he suddenly grabs hold of my arms and pulls me flush against him.

The funeral veil around my face is ripped off and flung to one side.

Discarded.

Outside I hear thunder suddenly cracking, booming overhead. A deluge of rain soon begins to fall as he takes my lace-gloved hand in his.

“Come with me.”

“Where else would I go?”

“Haan…I love you.”

“I… I love you as well, mylimasis.”

Pearl-Lace/Will’s P.O.V.

I hold one of Nimue’s - Hannibal’s - lace-gloved hands in mine as we run through the graveyard, passing the many tombstones that line the path. We head toward the river, where there is an old boat house hidden by the hedera helix that grows upon it, and four large weeping willows with branches entwined in and out of the ground.

Everything had come back - the fractured memories of the accident, as it had been called by Alana, who had been the one leading Hannibal into a snare, stabbing me out of jealousy when she had seen me as Pearl-Lace ;and of Abigail, who had pushed me out of the window.

I worry that if I tell Hannibal what Abigail had done, our reunion will undoubtedly be spoiled. I put it out of my mind for now and take him to the door of the boat house. Smiling back at Hannibal, I push it open and lead him into the warm, welcoming interior. Sitting on a chaise lounge with a bandage wrapped around his head, nursing a tumbler of brandy, is Anthony, who smiles softly at the sight of us.

“An….Anthony!!? You’re alive!!?” Hannibal gasps, voice breaking with emotion. He rushes to make sure that what he sees before him isn’t an illusion. Anthony takes hold of his black lace-gloved hands, kissing the palms of them gently while inhaling the sweet perfume he wears - Nightshade Bloom, which I recognise as one of the perfumes I had seen in the luxurious bathroom in his house back in Baltimore.

Hannibal turns his face to gaze lovingly at me over his shoulder and holds out one of his hands to me, indicating I should join them. I lock the door first and pull the window curtains closed. Smiling, I walk over and sit next to him. Hannibal takes my hand as he sits between Anthony and myself on the chaise lounge. He leans in close to kiss me - or he would have, if it hadn’t been for the window suddenly shattering into pieces with a loud bang.

I look down in shock and see a smoke-gas canister has landed on the floor. Before I can gather my wits it explodes, completely filling the room with white smoke.

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Chapter 8: Love and Memories in Thassos

Summary:

VintageFloof sez: I’m sure there will be an explanation forthcoming regarding what happened at the end of the last chapter. But let’s forget that now and join our threesome in a hidden cove in the blue, blue waters of the Aegean Sea near the Greek island of Thassos! (in other words: I have no clue what’s going on! :D)

Chapter Text

Location - Hidden Cove near the Island of Thassos - Late afternoon

The sailboat bearing red sails lies anchored near a hidden cove in the clear blue ocean. A golden retriever lopes up the stairs from below decks and heads over to a person lying on a towel on their stomach, as another person sits next to them reading through Ovid's Metamorphoses. The dog flops down between them both, nudging the person lying on the towel.

 Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

I hear Will, lying next to me on the large towel, give a small, pleased “Hmm, hey Winston, old boy," scratching said dog between the ears. A splashing sound makes me turn my head to watch Hannibal coming up the rung ladder on the side of the boat, covered in droplets of sea water which run down to the narrowing of his hips and naked body.

"The water is fine if you both wish to join me,” he says, coming over to lay down on his back next to me on the towel. Bookmarking the page I was reading, I place the book to one side as I lay down, looking up at the light blue sky spread with wispy smoke-like clouds.

“Any excuse to get us to go skinny dipping, hey Anthony?” Will chuckles. I don’t really hear him as I’m thinking about something else.

“Hmm, what? Sorry, yeah….I wouldn’t mind taking a swim. Maybe later, I need to sort some things out at the moment,” I reply, sighing heavily. Hannibal rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. He places a hand on my chest, stopping me from sitting up.

“Anthony, what’s wrong? Tell us,” Hannibal insists in his Nimue voice. I go to open my mouth, and yet the bloody words won’t come out.

Cursing in my own native language - Greek - I get up, leaving them both to watch me go and try to figure out what is bothering me. I head down the stairs into the lower levels of the sailboat.

  Inside the shared sleeping cabin’s shower, I lower my head and feel the lukewarm water pounding on my back, washing away the sweat, grime and filth that has accumulated on my body. I am remembering another time, another place.

A little boy runs through a meadow of tall swaying grass, holding in his arms a small injured orphaned fawn. He continues on into the shrouded woodland where he follows a secret path to a tall towering giant sequoia, or Giant Redwood.

There is a large hollow in the tree. Going inside with the fawn, the little boy gently lays it down among a bed of leaves. He looks around and finds the battered tin filled with bandages, antiseptic wipes and plasters.

Slowly and gently, he starts to tend to the little fawn’s injuries. The fawn stays patient and still because they feel no threat from the child. Smiling softly, the little boy sits back to admire his good deed for the day.

“ANTHONY!!!”

The smile turns to panic. He makes sure the little fawn is well hidden, then clambers out of the hollow. He places branches over it to cover it from prying eyes, then runs back down the secret path and through the meadow of swaying grass, just as thunder booms overhead.

  Something is wrong.

Anthony sees the lightning flashing in the distance and trembles. He is worrying about the little fawn. He gets out of bed, throwing on some clothes and fetching a blanket from the linen cupboard.

  Running down the secret path, he comes to the hollow of the giant sequoia. He anxiously pulls the branches back to reveal the little fawn, who lifts their head up to look at him. Smiling, he wraps the blanket around them.

  After lighting a fire in the hearth of the fireplace in his bedroom, Anthony watches Pepilo - his little chow puppy - sniff curiously at the little fawn and lick softly at its nose. The fawn wrinkles their nose and sneezes, then nuzzles up against the puppy, who accepts his newfound friend.

  Days pass by. The little fawn is recovering and playing with the chow as Anthony writes poems inspired by the sight of them playing together. Sunlight filters down through the canopy of the large oak tree, where new leaves are starting their flush of growth. A heron wades into the stream looking for fish, while the little boy enjoys the company of his only friends.

  Coming out of the memory, I reach up with one hand to switch the shower off. It is silent except for the water running off my back to drip into the remaining water now swirling down the drain in a small whirlpool. The shower door opening causes me to remain still. I soon feel hands wrap around my waist to pull me back against a warm, muscular chest.

I turn around in Will’s arms and place my arms around his neck. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, feeling him switch the shower back on again so the water rains down on us both. Pulling back slightly, I look into sea blue-green eyes, and they look lovingly into mine.

My heart rate speeds up slightly. I rest my forehead against his. Licking my lips to wet them, I place them against his to test his reaction, only for him to smash his lips into mine with a moan. Will lifts me up against the tiled wall, and I wrap my thighs around his waist.

He deepens our kiss, turning his face this way and that, as our tongues entwine inside and outside our mouths. I release his lips to give a hitched, breathless gasp when he suddenly pushes his hips upward, sliding his cock into my somehow….well-lubricated….puckered entrance. It feels like something very close to heaven. I soon feel him fully sheathed within me.

My head tilts backward, one hand grasping Will’s shoulder and the other taking hold of the back of his head, sifting through his wet, curly locks. I feel him penetrating me so deeply, and I gasp with the pleasure of it. But the sly devil leaves me no time to adjust, starting to thrust his hips forward and back as he lifts me up and down at the same time.

Breathless moans, soft cries of pleasure and ecstasy fill the steamed-up shower cubicle. Will bends his head down to the crook of my neck, trailing his warm, moist lips up and down - licking, biting and sucking marks into my pale skin - then grabs one of my thighs to hold in the crook of his elbow, spreading me wider apart.

Everything soon dissolves into something I cannot yet explain. 

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Chapter 9: The Long Arms of the Law

Summary:

Jack Crawford arrives in Florence at the behest of Mr. Coquille, who asks him to take on an important task. Detective Pazzi makes a startling discovery and suspects the return of an old rival. Meanwhile, Abigail betrays the whereabouts of Will, Hannibal and Anthony to Mr. Coquille.

Chapter Text

Mr. Agustuv-Magnus Coquille sits at a small table in the outdoor cafe of his exclusive establishment, the Firenze Masquerade Club, as the sun shines down upon him and the other patrons enjoying a midday break. He, however, does not have the look of a man enjoying anything much at all at the moment. He holds a thin black clove cigarette in one hand, a cup of espresso in the other. Alternating between drags on the cigarette and sips of the coffee, he appears worried and more than a little incensed. After a few minutes he checks his watch, sighs, and seems about to rise from his chair and depart when an imposing shadow falls over the table.

“Mr. Coquille, I presume,” says a strong, no-nonsense voice. “I’m Agent Jack Crawford. My apologizes for being a bit late; taxis are almost impossible to find at this hour.”

Coquille rises and shakes Jack’s extended hand gratefully. “Not a problem, Agent Crawford. Thank you so much for coming; I realize this is quite an imposition on your time. Please, sit down. Can I get you something, coffee, tea?”

Jack, a bit jet-lagged, eyes Coquille’s tiny espresso cup and grins. “A very large mug of your most caffeinated black coffee would be most welcome.”

Coquille signals to a passing waiter. “Una grande tazza di caffè nero per Signore Crawford, per favore.”

As the waiter hurries off, Jack and Coquille settle into their chairs. Coquille folds his hands on the table and fixes Jack with a serious gaze.

“Again, I am truly grateful for your flying here on such short notice. But I would not have contacted you if your agent and your colleague were not involved.”

Jack nods in acknowledgement. “I appreciate that, Mr. Coquille. Can you tell me just what this is all about?”

Coquille closes his eyes, inhales deeply, slowly releases his breath, and opens his eyes again. “I believe that your agent, Will Graham, and your colleague, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, have been kidnapped. Kidnapped by a man who is supposedly dead.”

Jack barely registers the waiter returning with his coffee. His eyebrows shoot up almost into his hairline. “Kidnapped? By a dead man? I - please, explain.”

Coquille sighs and takes another drag from his clove. “Mr. Anthony Dimmond, a man with ties to both Lecter and Graham, was reportedly killed when he fell from a cliff at the Courting Muse Hotel here in Florence about a month ago. His funeral was held at the English Cemetery. The same day as the funeral, both Agent Graham and Dr. Lecter disappeared, and a man answering Dimmond’s description was seen procuring supplies in San Niccolò several days later. I have reason to believe that Dimmond is still alive and has kidnapped Dr. Lecter and Agent Graham, for what reason I do not purport to know. I am asking you to find them and return them to Florence, and to see that Dimmond is prosecuted for his crime.”

Even after several gulps of coffee, Jack still looks startled. He stares at the table for a moment, watching the elegant gray smoke curl up from Coquille’s cigarette. Finally he says with a sigh, “Well, I suppose I and the FBI do have a vested interest in finding them safe. Have you contacted Interpol about this?”

Coquille flicks cigarette ash into the ashtray and takes another sip of espresso. “I would prefer to keep Interpol out of this matter, if at all possible,” he replies smoothly, his steady gaze still on Jack. “And myself.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you understand?”

“Absolutely,” acknowledges Jack with a nod. “Can you tell me who found Dimmond’s body - I mean, alleged body? Who took charge of the case?”

“Yes, Detective Rinaldo Pazzi of the Polizia di Firenze,” replies Coquille with slight distaste.

“Good, I’ll start with him. Mr. Coquille,” Jack rises and extends his hand, “it was a pleasure to meet you; I wish it had been under more pleasant circumstances.” Coquille rises, shake’s Jack hand and nods. “We have each other’s numbers; I will call or text as soon as I hear something. I trust you will do the same.”

“You have my word, Agent Crawford. Buona fortuna a te - best of luck to you. I pray that this unfortunate matter is drawn to a swift and satisfactory conclusion for all parties involved,” replies Coquille.

Jack nods, and with a wave he departs. Coquille takes his seat once again and lights another clove, drawing on it slowly and exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. Staring off at some unknown point in the distance, he mutters under his breath:

“Nimue, my sweet - you will return to me. Dimmond will pay dearly for what he has done. And Graham? He may provide a few moments’ - amusement….”

“Alive?! Surely you cannot be serious, Agent Crawford. Anthony Dimmond may be alive? Then just who is buried in that grave?” Detective Pazzi sputters, unable to believe what Jack has just told him.

“Settle down, Detective. The key word here is may,” replies Jack, raising a reassuring hand and settling back in his chair in Pazzi’s office. “A man fitting his description was seen alive in San Niccolò several weeks ago. We don’t know for sure that it’s him, and that’s why I’m here. I have reason to believe this man has kidnapped one of my special agents and a psychiatrist I sometimes bring in as a consultant. They both disappeared from Baltimore quite some time ago, but I have been informed that both of them have recently been seen here in Florence.”

“I see,” Pazzi replies warily. “And just who is your - informant?”

“I am not at liberty to say. I promised to keep their name out of it.” Jack’s firm tone implies that he will brook no discussion on this matter. Pazzi does not look appeased, and begins to stroke his chin thoughtfully, his gaze unfocused. Jack interrupts his reverie.

“Could I perhaps see some photographs of the body you found? And any you might have of Dimmond himself?”

“Of course,” mutters Pazzi, his mind still elsewhere. He shuffles through a stack of files and papers on his desk, eventually retrieving a file and handing it to Jack. “The body was discovered with Dimmond’s wallet in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. The face, along with the entire body in fact, was so badly mangled and bruised from its journey through the water that it was difficult to make a positive identification. But the relatives who had arrived for the funeral assured us that it was him, even though it had been quite some time since they had seen him.”

Jack nods and grimaces as he looks through the photographs, which are indeed rather gruesome. The man is wearing the suit that employees at the hotel identified as the one Dimmond had been wearing that day. It is torn and stained with blood. There are several compound fractures of the arms and legs. Jack compares these photos to one of Dimmond taken several years previously in Baltimore, according to a note on the back. The face is truly unrecognizable as Dimmond’s, or anyone else’s for that matter. But the hair and body are similar enough that a fairly positive ID could be made (but “fairly positive” doesn’t quite cut it, thinks Jack). The body must have been tossed against large sharp rocks and may have been partially devoured by fish. Jack sighs and tosses the file back onto Pazzi’s desk.

“Dimmond was originally from Baltimore? That is something I was not aware of,” he muses, wheels turning in his brain. “He may have met Lecter and Graham there. That’s something to go on, at least.”

“Indeed. Now, if may I ask you if you have any photos of Dr. Lecter and Agent Graham? For our files, of course,” says Pazzi.

“I do,” replies Jack, digging into his briefcase and withdrawing two photographs. He hands them across the desk to Pazzi. “Feel free to keep those; we have plenty more.”

Pazzi frowns as he looks at Will’s photo; the man does not look familiar to him. But he freezes as he sees the photo of Hannibal. He can swear he has seen this man before. Something in the cold eyes, the high cheekbones, the angular jaw…

Jack intrudes upon Pazzi’s thoughts once again. “So, Detective, I think we will need to exhume the body. Can you get ahold of Dimmond’s dental records?”

After a moment, Pazzi’s eyes snap up to Jack’s. “Uh, yes. Yes, of course. And yes, I believe exhumation is the next step. Would you like to be present? I will contact you as soon as it is arranged, in the next day or two.”

“That would be perfect,” says Jack, rising from his chair and closing his briefcase. “Yes, I would very much prefer to be present. Please let me know the details as soon as you can.” He shakes Pazzi’s hand and heads out of the office, pulling his phone from his pocket to inform Coquille of his findings.

Pazzi remains seated at his desk, unable to take his eyes away from Hannibal’s photograph. A small bundle of cold dread begins to form in his body, slowly enlarging until it threatens to burst.

“Il Mostro…” he whispers.

“That is all for today. Please have the assigned chapters read for tomorrow,” Mr. Coquille announces to the class as the bell rings.

Abigail gathers up her Historical Art textbook and notebook, tucks them into her backpack and heads down the steps of the lecture hall, the air filled with the chatter and bustle of the other students as they make their way out of the hall, anticipating lunchtime.

“Ah, Miss Fell - may I see you for a moment, please?” Coquille calls out to her, standing at his desk but looking down, not at her.

“Um, sure,” says Abigail hesitantly. She has been anticipating this moment and is now overcome with dread. She approaches his desk, doing her best to appear unruffled. 

Coquille waits until the last student has departed, then raises his eyes to Abigail with a smile that can only be described as serpentine.

“How is your father doing these days?” he asks smoothly. He notes Abigail’s slight intake of breath and her nervous smile.

“Oh, didn’t he tell you? He’s taking a little vacation right now. He’s been working so hard, and he-”

“A vacation? How pleasant for him,” Coquille interrupts, hands behind his back and his gaze never wavering from Abigail’s face. She feels vaguely like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “No, he did not deign to inform me. Did he happen to mention to you where he was going on this little vacation?”

“Um, you know, he didn’t. It was very spur-of-the-moment, he just wanted to get away for a while. Can’t say as I blame him,” she adds with a nervous laugh. “But he’s fine, he texts me every day.”

“I see,” purrs Coquille. He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and takes out his smartphone. He taps a few buttons, returns his gaze to Abigail and holds the screen up so she can easily see it. “I wonder if his sudden decision to 'take a vacation'  had anything to do with this?” He taps another button, and a video begins to play. A video obviously taken from a surveillance camera.

Hannibal, slashing the throat of a dark burly man who falls to the floor.

“Who… sent… you?”

“Filthy….faggot…..all high and mighty with that look you wear. You….just can’t help it, can you? Disgusting faggot bitch!”

“You..fucking….psychopath…GET THE HELL OFF ME!!”

“Hmm, well….have you heard of….Il Mostro di Firenze, perhaps?”

Hannibal, biting off the man’s tongue and watching as he bleeds to death.

 Abigail gasps, her eyes wide, and covers her mouth in horror. Coquille calmly stops the video, never taking his eyes from Abigail’s stunned face. “This is not the only video evidence I have of your 'father’s’, shall we say, extra-curricular activities? Would you like to see more?” he adds with an infuriating smirk.

“NO!” Abigail shouts, backing away from Coquille. Her eyes have become bright with tears and her voice is shaky and hoarse. “My God… What… what do you want?”

“Hannibal’s location.” Coquille’s voice suddenly becomes hard and cold. “As you can see, I can make life very, very difficult for both of you - and for Mr. Graham and Mr. Dimmond as well - if you do not comply.” He holds up the phone almost triumphantly, with a grin full of wicked glee. “He has all but confessed that he is Il Mostro di Firenze! I am sure the police would be thrilled to see this!” He takes a step closer to Abigail, who continues to back away. The tears are now coursing down her cheeks, and she is shaking her head in horrified denial. “Did you know the FBI itself is here, searching for him? I have no doubt they would absolutely love to see this as well.”

In spite of her wracked condition, Abigail knows when she is beaten. She stops, pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and dries her eyes. She swallows, still trembling and fearful, breathing hard. Not daring to meet Coquille’s gaze, she stares at the floor as she speaks in a dull, defeated monotone.

“They’re on a sailboat. I don’t know the name. I think they might have stolen it. The last I heard they were in Greece, near Thassos.”

“Ahhhh,” Coquille purrs, reaching out a hand to stroke Abigail’s hair. She flinches from his touch but is otherwise still. “There, you see? That was not so difficult, was it? Thank you, my dear girl. Now, do I have to tell you that you will not be informing Hannibal of this conversation? No? Oh, well I just have, haven’t I? How silly of me! Well, in any case, please do not force me to repeat it. That is all.” He tucks the phone back into his jacket as Abigail runs from the room, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind her. He gazes wistfully up into the empty seats of the lecture hall.

 "Have no fear, dearest Abigail. You will be seeing your ‘father’ and his companions again. Very soon.“

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Chapter 10: Violated

Chapter by UnknownMusing

Summary:

"There is an ocean inside of me. Put your ear against my chest and listen, it rages for you.” Quote - Johnny Nguyen

CW: Nimue is essentially raped on their wedding night.

Chapter Text

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

Pausing by the door of the sleeping cabin, I look inside and see Will and Anthony - my sweet gentle angels - lying curled up on top of the duvet cover of the circular bed, blissfully asleep. I smile softly at the sight of them together.

Stepping into the room, I approach the bed and pull the blanket up around them. Anthony shifts in his sleep, snuggling closer to Will with a small “Hmm."  I lightly kiss their cheeks, feeling myself tremble heavily as I whisper to them.

"I love you both…so much. Forgive me.”

Reluctantly moving away from the warmth of their sleeping bodies, I allow Winston inside. After seeing him get comfortable at the end of the bed by their feet, I leave the sleeping cabin, closing the door silently behind me.

Standing in the hallway, I find myself rubbing the spot where Agustuv-Magnus Coquille’s ring still rests on the ring finger of my left hand. No matter how much I desire it, I cannot deny that that vile man is still legally my husband.

I remember the day of the wedding and how I lost control of myself during the consummation of the wedding night.

  “Do you, Augustuv-Magnus Coquille, take Nimue-Lurisa Venomis to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Do you…..”

Even though the veil covers my face, I tremble in the long-sleeved black dress with the ruffled lace collar coming up to my neck, upon which lies a large fiery opal in the shape of snake eyes. I reply to the question asked of me.

“I……I…..do.”

“Thank you. You may kiss your bride, Mr. Coquille-Venomis.”

The crimson lace veil is lifted up and placed behind my head as he gently pulls me close to him; all a show for the high-class people who had been invited to the wedding. He kisses me in such a loving way that I find myself, to my shame and horror, kissing him back.

Before I can say another word, as he pulls back from me he sweeps me off my feet, eliciting squeals of delight from the bridesmaids. He carries me down the flight of steps and outside, where news reporters, camera crews and photographers are waiting.

“Smile, darling. It’s our wedding, remember?” he whispers in my ear, hot breath against my cheek. I remember our violent encounter in my kitchen, and his vile threat of what would happen if I didn’t acquiesce to his demands.

I force myself to smile coquettishly, acting somewhat shy like any bride would on their wedding day, and he cups my cheek lightly as I wrap my arms around his neck. After tossing the bouquet of  orchids - Snake’s head (Fritillaria meleagris), Mama’s Pearl (Ceologyne cristata), and Lady Slipper(Paphiopedilum x maudiae) - to some of the bridesmaids, I notice out of the corner of my eye that it is my darling Abigail - forced to be a bridesmaid - who catches it.

  “Look at me, Nimue.”

Lifting my head up, I look at Augustuv-Magnus - my husband - as I stand close to the edge of the king size bed in his apartment bedchamber. I feel him cup both my cheeks in his hands, then he leans in close, nuzzling his nose affectionately against mine. Inhaling my scent.

His hands move down to slip around my waist, then up to slowly and methodically untie the laces of the dress. I find myself bringing up my hands to undo his tie, dropping it onto the armchair next to the window. His hands slip the wedding dress off as I step out of it, then he heads over to the large, ornate, polished oak wardrobe.

Walking to the window, I unthinkingly lift one hand up into the shaft of moonlight streaming down into the bedchamber’s large windows. Even though the room is lit by snake-shaped lamps in wall-mounted sconces, the moonlight is still the brightest light in the bedchamber. I soon feel his hands wrapping around my waist from behind, reminding me where I am and why.

His head bends down into the crook of my neck. At the feel of his mouth trailing up and down - licking, sucking and biting - I cannot stop a wanton moan from escaping my lips. He whirls me around, pressing me up against the glass of the window, at the same time hitching my thighs around his waist as he lays me down on the window seat.

I remember a time when my sweet Will and I were in a similar situation. I start to feel hot, as if my skin is being burned by wicked little tongues of flame, as his hand unlaces the corset slightly to expose my nipples. He flicks his moist, heated tongue over the tip of one of them, causing me to give a hitched gasp as he does so.

His mouth engulfs my nipple, and I cradle the back of his head with both hands. Hitched gasping and breathless panting begin to fill the silence of the room. I tilt my head back to stare up at the ceiling, where a faded painting of Leda and the Swan meets my eyes. Only it seems the swan has transformed into a wolf - or is it a snake? I cannot tell.

He begins to strip me of my corset, lace thongs and tights until I am bared for him. He lifts me up from the window seat to carry me over to the bed, where I am laid down on soft satin sheets.

“Get onto your hands and knees, Nimue,” he commands, giving me a look that indicates beyond any doubt that if I don’t do what he says, he will carry out his threat to harm Abigail. I will my heart to stop thudding against my rib cage and roll onto my front.

Rising up onto my hands and knees as he demands, I suddenly arch my back with a cry of shock as something strikes down upon my back, stinging my skin. I fist my hands into the satin sheets for support. It happens again, sending lancing pain rippling up my spine as I cry out once more.

And again it strikes, causing me to collapse onto the sheets, a whimper escaping me before I can quell it. His hand soon grabs the back of my head by my hair, pulling me back up so I now see the mirror above the headboard. To my horror, it reveals him holding a cat-o-nine-tails whip in his other hand.

He brings it down hard, and I nearly scream from the pain. I manage to wrench free and reach for the ornate penknife on the bedside table. I lunge at him, holding the knife in both hands, but he manages to grab my wrists, effectively stopping me from plunging the knife into his eyeball. My hands begin to shake with the effort to release myself from his strong grip.

I struggle and strain to press the knife further down, only for him to flip the tables on me once again. I find myself being pinned heavily to the bed as he suddenly shoves his hips forward with a grunt, penetrating me in one single thrust that makes me cry out in shock and agony.

Back arching heavily and thighs trembling around his waist, I whimper at the feel of something slightly tearing within me. He pulls out with another grunt, reaching for the lube and pouring some into the palm of his hand. Then he reaches downward, making me twist the sheets in my hands for support once again, keeping my face turned to one side with eyes closed tight.

It hurts.

Everything inside me feels as if it is shattering into a thousand pieces of fragile china.

It hurts so much.

  Coming out of the harsh, painful memory that I wish I could erase from my mind, I head into the kitchen area of the sailboat. I walk to the windowsill, where in a vase are some cuttings of Prunus lusitanica (Portugal laurel), Parahebe catarractae (Porlock purple) and Passiflora (passion flower). I bend and inhale their lovely scent, calming my nerves and easing the pain. I straighten to look at the light of the setting sun on the liquid silver waves of the Aegean Sea, spreading out like a path towards the boat. It seems to turn the water a warm-hued orange.

I take the burner phone out of my trouser pocket and dial in the number, hearing it ring in the silence of the kitchen. The call is answered, and I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Yes. Who may I ask is calling? Hello? Who is this?!”

“Hello, Abigail.”

“……Hannibal!!!?”

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Chapter 11: There’s an East Wind Coming

Chapter by UnknownMusing

Summary:

“There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast.” - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, His Last Bow, 1914

Chapter Text

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

The delicious smell of fresh food being cooked makes me flutter my eyes open softly, seeing Will still calmly sleeping next to me under the soft, warm duvet covers of the large bed in the sleeping cabin. Feeling my bladder protesting, I slip out from under the covers and head into the bathroom. After relieving myself, I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I wash my hands.

There are hand-shaped bruises from when Will had gripped my hips tightly while I rode him, my hands resting on his chest, both of us still covered in droplets of water from the shower. I remember how I had cried out his name in the stillness of the sleeping cabin, clenching my thighs tightly around his waist and feeling his warm release spill into me.

Drying my hands on a towel from the rack, I walk back through to the bed area. I retrieve a nightgown from the wardrobe and wrap it loosely around me, seeing a case-file box behind some leather bags. I frown as I see the box has my name on it.

Why would Hannibal have it here?

How had he acquired it?

I kneel down, pulling the bags away from it. Licking my lips to wet them, I gaze at the box for a moment, then turn my head to look at Will. He is still sleeping contentedly beneath the covers, with Winston still snoozing at his feet. I push the bags back into place, get up and decide I need some coffee and something to eat.

  I find Hannibal busy preparing a protein scramble in the kitchen area of the large sailboat named “Erienades”. He smiles softly at me, raising one eyebrow at the nightgown, or more accurately, a kimono silk chemise. He then plates our breakfast as Will, yawning and ruffling a hand through his hair, wanders in wearing a blue nightgown.

“I trust you both had a good sleep,” Hannibal says, as Will and I sit down on stools at the kitchen island counter, Will smiling a bleary smile at both of us over the rim of his coffee cup. I reach for the newspaper on the counter, but go still at the sight of the person on the front page - Kronos Dimmond, my uncle. I fold the newspaper, grateful not to look at it, and put it to one side as Hannibal places our plates down in front of us.

“Of a sort. Winston kept trying to get between us,” I say, digging into the protein scramble - fluffy scrambled eggs, sweet, juicy sausages and tomatoes - and trying not to think that he intentionally placed that paper there to see what my reaction would be.

He comes around the kitchen island, placing his hands on my shoulders. I bring one hand up to take hold of the one on my right shoulder, turn my face and kiss his knuckles gently.

“I’m afraid we will need to go into town to procure more food and supplies for the boat. You know the island, Anthony, so would you mind showing Will and I around?” Hannibal asks. I give him a fake smile and, willing my heart to stop pounding against my rib cage, nod silently in reply.

  The small town of Crietos, on the island of Thassos, is just as I remember it from my youth, when I arrived here to live with my uncle - my sexually-abusive, dominating uncle. I cannot help but remember all the hurt, pain and anguish he had caused me when I was just a child.

He had controlled every aspect of my life until I finally broke free of the metaphorical shackles he had wrapped around me. I ran away to Florence, Italy to start a new life. Now I was back in the place where the ghosts and demons of my past threatened to come rushing out of the oubliettes in which I had entrapped them.

Today is a festival day, celebrating Death - Thanatos - with many revellers wearing costumes and masks, while market stalls sell merchandise and children run about holding windmills or ribbons. Hannibal, in his Nimue guise, comes through the crowd, stepping out of the way to allow a group of children to run past him. He is breathtakingly lovely in a light blue off-the-shoulder top, earrings with goldish-brown feathers attached to them, and white jeans that accentuate his hips.

Will is nowhere in sight.

“Is something the matter?” Hannibal asks me with concern, seeing how I’ve wrapped my arms around myself, digging my nails into them. He places one hand on my arm as I keep my face turned to one side.

“It…This place brings back bad memories for me. You knew that, though, didn’t you?” I ask, turning my gaze to him and feeling anger rising slightly in my voice. He moves his hand to cup my cheek gently.

“I can whisper through the chrysalis you have wrapped around yourself. But what you have beneath it, I cannot yet predict,"  he whispers, smiling with those lovely, dangerous, seductive crimson lips.

The same lips I find myself pressing my own lips against now, trying desperately to just enjoy this precious time we have together, as noise and clarity echoes around us.

Little did I know that soon everything would shatter apart, like mirrors being smashed. 

Will’s P.O.V.

Anthony’s case file on his past is something I can see he would not want coming to light. I flick the lighter and place the wavering flame under the files, watching as they soon catch fire. The edges of the paper begin to turn black and crisp, some of the fragments breaking away. They dance and whirl in the wind that is starting up, causing the red sails of the ”Erienades"  towhip back and forth.

It seems a storm is beginning to brew out there in the Aegean Sea, making its way toward the small island of Thassos and bringing the demons of Hannibal’s, Anthony’s, and my past with it. It recalls to my mind the old saying:

“Eurus is coming. Beware what is brought in by it. Because it may ruin you.”

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Chapter 12: The Church of Bones

Summary:

Anthony has a disturbing dream, some hours of bliss with Hannibal and Will, and a long-awaited reckoning with his abusive uncle.

05/28/2019: EDITED to correct a confusing plot point! Sorry about that!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

My breathing is labored as Hannibal approaches me from behind, placing one hand over my eyes so I can no longer see the Prey in front of me: Kronos Dimmond, my hated uncle, who I have just ripped apart with the curved Devil’s Fang hunting knives I hold in both my hands.

Droplets of crimson petals are dripping onto the stone floor of his study, where every pain, agony and anguish this man had caused me had transpired. I feel Hannibal place his lips against my ear. One large, strong hand slips around to rest on my chest, feeling it rise and fall under his palm. He whispers in my ear.

“How beautiful you look right now. Covered in droplets of crimson.”

The hunting knives slip out of my hands, fall to the floor and tumble into the large scarlet pool that spreads out from my uncle’s dead body. Wrenching myself free, I stumble backward and fall into that sickening pool, causing it to splash up into the air.

Hannibal steps out of the shadows of the now changed scene.

A strange chapel-like area.

Above are the many Prey he has hunted in skeletal form, reminding me of the Church of Bones, with all manner of roses, orchids, foxglove and deadly nightshade placed within the rib cages. On the walls grow Hedera helix - fiery orange and crimson.

Hannibal brings his hands up to his naked chest, digging his sharp black glinting claws into his skin.

He rips the flesh backward to expose what lies beneath, as when a snake sheds its skin. From all over his body he peels back the layers of skin until finally he reveals Nimue - her eyes sparkling like jewels - and allows the discarded, empty skin - his “person suit” - to fall onto the floor. She steps out, naked and covered in blood, her feet more like the clawed feet of some otherworldly creature. She collapses onto her hands and knees, arching her back with a wanton moan of ecstasy as something bursts out of her back - large crimson wings with curved talons.

They spread slowly outward until finally they are spread out wide and full, revealing their true size. They are terrible in their beauty.

She rises gracefully and approaches me, pulling me up onto my knees. She kneels before me. Her face and the right side of her body begin to crumble like sandstone, revealing Hannibal underneath. Lips smash into mine, and claws wrap themselves around me and drag down my back.

Blood trickles down my back at the same time Nimue/Hannibal - conjoined in some way - bend their head to my chest and bite down into the flesh. My back arches in an intense spasm of movement.

I emit a breathless gasp and my head tilts backward. I feel a strange sensation of euphoria at being eaten alive by them both in this way. Cradling the back of their head, I sift my hand through their hair.

The cracking of bones echoes sharply, the claws digging ever deeper into my back. And yet I feel no pain, only mind-numbing, unexplained pleasure. I remember the poem by Dante, and his strange dream of Beatrice Portinari. 

Part of that poem is happening to me right now as I lower my head to see Nimue/Hannibal begin to bite into the flesh of my still pulsating heart that lies in their cupped hands, as another voice whispers into my ear the poem in Italian.

“ Allegro mi sembrava Amor tenendo

Meo core in mano, e ne le braccia avea

Madonna involta in un drappo dormendo

Poi la svegliava, d'esto core ardendo

Lei paventosa umilmente pascea

Appreso gir lo ne vedea piangendo.”

————————————–

My eyes shoot open wide, my chest rising and falling heavily with the pounding of my heart. Hannibal, sleeping against me from behind, shifts slightly to lean over me, covering me with his shadow. 

Will is watching us both, suggesting he has been awake all this time, observing me in the throes of my unsettling dream.

A hand softly touches my hip, causing me to tense slightly and look up into Hannibal’s maroon eyes, seeing myself reflected in them. I feel as though he is staring deep into my soul. He slips downward, spreading my thighs wide apart to expose the wetness of my cum from the orgasm I had while having that strange…..Erotic Dream……of him and his Nimue persona.

“You’re wet, my death’s-head hawkmoth. Was it such a good dream you were having, Anthony?” he purrs. He bends his head down between my thighs. I shoot both hands downward to cradle it with a soft, breathless whimper as I feel him licking the trail of my released cum from the inside of my left thigh, and then my right - alternating between them.

My toes curl into the mattress and I feel my body completely flush with burning heat from within. When he bites into the flesh of my thigh to mark me, I moan loudly in masochistic pleasure. I feel another pair of soft lips on my face. I open my eyes to see my beautiful Will, smiling and kissing my cheek. He kisses his way to my ear, breathing hotly into it as he kisses, licks and sucks at the shell. The overwhelming sound and feel of this, combined with the feel of Hannibal’s slick tongue on my thighs and his soft grunts of pleasure, send the blood rushing to my groin as my cock stiffens. Dimly I can see Hannibal’s hand on Will’s lower back, stroking and caressing it. Then he suddenly flips me onto my front, raising my hips up as he gently pushes my top half down by my head onto the soft eggshell blue pillows decorated with golden, reddish-blue irises.

Lips touch the nape of my neck, kissing downwards to my tailbone, where fingers already slicked with lube feel around the rim of my puckered entrance to coat it. Tingles run up my spine at the same time that pearls of pre-cum have formed on the tip of my cock.

“Please….. I want this,” I gasp out, feeling the fingers spear me straight away. I arch my back slightly, mouth agape in ecstasy. The fingers slowly slip in and out of me, prepping me for what is going to happen next.

Those fingers reach so deep within me, I nearly cum from that alone. But the fingers are soon removed and replaced with hips slamming into mine from behind, as Hannibal pulls me back onto his slicked-up cock with a lusty grunt.

“Oh, god!!!…..Nimue, your……Oh, oh…….I can feel your heat.”

He starts to move, jolting my body back and forth with his hips undulating into mine from behind. He keeps me in a certain position on my hands and knees, making sure each stroke of his cock hits my prostate dead-centre, sending tingles shooting up my spine. He drapes himself across my back, reaching down to grasp my aching cock in his hand, tugging and squeezing until I think I might go mad with pleasure. His other hand grabs the back of my head by my hair to wrench it upwards.

There is a large mirror above the headboard. I can see Will on his knees, pounding into him from behind, making Hannibal gasp and moan with each thrust, which in turn causes him to thrust back into me. It is so erotic, hot and desirable to see it all happening between the three of us. I start to undulate my hips back and forth into his thrusts, not bothering to quell my cries, sighs and moans of pleasure and bliss.

—————————————————-

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

The beautifully pleasured sounds coming from Anthony’s sweet lips are like a symphony of the Lovemaking  between us. On his knees behind me, Will thrusts his throbbing cock in and out of my well-lubricated entrance at such a pace, it shoves my hips back into our third lover’s tight, beautiful ass. I continue to manipulate Anthony’s cock in my hand, spurred on by his symphony of passion.

Droplets of sweat are running down and between our bodies, coating us in a gentle sheen which glows in the soft dawn light spreading through the curtains of the sleeping cabin. At last, hungry for release but not wanting this moment to end, my muscles tense as the pressure building within me comes to a peaceful, satisfying climax. I can hear my two darling sweet angels succumb to their orgasms at the same time.

A rush of sweet warmth - Will’s cum fills me completely - at the same time I fill Anthony with my own release, coating his tight insides to mark them as my own. I feel his hot seed spill onto my hand, the muscles of his lovely ass clenching around my cock, which has not yet returned to softness. Incredibly, I can feel another orgasm rising, causing me in turn to clench around Will’s cock.

And so I experience another earth-shattering orgasm, my vision whiting out almost completely.

———————-

Collapsing with a muffled thump on top of the bunched-up duvet cover, I weakly pull Anthony over to lie between Will and I. I can see that he is still breathing laboriously from the most intense orgasms he has ever had - six of them - after the three of us had made love so many times to each other it had become much too intense to continue.

Reaching up with one hand, I stroke some strands of his slightly damp hair away from his eyes and gently tuck them behind his ear, kissing his forehead lovingly. He lies on his back, allowing me to rest my hand on his chest as Will does the same. His heart rate slowly returns to normal.

“I….I’m scared,” Anthony breathes, gulping down saliva to get the next words out. “I’m….scared….of losing you both. When I first met you both, on separate occasions, I was conflicted regarding my feelings for the both of you. And then further on, when I fell off…that cliff, I knew that I…I loved you both so much, I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life! And yet, I fear…” His voice begins to break. “I fear that we’re going to be separated from each other at some point - some point soon - and I’ll never see either of you again.”

Tears brim in his lovely eyes. He brings both hands up to cover his eyes as he starts to tremble, his body wracked by pitiful sobs. I rest my forehead against his, and Will does the same. Taking hold of his left hand, I pull it gently away from his eye and entwine my fingers with his, as Will does with his right hand.

“We won’t let that happen, I promise you… and I always keep my promises, Anthony.”

“Then help me…help me do something.”

“Tell us.”

“Help me… get rid of my uncle. Help me…kill him.”

——————————————————————————————–

Will’s P.O.V.

Hearing Anthony say these words about his uncle makes me want to ask him what he had dreamed about. From what I had read in his file before destroying it, the man had sexually abused him for years, ever since he had come to Thassos at a very young age and right up until his sixteenth birthday. As I remembered it, everything had been detailed - the court case; the evidence dismissed because there was no proof a very prominent man - Kronos Dimmond - had done the things Anthony had told the police he had done; and the hospital records, irrefutable proof of how many times he had been taken to Accident and Emergency bruised and battered.

The excuse his uncle had given each time, when questioned by hospital staff, was simply that Anthony was “clumsy and accident-prone.”

 "Tell us what you dreamt of,“ Hannibal asks him. Anthony licks his lips and begins to tell us about his dream - the conjoined creature of Hannibal’s persona Nimue and Hannibal; how he ripped apart his uncle; the way he watched his own heart being devoured as someone whispered Dante into his ear.

"I’d never felt so…aroused before,” Anthony confesses to us. His hand slips down between his thighs to grasp his now hard cock, and he begins to slowly move his hand up and down while allowing Hannibal to kiss him passionately.

Feeling myself becoming excited again, I slip down between his thighs, moving his hand gently out of the way and taking hold of his cock myself. My tongue sneaks out and I flick it over the tip, hearing him give a breathless hitched gasp. With a sly smile I bend my head and swallow him down into my hot, moist mouth, wringing an ecstatic moan from his lips, Hannibal’s fingers in my hair and his mouth on Anthony’s neck.

“Haaa……..oh, oh……Pearl-Lace!!!……..Nimue…..ahhh, I love you both…..Ohhhh!!!”

——————————————————–

Location - Night-time - Kronos Dimmond’s Mansion Residence

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

A large, extravagant party is being held at my uncle’s mansion to celebrate his election - or, more likely, his bought-and-paid-for appointment - as the Mayor of Crietos. I sit beside Hannibal in the back seat of our Uber as we wend our way to the soirée. Hannibal, in his Nimue persona, is wearing a long black one-shouldered evening dress with white and lapis lazuli roses on the neckline, curving down to embrace his hips, while lapis lazuli dewdrop earrings dangle from his ears. Around his throat is a choker bedecked with pearls - gifts from Will, which he had had made into jewelry, and to my mind make him look so achingly and hauntingly beautiful.

Underneath he is wearing a creme-white corset, thongs and tights embellished with ruffles and ribbons. I notice that for some strange, unknown reason, he is still wearing the wedding ring given to him by Coquille. Reaching for his hand, I squeeze it lightly to reassure myself and him that everything will be all right.

This makes him look down, as it is the hand with the ring I am holding, and then back up as the Uber soon enters into the large parking area, where other vehicles of the rich and even famous are parked. The Uber driver glides into the last remaining space.

Letting go of Hannibal’s hand, I get out first and go around to the other side, opening the door to allow him to step out onto the gravel.

He smiles softly at me, lips outlined by golden lipstick. Slipping his hand, with its laquered-to-match gold fingernails, into the crook of my arm, we head up the flight of steps leading to the large double doors. The doors swing open to reveal my uncle, standing there in all his vileness. He grabs hold of both of my cheeks and kisses them, making it look to his guests as if he is enthusiastic about seeing his nephew again. It is all I can do to keep the bile from rising in my throat.

“Anthony, my darling, sweet nephew. Welcome,” he croons. He turns to Hannibal, who gives him a coy, seductive smile. Before I can make proper introductions, my uncle takes his hand and kisses it with his lying lips.

If any of his guests knew what this man was actually like beneath his own “person suit,” and how he had destroyed my childhood, his reputation would be ruined and he would be run out of town by everyone who knew him.

——————————-

I dance a waltz with Hannibal in the large ballroom, while the other guests do the same or wander about sipping champagne or cocktails, chattering about nothing. I feel him rest his cheek against mine as everything seems to dissolve around us, leaving only us in the ballroom, alone. So, I muster my courage and decide to say it.

“Nimue, there is something…I want to say to you. Even though…you still wear his wedding ring, I…. I want…to marry both you and Pearl-Lace, so I’ll never lose either of you," I whisper in his ear, quietly enough for him to hear. Everything comes back to normal as I whirl him about, smiling madly, then dip him low, making him gasp delightedly, and bring him back up. He places a hand on my chest with a trembling smile.

It is at this pristine moment that I hear a champagne glass suddenly shattering. We both turn our heads at the same time to see…..Erisa Ereshkigal…..who is staring at us, pale white and trembling, crimson lips slightly agape. My uncle quickly approaches them, leading them away and out of the ballroom. I can’t help but notice that their dress and hairstyle are remarkably similar to Nimue’s, but this is all forgotten as Hannibal and I gaze at one another, realizing that our hour is upon us.

The music changes and all returns to as it once was, while Hannibal and I slip out unnoticed.

Talk of marriage and wedding plans must wait for a happier time.

Now it is time to hunt, as Hannibal calls it, our Prey.

—————————-

The large study where my uncle works is still the same from my childhood, with the desk in front of a large, ornately curved window with a mural of a figure holding a long spear, stabbing down into a writhing serpent woman; a bookshelf with a ladder leading up to the mezzanine library above on the left-hand side of the study; and on the right, a fireplace flanked by figures of debauchery and carnage.

"Do you remember what you did to me, uncle? You took me…..right here in this very room, when I….I was only….a young child. A child!!!” I hiss and spit at him in the dim light, while my uncle, mouth covered with duct tape, struggles weakly in the electrical cable that keeps him tightly bound to the chair behind his desk, which I lean against before him.

I hold in one hand a curved devil’s claw hunting knife, gleaming in the faint desk lamp light. Behind my uncle stands Hannibal, nails painted crimson, dark eyes glowing, waiting for me to make my move. Walking slowly around the desk, I lean over Kronos Dimmond, looking down into those cold, unforgiving eyes.

“Because you took my childhood from me, I’m taking the thing that caused me pain, anguish and emotional hurt,” I hear myself say in a strange, disembodied voice that doesn’t even sound like mine.

The time has come. The moment is now.

I stab straight down into his groin area, dragging the knife upwards to rip his flesh apart. His eyes close but he doesn’t make a sound. He seems prepared, even content, to die. I would have preferred a bit of groveling, but honestly? I just want him dead. His blood spurts outwards, covering me so thoroughly it soaks through the suit I wear. His stomach contents fall to the carpet with a sickening, muffled, squelching thump. Hannibal, breathing hard, unnecessarily pushes the desk out of the way, steps behind me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against his warm chest.

“Tell me… how do you feel right now?"  he whispers urgently in my ear, slipping one hand down between my thighs to cup the bulging erection he finds there. I whimper helplessly.

"Haaa….you already know how it makes me feel…." I reply, heady with blood lust, feeling him start to rub the palm of his hand up and down over the cloth-covered bulge, rubbing the head of my cock through layers of fabric. I can feel pre-cum starting to form at the tip, dribbling downward.

"Tell me,"  I hear him pant.

He rests his forehead between my shoulder blades, and I soon hear a ragged sigh and wet sounds coming from behind. I manage to turn around and face him. I can see his hand moving under the now bunched-up dress as he rubs himself through the already soaked lace thongs, leaning against the desk for support.

Some of his blonde fringe mixed with silvery highlights falls in front of his eyes. Feeling more aroused than ever, I find myself peeling off the suit jacket that is completely covered in my uncle’s blood, throwing it over the disgusting pig’s corpse. I take hold of Hannibal, lift him up onto the desk and clamber over him as he pulls me down into a breathless kiss.

His hands grasp my back under my shoulder blades, and a guttural groan escapes me when he drags his crimson nails down it. A delicious zing of pleasurable pain shoots through my body. I hungrily bend my head, trailing my lips up and down his neck - licking, biting and sucking into the pale flesh, relishing his amber scent and his deep moans.

"When… when we get back to the boat, I want you and Will to ravage me until I forget my own native language and everything else except the pleasure you will both give me.” His voice is rough and strange. His scent… Amber? I don’t recall Hannibal ever wearing amber.

The fog that had settled over my brain, the result of my adrenaline-fueled “killer’s high,” is beginning to lift. At their mention of returning to the boat, I flash on Hannibal and I on the boat that afternoon, getting dressed and ready for the party. Will and I had tended to Nimue like the queen they are. I had zipped up their dress and adjusted the pearl choker - the choker isn’t there!! where is it?? - while Will applied lacquer to their nails. Gold lacquer, to match their lipstick.

Gold lacquer. This person’s nails are crimson. Deep, blood red.

  I suddenly wrench free from them, this “Not-Nimue." Who is this??

I grab the knife at the same time they try to reach for an ornate letter opener with an orange snake-eye stone on the handle. A crimson haze covers my vision, filling it completely.

What transpires next, I cannot explain how it happens.

It just does.

Notes:

English translation of the section of Dante’s poem La Vita Nuova (The New Life) that Anthony hears in his dream:

Joyous Love seemed to me, the while he held My heart within his hands, and in his arms My lady lay asleep wrapped in a veil. He woke her then and trembling and obedient She ate that burning heart out of his hand; Weeping I saw him then depart from me.

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Chapter 13: Breaking the Chains

Chapter by VintageFloof

Summary:

Hannibal and Will are returned to their respective captors, while Anthony languishes in the hold of Coquille’s yacht.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

I am standing on the secluded beach of a nearby cove, holding some fresh clean clothes and a new pair of sneakers in a bag, with Will standing beside me. Both of us watch quietly as Anthony gingerly peels off the completely blood-soaked suit he had worn to his uncle’s spectacular party to celebrate his becoming the Mayor of Crietos. Only now the man is dead, along with the manipulative Erisa Ereshkigal, who turned out to be Matthew Brown, of all people. He had desired Anthony and Will for himself, and that desire cost him his life and the life of the hit man he had sent after me in Florence.   

Doing our best to follow Kronos Dimmond after he had unceremoniously ejected Erisa from the house, I had become separated from Anthony and found myself waylaid and surrounded by a small mob of rude, irritating guests. They demanded to know who I was and why I had accompanied Anthony to the party. All of them gained immediate places of honor in my Rolodex as I fielded their intrusive inquiries with, I must admit, admirable aplomb, all things considered. It was during this time that Erisa must have managed to sneak back into the building. Anthony had gone on ahead of me, and I imagine Erisa had just followed the shouting, found him in his uncle’s study, and assisted him in subduing Kronos and tying him up. Anthony, addled and upset, no doubt had little trouble believing Erisa was me in the room’s very dim lighting. Indeed, it seemed likely they had planned it that way, what with their attempt to look as much like me as possible.

The ruse was going well until my dear boy began to notice subtle differences between Erisa and myself, the differing nail lacquer colors being the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. I had at last managed to escape the guests from hell and ran down the hallway, stopping at a closed door with faint light from within showing through the bottom gap. I tested the doorknob, found it locked, backed away several paces, gathered my strength, then ran and threw my shoulder against the door with all my might. The door burst open with a crash. I immediately saw Kronos Dimmond, tied to a chair and disemboweled, rivers of thick red blood and several internal organs soaking through the expensive carpet. A mere second passed before I saw Matthew Brown attacking Anthony on the desk, nearly stabbing an ornate letter opener into his chest. Without thinking I bounded to the desk, grabbed the letter opener from his hand, seized the young man’s head by his hair, wrenched it backwards to expose his throat, then sliced across it with the letter opener. A hot torrent of crimson came gushing out, covering Anthony completely, while some of it soaked permanently into the odious carpet.

Will had followed us to the mansion in another car, hiding on the grounds and sneaking in at the same time Erisa did, unseen by them. I now recall the Tableau  I had made of Kronos Dimmond and Matthew Brown, with both Will’s and Anthony’s help.

"The Lovers Tearing Each Other Apart in Jealousy and Envy,"  based on a painting by the renowned Baltimore artist Mrs. Arianna Dragnas, a native of Crietos. I had known her also to be a retired serial killer who lived in Wolf Trap - almost Will’s neighbor, in fact - as Mrs. Miggins, settling there after dispatching her last victim, a loathsome man who had violated and abused seventeen young girls under the orders of none other than Kronos Dimmond. I think the dear lady would have been utterly delighted with the irony of the situation.

All three of us would be long gone by the time the Greek police had worked out that it was Il Mostro di Firenze who had done the Tableau, with two new killers they had yet to identify.

"Nimue?” Anthony shouts, naked as the day he was born, arms wrapped around himself, shivering in the chilled morning air. Drawn thusly from my thoughts, I walk up to him, holding out the bag containing the clean clothes and sneakers Will had brought for him. Having already flung the knife into the ocean, Will is standing over a nearby burn barrel, incinerating Anthony’s bloodied clothing. He pokes at them occasionally with a long piece of driftwood as black smoke rises into the air.

Anthony turns to face me, still keeping his arms crossed over his fine muscular chest covered in crimson petals, and steps closer to me. He smiles and takes the garments, dressing quickly. When he is clothed and shod, he turns to me again, reaching up with one hand to stroke a strand of hair from my forehead. He gently tucks it behind my ear, exposing the glittering lapis lazuli earring in the light of the rising sun that peeks over the edge of the horizon. We gaze at one another rather wistfully.

I begin to say something when excited barking makes us turn to see Winston - Will’s mongrel retriever - bounding towards us across the length of the beach. I walk towards him, intent on catching him, but he seizes the hem of my dress in his teeth and begins to tug and drag me in the direction he had come from. He is clearly attempting to lead me somewhere.

 It all ends without warning when he gives a pained yelp as something strikes his hip.

I quickly reach out and pull what appears to be a tranquilizer dart from his side. All at once I hear Will and Anthony shouting “NIMUE!!!"  I turn toward them when suddenly the sand explodes behind me, revealing a person who tries to lunge at me.

I manage to throw sand in their eyes, causing them to cry out in shock and anger. Grabbing the knife hidden within my tights, I slash their throat hard, severing the arteries neatly. Blood gushes out as their body falls backward onto the sand with a muffled thud.

I fall to my knees beside Winston, checking to see if he is all right. Thankfully, he is only unconscious from the effects of the tranquilizer dart. Feeling my inner Predator rising, I get to my feet and stalk toward the group of men attacking Will and Anthony, bloodied knife in hand.

—————————————–

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V:

I can’t remember what had happened next.

When I finally come around, my entire body aches as if I’ve been repeatedly kicked, punched and battered by the group of hired thugs who attacked us. An attempt to move my wrists reveals handcuffs locked around them. A chain is attached to one of them, and that chain in turn is attached to two handcuffs around my ankles. The entire arrangement leads to a large chain attached to a yacht’s hold wall. There is also a collar around my neck, connected to the same large chain.

Weakly, I manage to sit up and lean against some sacks for ballast, feeling every inch of my body screaming at me not to move. Yet I must move, for something is telling me that the Snake  is here. The hold door bolt is pulled back and the iron door slides open, as I warily turn my head to look at who is coming in. I am dismayed to discover that my instinct was correct.

Augustuv-Magnus Coquille, his rich dark blue shirt sleeves rolled up, wearing a black cravat with a fiery opal tie pin and white trousers, steps in and slides the door closed behind him. He walks over and picks up a plain wooden chair. Placing it down in front of me, he sits and crosses one leg over the other, clasping his hands together on top of his knee. He gazes down at me through his ever-present pince-nez. His smile is sardonic.

"You are probably wondering how I discovered where you were hiding, Anthony. Do you want me to tell you?” he smirks. I spit heavily in his face, seeing it land on his cheek to my great satisfaction. He brings a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and calmly wipes the spittle away. He gets up, tucking the handkerchief back in place.

Suddenly he grabs hold of me by the chains, a harsh metallic clinking sound echoing in the hold. He pulls my face close to his, and I stare into his cold, dark serpentine eyes. Without warning he punches straight into my stomach with a clenched fist, knocking the breath from my lungs. I hunch over his arm, feeling blood drip from my mouth and spatter onto the hold floor.

He moves his clenched fist away, grasping my chin and forcing it upward. I spit a mouthful of blood at his face and glare at him, watching his eyes narrow as he manages to jerk his head aside just in time to avoid it. Breathing heavily, I wait for the next blow. It comes hard, followed by many more. My vision nearly blacks out with each punch and kick he rains down upon my body.

—————————————–

Collapsing to the hold floor, I weakly cough blood onto the floor in spreading crimson petals, my body completely wrecked. Coquille looks down at me, breathing heavily, the skin of his fists and knuckles split, covered with my blood and his own. He wrenches my head up by my hair and I let out a pained, labored gasp.

“The Florence police and the FBI had the body buried in your grave exhumed! Did you know that?” he hisses, panting and breathless. “What a shocking surprise - it wasn’t you!” He shakes my head roughly, pulling on my hair and rattling the bones in my neck. “You…will never see Nimue ever again. Do you understand, Anthony? I….will not be so lenient the next time you try to get back the one you allegedly 'love’. Nimue belongs to me and only me,” he spits out. I glare balefully at him as I bare my teeth. If not for these chains, I would rip his throat out and sever his life.

“Nimue is not yours. They will never be yours, Coquille. Nimue will make sure you know it,” I snarl. I brace myself for the blow. His clenched, bloody fist punches me in the face, and blackness sweeps in to cover my vision.

———————————————————————

Hannibal’s P.O.V.

The sound of a tap running, followed by a slight hiss of pain coming from someone unknown, makes me flutter my eyes open to reveal a blurred vision of a sleeping cabin. I slowly sit up, wincing with the woozy pain of whatever had been used to knock me out during the attack of the hired thugs.

My vision begins to return to normal, and the pain eases slightly. I slip off the bed and walk unsteadily forward, still holding my head with both hands. Augustuv-Magnus comes out of the bathroom, wiping the blood - his or someone else’s? - from his knuckles with a cloth.

I lower my hands and approach him warily. I look straight down at his split, bloodied knuckles and feel the rage rising. So much rage. I roughly grab the collar of his unbuttoned shirt. He flicks his gaze down and back up to me, pretending to be affronted at my audacity in daring to touch him.

“What…have you done… with them!!!? " I roar, shaking him to emphasize my words.”TELL ME WHAT YOU’VE DONE WITH ANTHONY AND…“  I somehow manage to stop myself from saying Will’s name aloud, which he notices when I abruptly stop shouting and press my lips tightly together, not wishing to reveal my third lover’s name.

I turn swiftly and run for the door, but I do not get far. He grabs me around the waist and I thrash weakly in his grip, the tranquilizer still in my system.

Slumping in his arms, I cannot help but allow him to pull me away from the sleeping cabin door and over to the bed. He pushes me down and I turn my face to one side, staring blankly at the wallpaper adorned with faint patterns of Sweet Williams. He takes hold of my arm, injecting a sedative into the crook of my elbow. I am unable to silence a piteous whimper.

"Shhhh….it’s all right….this is only to help you relax, sweet Nimue, my darling,” Coquille croons. “And as for your third lover…Will Graham, or Pearl-Lace ,should I say? Well, Mr. Mason Verger is verypleased to have him back in his - care.”

“You…bastard!! …Neršia velnio!! ”

I hear myself beginning to speak in my native language as I attempt to sit up, only to feel the effects of the sedative kicking in fast. Swaying back and forth, I try to keep my eyes open, but the sedative is more powerful than my own body. I emit a soft, weak moan as I fall into his chest.

His hands take hold of me, pushing me back down onto the bed. Peering upward through a drugged haze, my swimming vision sees his face turn into that of a large snake’s - eyes glinting with evil malice. My eyes slide shut, allowing the blackness to descend.

I remember nothing thereafter.

Nothing at all.

Only my desperate, aching worry for my loves - Anthony and Will.

——————————————–

Will’s P.O.V.

Mason Verger - the vile, loathsome pig of a brother to sweet Margot Verger - is like a giddy schoolboy who just got their favourite treat as he flings me down onto the king-size bed. I land with a muffled thump, my hands cuffed before me, a leather choker with attached leash around my neck. The final insult? A clear plastic restraint mask covers my nose and mouth.

The same mask I had been forced to wear by Frederick Chilton during my imprisonment at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I had been convicted of the murder of Abigail Hobbs (who I discovered later was still very much alive) as well as three previously unsolved murders - those of Cassie Boyle, Marissa Schur and Nicholas Boyle. Hannibal had assisted me in proving my innocence and securing my release. All I will say about that is that it was very complicated.

“You know, my darling Pearl-Lace, sometimes you have to muzzle a bitch if they get out of hand. And you…have been such a bad bitch,” he hisses, yanking the leash to pull me up onto my knees. Snarling, I lunge my cuffed hands at his eyes, digging my nails down into them. Hard.

He curses in shock, horror and agony, wrenching free from me and covering his eyes with his hands. Crimson begins to trickle down his cheeks in thick rivulets. Turning my wrist just right and slipping one hand out of the handcuffs, I slide off the bed and saunter over to the squealing pig of a man who is writhing on the carpet

Grabbing the back of his head by his hair, I wrench it backward. Placing my lips against his ear and smirking a manic joker’s grin, I whisper the words into it in my Pearl-Lace voice.

“Then maybe, because…I’m such a bitch…..I should teach you what happens when….you muzzle the bitch, dear Mason.”

———————————————–

Anthony Dimmond’s P.O.V.

The tinkling sound of something landing on the hold floor has me weakly fluttering my eyes open. I have finally come around from being knocked out by Coquille. I can see a skeleton key lying just a few feet in front of me.

A key that most definitely is for the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, and the collar around my neck. I pray that this isn’t some kind of test by that horrid snake of a man to see if I would go looking for Nimue. I take a deep breath and, willing my heart to cease its frantic pounding, shift myself to reach for it.

My battered body screams in protest, but I grit my teeth and slowly reach for the key, straining and sweating with the pain. Somehow I manage to grasp it. Gripping it as tightly as I can, I drag it towards me and set about releasing myself from my prison of chains.

I will not be trapped this way, while Coquille has the person I love in his vile clutches.

I will not.

Notes:

Neršia velnio - Lithuanian for “spawn of the devil”

—————————————————————————–

[yeomangamer]

After My Father’s Funeral Chapter 3

Summary: Funerals can be stressful, but so can weddings–especially with a family as effed up as theirs. Unfortunately for Leia, she has both to attend in one go. So much for repression. Modern AU

Pairings: Leia/Han, Mara/Luke, Jyn/Cassian, Leia&Han&Luke&Mara&Cassian&Jyn, Uncle Owen/Aunt Beru

Chapter summary: Leia and Han continue to butt heads. How many times does she have to meet this prick?

Chapter Pairings: Mara/Luke, Jyn/Cassian, Mara&Leia, Han/Leia

A/N: Thanks for all the support, please check out the FFN and Ao3 versions for full author’s notes.

The wedding was going to take place on Uncle Owen's farm, and Mara wanted to show Leia where everything was going to be. Leia wasn't too perturbed by the tour taking place quite early on a Friday morning, she was an early riser anyway. Every morning at 6:30 she got up for a run, got her breakfast, and headed to work. The latter was replaced on her vacation with either lounging around the Lars' residence or working on the small amount of work she'd been able to bring with her. She'd found early on that a steadfast routine—while monotonous to some—was one of her only anchors in a turbulent world. She'd found very little in the way of permanent closure, but dammit if she couldn't get through a day.

That day she'd gotten a bit of a late start, but it didn't matter; she didn't have anything else to do but wish she was spending her (probably only) vacation someplace with beaches and hotter guys—at least ones that don't race. Mara was waiting for her when she got back from her run, along with Luke and someone she had hoped to file away under "bad encounters." She wasn't sure what Han Solo was doing here, but she knew it wasn't good.

"Leia, care for some eggs?" Aunt Beru asked her, and she politely declined.

That smirk was back as Solo eyed her up and down. "Couldn't help but notice you're driving a 2017 TIE, not bad."

Leia set her hands on her hips and stared at him for a second, at a loss for words. "Its a rental. I don't have a car."

Solo seemed shocked by this. "Really, how do you get around in that big city then?"

Leia shrugged. "Walk, take the bus. Sometimes Uber or I carpool."

Solo shook his head. "You should get a car. Now, I know a guy selling-"

"If I wanted a car, I would go to my local dealership and buy one, not buy some junker off of a random." Leia was not in the mood for this, her routine was off and she had not anticipated this encounter.

Solo shook his head. "This car is not a junker, far from it. I admit it might need some work done, but-"

"Let me guess, you know a guy."

"Yeah, me. I'd help you with any of your car troubles, sweetheart." His grin was back.

Leia winced at the nickname. "This is the problem with you Naboo guys, you're obsessed. You only look at girls because your cars don't have tits. I'm surprised some sucker hasn't done that yet, or maybe he's just worried you'll stick it in the tailpipe!" A noise made her glance over and she realized that Mara and Luke were barely holding back their laughter.

"What's so funny‽" She demanded.

"You two," Mara said, wiping her eyes. "C'mon, Leia."

"Why is he even here?" Leia demanded.

Luke cleared his throat. "He's- he's my best man."

Leia's whole body went rigid as she stared incredulously at her brother, already dreading every single encounter she was going to have with this man.

"You've rendered her speechless, kid," Solo said, still smirking, causing her to redirect her icy gaze to him. He didn't even flinch.

"C'mon, Leia," Mara said again, and Leia turned to follow her.

"Oh, princess, before you go." Leia stopped but refused to look back. "You may be right about 'Naboo guys'-"

"Hey!" Luke protested.

"-but I'm from Corellia. Nice to see you again." He sounded like this small distinction meant a world of difference, but it did little to sway her opinion. Leia stormed out after Mara, catching up with her just outside of the house.

"He's always been like that, ever since I've known him," Mara said, catching Leia's look.

"How do you stand him?"

"He's better once you get to know him. He can be a real great guy." Mara chuckled at her groan. "Just don't let him know he's getting to you, he'll only pick on you if it bothers you."

Mara showed her the place where the pavilion where they'd be having the ceremony as well as where they'd have the reception. "The old barn is the rain plan, but we're hoping it won't come to that. You can only get those places so clean. And sorry again for not having you as a bridesmaid, we decided simpler was better and I figured you'd want to be on Luke's side anyway."

"Don't worry about it. So long as I'm sitting by someone nice, I'll be fine." When Mara didn't say anything, Leia groaned. "Not him, anyone but him."

"Sorry, but we want the same number of people on both sides, for pictures, you know? And Han doesn't have a date and Jyn is sitting with Cassian."

"Is there an open bar at least?"

Mara laughed, and nodded. "It was Luke's one request for the reception. He said he didn't care where it would be or how many people would be there, he just wanted you to be there and an open bar." The two walked side by side back to the house. Leia was dreading another encounter with Solo, but she hoped that maybe he'd left.

"You're back," Luke commented from the couch. He and Solo seemed to be drinking coffee and watching a race.

Leia avoided Solo's gaze, and made to go back to her room.

"The offer for that car still stands, sweetheart," Solo called to her, and she stopped in her tracks.

Don't let me know he's getting to you. She let out a breath and turned around.

"What is it?" she asked.

He smirked and sat up. "An old 1974 Tantive, the 4th in its series."

She crossed her arms. "I thought you said it wasn't a junker."

He chuckled. "It isn't. Its from my pal Lando, he doesn't buy junkers."

Mara scoffed. "He's right, Leia. But Lando also wouldn't tell you about any fatal flaws in the cars either."

Solo assured them that he'd checked out the car himself. That it maybe need some bodywork and a fresh coat of paint, but was, overall, a good buy.

"Isn't that car huge?" Leia asked. "I'd need something more compact. No, I think I'll be fine, thank you anyway, Mr. Solo."

He looked amused. "Mr. Solo is my deadbeat dad, Ms. Skywalker-"

She flinched and snapped. "Organa, my name is Organa, not Skywalker."

He blinked, but barely missed a beat. "My apologies, call me Han."

"Alright, Han. You may call me Leia."

"Oh, may I?"

"Can you two give it a rest?" Mara asked, rubbing her temples.

Leia slipped away to her room, intending to call the office. Maybe they'd had some work they could send over.

She was on the phone with Mothma when Mara poked her head into her room.

"Hold on one second, yeah?" She said to Montha.

"Would you like to go out tonight?" Mara whispered.

"With who? Where?"

"The six of us, you, me, Luke, Jyn, Cassian, and Han. To Jabba's."

Leia sighed. "Yeah, yeah."

"Ok, sorry to bother you." Mara ducked out.

Leia sighed inwardly and went back to talking on the phone.

Leia had remembered the first time she'd gone to Jabba's Hut when she was 19. It had seemed so cool to get past the bouncer with a fake ID Cassian had gotten for her. She'd gotten drunk for the first time there, and had puked in Cassian's car when he brought her home. Things had definitely changed since then. What was once a 21-up bar that sometimes had shows was now a full on club with a DJ, dance floor, and laser light show. Nearly as soon as they had ordered drinks and sat down, the two couples had paired off to go dancing, leaving the two singles behind. Leia expected S- Han to ditch her and start hitting on the locals, which she told him. He shook his head.

"I don't mess around at Jabba's anymore. I'm lucky I was able to get in," he shouted over the music.

"What? Why?" Surprising, to be honest. She straightened her dress over her legs. It wasn't necessarily like what she would've worn to a club in Coruscant, but she had limited options living out of her suitcase. Besides, who was she trying to impress in this town.

"Jabba and I had a- let's say a disagreement awhile back over a sponsorship. It's all smoothed out now, but at the time it was pretty serious." He wasn't looking at her, but staring out at the dance floor. She wasn't sure if he was scouting out potential trouble.

"I didn't even know there was a 'Jabba.'"

"Well of course there's a Jabba, who else would come up with that name?" Leia shrugged at him and sipped her drink. "I'm surprised you're not dancing or looking for a date yourself," Han said.

Leia shook her head. "I thought I made it clear what I thought about Naboo guys. I grew up with some of these people, as far as I'm concerned, they're lucky I even showed up."

Han seemed to laugh. "You graduated with Luke?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I went to Alderaan High up until my junior year, and moved to Tattooine when I was a senior."

Han shook his head. "Alderaan, wow, that's a name I haven't heard of in a while. Tore it down, didn't they?"

She nodded. "Yeah, they claimed structural flaws, but I'm convinced it was bullshit. They just wanted to build that strip mall."

"Must've been hard, moving in your senior year."

She shrugged. "Everyone had to, so I wasn't alone. And after-…well, the Ruling, there wasn't much worse that could be done." She took another sip of her drink. "Besides, I met Cassian, and we dated for a while. Got to spend my senior year with Luke, wasn't all bad."

"You dated Cassian?"

"Yeah, for maybe four or five years."

Han looked shocked. "I never would've thought- huh."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "What?"

"Nothing, I just-"

"Never would've thought a princess like me would be willing to date someone who relies on DACA?"

"Well, when you say it like that-"

She shook her head. "I might have been like that when I was younger, but things have changed. People change. Now I want to make the world better. Make sure people get their just desserts, might run for DA someday, even."

"Alright, alright, no need to convince me, I might just be some lowly tailpipe fucker, but I wasn't born yesterday." Leia laughed.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here, you two getting along?" Luke shouted as he and Mara slid into the booth next to the two of them.

"A moment of weakness, I assure you," Leia said, not looking at Han.

"C'mon Leia, dance with me," Mara said. "Luke's pussying out."

"Not surprising," Leia said as she moved to get out. "I was shocked he was even willing to come here, it cuts into his usual time of reflection and contemplation."

Luke scoffed, drinking, and she laughed. The two of them danced and even ran into Jyn and Cassian. Cassian went to go get another drink so the three women all danced together. Leia conceded that this was indeed a good time, if it wasn't for the lights flashing and the loud music beginning to give her a migraine. She tried to muscle through it and focus on how Jyn—for the first time since she'd met her—looked like she was having the time of her life. After a few songs, Leia was hot and exhausted. She got some water from the bar and was just about to head back when she felt a strong arm around her.

"Fuck off," she said without thinking.

The intruder laughed. "Maybe, if you buy me a drink first, but how 'bout a dance instead?" She turned to see Han, one arm draped over her shoulder.

"You drunk?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I told you I don't mess around at Jabba's."

"Dancing counts as 'messing around.'"

He shrugged. "I'm not good at following rules, even my own."

"Why is that not surprising? I'd really rather sit down, I'm starting to get a headache."

He followed her back to the booth where Mara and Luke were swaying to the rhythm in their seats. The song playing was one of the slower songs that night.

"Oh, Leia, Han, will you sit with the table so we can dance? Its our song," Mara asked emphatically.

"Yeah of course." The two of them sat down as the couple got up to dance.

Han and Leia sat in relative silence until the song was over, and there was a small reprieve from the music.

"I should show you my car," Han said.

"What?" Leia asked, even though she'd heard what he'd said. He took out his phone, an older smartphone with a screen cracked nearly beyond repair. He showed her some pictures flipping through some before and afters, and telling her about the history of the '63 Falcon. It was hard to tell what Leia was looking at exactly with the cracked screen, and it was hard to hear over the music and her pounding head. She merely nodded and said "yeah" whenever seemed necessary, hoping this conversation wouldn't go on forever.

"So you'll come tomorrow?" He asked and she blinked.

Leia had no idea what he was talking about. "Sure, where at? What time?"

He gave her the address and she put it into her calendar under "Solo Thing" at 8 am. She could barely think of Han getting up before 11, but she could barely think at all at this moment.

"You weren't kidding about that headache, you look awful," Han said.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the cute ones." Leia was pretty sure he winked, but she couldn't tell at this point.

"I think I need to go home." She rubbed her temples, not sure if she should surrender her fate into the hands of a man who she'd only recently become on speaking terms with.

"Say no more, sweetheart." He stood and made his way over to the dance floor, hopefully to find Luke so he could take her home. She felt bad to ruin her brother's good time, but she was beginning to feel sick.

It was Jyn and Cassian who came to the table, not Luke.

"Sorry you're not feeling well." Cassian sounded about as remorseful as he could over the music, which was quite a bit considering. "Do you need a ride home?"

"Taken care of," Han said. "I already texted Luke, but I couldn't find him. Tell him I'm taking her home."

"Ok, but make sure it's her own, ok?" Cassian asked. "I don't think you want to know what'll happen if its not."

"Guys, I'm having a migraine, he didn't roofie me," Leia protested. Cassian held up both his hands in surrender

Han led her out of the building and over to the parking lot where an old black sedan sat.

"Is this the Falcon?" Leia asked.

Han gave her a look, but didn't call her out for not paying attention to his small spiel. "No, this is a 2005 TIE, a commercial car, alegally drivable on the roads. The Falcon is for racing."

"Oh, that's disappointing." Leia got into the passenger seat, curling up under her seatbelt.

"Don't worry, you'll see the Falcon tomorrow. That is, if you're feeling up to it." He got into the driver's seat, turning on the car and turning down the radio to a soft hum.

Leia waved it off. "I'll be fine. I'll be there." As they headed towards Uncle Owen's farm, Leia added the note to the event in her calendar: "See the Falcon?"

[all-of-the-imagines-for-eve]

Friend of a Friend (Joey Richter)(Part One)

So like? No one asked for this but I might just write a TON of Joey Richter imagines? I’m in a Starkid mood. Might dump some Joseph Walker too... We’ll see. Requests open as always!

My arms full, I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the doorway to empty so I could pass through. My eyes flickered to the clock and I bit my tongue so that I wouldn’t shout something I’d regret the second it came out. I had a minor anger problem. Coming from New York, where everything was fast paced and angry, the bustle of the too-casual students was driving me insane. They were so SLOW!

Finally giving in, I grunted, “Move,” gruffly as I shoved my way through the crowd. I heard a few annoyed huffs and mumbles but I just locked my jaw and rolled my eyes, ignoring them.

Once I was in the hallway, I mumbled curses to myself as I waved through students just standing in random clusters in the hallway, trying to get to my next class. Turning a corner, I pulled short as someone zoomed by me. Unfortunately, though, as I stepped back someone behind me stepped up and we crashed together. I dropped my load of binders and books - just as the bell rang.

Fuck!

Quickly falling to my knees, I gave up and just pulled my bag forward. I’d just held it all in my arms so I could get to my next class sooner. I was always late since it was on the opposite side of the school and kids here were on some kind of drug and just chilling in the halls instead of actually getting to class like they should be. There was no point though. I’d be late. Moving around, I pulled the two binders near me, looking around for my books as I gathered a few papers that had slipped out of my writing binder. Yes, I had a writing binder. I was a writer. One binder for school, one binder for notes and ideas and character brain storms.

The hallways cleared just in time for me to pull all the papers and binders into my bag, even snagging my English book off the floor. But I couldn’t find my-

“Looking for this?”

My head snapped up to land on the Host clutched in two hands. My eyes followed the hands to arms and a body and a face. A face I didn’t recognize. Not that I had gotten around the school much since I’d been here. I’d been furiously scrambling to stay ahead and focused. “Th-thanks,” I whispered, frowning despite my genuine happiness to see my book still in good condition.

She smiled even brighter as we both stood. Shorter, brown eyes and short hair obviously dyed partly blonde. “No problem. Do you go here? I swear I know everyone and then I meet even more people.” She giggled and it was honestly adorable.

Shifting from foot to foot, I balanced between being even more late to class or being rude to this friendly, helpful girl in front of me. “Uh, I’m Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” I rushed.

Offering me her hand, which I took, she introduced herself. “Lauren. Lopez.”

Nodding, I pulled back my hand and pulled my backpack strap over my shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Lauren. I... really have to go.” Just as I said that, the bell deeming late rang and I winced and then groaned.

Lauren shot me a look of understanding and pity. “I’m sorry. I have free hour so I didn’t even think... You get going. I’ll see you around?” I shot her a smile and then turned, jogging to my next class. When I got there, I tried to slip inside without being noticed.

No such luck. “Miss Y/l/n, if you insist on being late every single day I really would just prefer if you didn’t come at all. The constant disruption to my class is growing repetivelt irritating.” My English Teacher, Mr. Sym, turned to face me as I froze, almost in a seat in the back and my face scrunched in a ‘damnit’ expression. He sighed. “Sit down.” I did, burying my head in my arms for a few seconds until the teacher continued the lesson and I was sure no one was looking at me anymore.

Man. I really needed to fix that late thing. This was starting to really suck.

- time skip -

The last bell of the day rang and I stood, exhausted and rubbing my forehead. I brushed someone’s shoulder. “Sorry,” I mumbled, looking up through vision blurry with tiredness. A boy with dark hair and eyes shot me a smile, letting me know it was okay and I continued on my way.

A little ways down the hall, I heard someone calling me. I turned to see a grinning Lauren coming at me fast. I’d seen her a few times in the hall and had gotten her number a few days ago since we first met and I could say we were officially friends. It was nice to claim that I had a friend after so long of sticking to myself. Seeing her gave me a bit of energy and I found myself standing up taller and smiling a bit more easily. “Hey,” I greeted as she stopped in front of me.

“Hi!” She returned. “Guess what?”

Pushing away my yearning for my warm bed, I focused on my friend. “You know I’m terrible at guessing. Just tell me. What?”

Lauren bounced on her toes, grabbing my hands. “We finally did it! We figured out all the details and chaos and such and all our practicing is down! Like now we actually have it all figured out and I know it’s going to be really great!”

Weirdly enough, with all of her vague wordings, I still knew what she was talking about. “A Very Potter Musical? You think it’ll be good?”

She nodded, giddy. “I do! Like honestly I was really nervous but with it just a few days away I’m excited now? Ya know?”

Unable to help myself, I laughed lightly. “I don’t know, but I can imagine. I’m so happy, Lauren. That’s awesome!”

Her energetic freaking out paused. “And you’re sure you can’t come?”

I pursued my lips. “I’m sorry, Lar I have two projects and my job is keeping me on my toes...”

Frowning, she gave me a very serious look. “How much did you sleep last night?”

Biting my lip, I avoided her eyes. “I, Uh, got a few hours, um-“

Her hand slipped away from holding my wrist, catching my face between her hands, squishing my cheeks. She gave me th mom look, forcing me to look at her. “How many hours, Y/n?”

My shoulders sagged. “Two.” My voice sounded weird and it was probably hilarious from her point of view, but she was too angry to laugh.

“I told you to get some actual sleep! Between your terrible eating habits and your driving yourself so hard- You’re going to kill yourself I swear!”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “What do you expect me to do?”

Lauren squared her shoulders. “Why don’t we move in together? We can split the rent and study together. You’ll be able to drop one of your two jobs I bet. It’ll be easier on me, too.” I frowned, glaring at her, but she held onto her stubbornness as she always did. I sighed and gave in, my caving look all she needed to return to her grinning as she whooped in celebration. “Awesome!” She exclaimed. She reached around, maneuvering us so she could loop her arm through mine. “Let’s get you some sleep, some real food... and then I’ll find some way to drag you to the show.” I groaned but it was broken up by laughter. Lauren was too busy planning things out in her head to listen.

- le ‘nother time skip -

A sigh passed my lips and I turned to face Lauren, crossing my arms. “I hope you’re happy.”

She looked around at the room I’d moved into a few days prior. As she’d predicted, I’d been able to drop one of my jobs so that I only had one now. Between the two of us, we could have fairly good meals and transportation. She had a car and we both payed for the gas and the rent. Surrounded by her smile and persistence, I felt a lot better. She wasn’t always happy, but she was always soft and compassionate and that was a nice change from the constant loneliness with the patches of Lauren happiness.

Turning to me, she placed her hands on her hips. “I am,” she agreed, nodding once. I’d gotten six hours of sleep the last few nights I’d lived here and it was showing in my increased energy and lifted mood. Her eyes looked at the clock and she smiled determinedly. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand, dragging me after her quickly.

“Where are we going?” I asked, laughing. Without answering me, she dragged me to the car. We both in, buckled, and then she was driving off. I kept stealing looks at her, unsure what she was scheming. When we pulled up to the school, I was even more confused. “Serious Lauren what are we doing here?”

She looked at me, smirking as she wiggled her eyesbrows, and slipped out of the car. I followed her, not sure if I had much of a choice to do otherwise. We jogged up to the school and I froze as my eyes landed on the poster pinned up and colorful.

‘Showing Tonight: A Very Potter Musical, put on by Starkid’

My eyes went wide as I stilled. “Lar. Lar that’s- that’s your GROUP. With like a full ass, official banner.” I looked down to see her grinning. I suddenly felt smaller as I sagged, my face softening. “I almost missed your opening night. My best friend’s opening night. I... I’m so sorry, Lauren.”

Her eyes grew soft as mine did, her smile getting smaller. “Aw, Y/n, I know how pulled thin you were. It’s okay.” She stood up to her full height, her hands on her hips. “You can make it up to me by helping me set up...” her eyesbrows rose.

Laughing, I shook my head. “I would love to do anything you need me to.” She grinned and took my wrist in her hand, dragging me inside. As we went inside, she introduced me to a bunch of people and told everyone I was there to help. There were heaps of costumes and props and I was overwhelmed. I was no aware of all that went into a theatre production, obviously. I thought it was a lot simpler than this.

Time seemed to speed past as I raced with Lauren and everyone else to get everything sorted and set up in time. I was surprised with how busy she kept me. If I wasn’t working on set up, I was meeting Meredith or Jamie or Brian or Darren or Joe or Brian (which got really confusing immediately until they explained they went by last names and Brian 1 became ‘Holden’ and Brian 2 became ‘Rosenthal’) or Bonnie or Dylan or Joe (apparently there are two Joe’s as well and Joe 1 reintroduced my stressed out self who was terrible with names as ‘Moses’ which I thought was funnier than it probably was and then Lauren pointed out Joe 2 as ‘Walker’) or Devin or Britney -

And then I forced myself to stop there because I’d already been hit by so many names and tasks that my head was spinning.

Devin stopped me about fifteen minutes before the show. “Lauren’s getting her costume on but she says to take this and put your stuff in your seat.” she handed me an admission tickets that looked kind of like a 9 3/4 train station ticket. Creative. I took it. “She wants you to take tickets at the door as well, if that’s okay?”

Chuckling, I nodded. “Of course it’s okay. Good- uh, break a leg. If I’m doing tickets I’ll busy the rest of the time. Let everyone know I’m whooping from the audience.” She nodded, grinning, and I stood to leave.

Just then, I bumped into someone tall and broad and I gasped, stepping back. “Yikes, sorry,” the person (obviously male) made out around startled, soft laughter. “Didn’t see you there.” He placed his hands on my shoulder, guiding me back. My eyes widened as I recognized his face. I’d bumped into him on my way out of English class. A few times I think. He always hovered outside the door and in my rush I always seemed to catch him with a shoulder or foot or just my whole body if it was a bad day. After all the new faces, it was weirdly relieving to see someone I even only sort of recognized.

“No, please, excuse me,” I replied, my smile apologetic.

He gave me a sort of teasing look. “I guess you’re a lot more polite when you’re not stressed by school, bogged down by books, and trying to get to your next class, huh?”

A blush instantly swallowed my face as I realized what he must have meant. I hadn’t seen him in the crowd but I’d been grumbling and curing and shoving through crowd plenty of times in the halls. He must have been audience to at least two or three of those occasions. “Uh... people are... slow.”

He busted up laughing and I blushed even harder, my hand raising to rub the back of my neck self consciously. Another voice caught both of our attentions. “Joey, stop teasing the new girl and get ready to get on stage.” I turned to see it was Rosenthal, smirking and cocking an eyebrow as he watched the interaction between us. He was honestly adorable.

The man, Joey apparently, looked back at me. “Staying for the show?” I nodded. “Then I’ll see you in the audience.” He nodded a farewell and then stepped around me, making his way to costume.

Hm. Odd. Everything about that was not how I usually interacted with people. I think all the work and people were getting to me. I couldn’t keep up.

Heading to the door, I sat at the table and chair already set up, the lock box beside more tickets in case anyone wanted to buy them at the door. The lock box, I was sure, was for money and collected tickets. It was an easy process, giving people playbooks that were also played out and then taking tickets or money as people went in. I got a text from Lauren that it was time to close the doors so I put everything in the lock box, locked it with the key I’d found on top of it, and then brought it inside to put under my chair until the end of the show. The lights went down and the show began and I found myself genuinely excited.

It opened with Darren on a suitcase, singing. He had a great voice and he was obviously Harry. From the long drawn out beginning and the hilarious delivery of swagger and sass right out of the gate, I had to say this play was definitely looking good straight out.

And then Joey came on. But he had a cheesy red wig and a sweat band and he made over exaggerated expressions which I realized were pretty natural to him after a few seconds. It made me wonder if it was a character choice or just Joey.

Watching all of my new acquaintances and friends goof off and perform simultaneously on stage was exhilarating. They were all great actors and most were amazing singers (even the weak singers weren’t too bad though I had to say) and the music and story line was wonderfully creative. I laughed and clapped and felt my stomach drop and more, all with the audience around me and I started to feel weirdly unified, as if we were all the Audience, one huge, sentient being who worked together to feed and encourage the actors with our energy, giving them their own.

At one point, when Bonnie (as Hermione) and Joey (as Ron) mashed tongues (because who in their right mind would call THAT kissing?) I couldn’t help but keel over laughing and then sit up, red faced, wondering on how I could use that to mess with Joey. He’d caught me off guard earlier and now I really wanted to get back at him. Before that though, when Darren and Jamie (Harry and Ginny) kissed, I noticed how it was more serious and effected me WAY less. Odd. Very odd.

I think watching Lauren roll around as a boy, wearing a blonde wig that was as cheesy as Joey’s and Jamie’s was my favorite part, though. Was I bias? Maybe.

The show ended and, still part laughing and part hollering as everyone bowed, I stood to my feet as I clapped. My red face was warm and I felt like I was glowing and radiating the heat I felt in my body. Lauren saw me first. She blushed at the glint of ready-to-tease in my expression and then looked away, sticking out her tongue at me. I returned the gesture.

But then I saw Joey too. He was looking at me, an unreadable expression on his face for a second before it changed, wordlessly asking, ‘How was it?’ I put two thumbs up, nodding, and he grinned.

The curtains came together and I grabbed my bag and the lock box before jogging back stage. “Here,” I said first, handing the box to Dylan. He took it, setting it down as he stood, costume already mostly off. Except the High School Musical shirt. That he kept on. “You guys were AMAZING,” I added excitedly.

Dylan laughed. “Thanks! I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Before I could say anything else to him, I was tackled by a small body. I grunted and then looked over. Lauren, of course. “You loved it right? Totally? Totally.” She had pulled her hair down and peeled off her robes and stood before me with her familiar, regular hair and the white shirt and pants she wore for Draco.

Energetic enthusiasm burst from me. “Lauren that was incredible! Are you kidding me? Like it? I LOVED IT! Adored it! It was- well it was- I don’t have words for what it was!”

Lauren laughed, my hyper ness hitting her instantly as she bounced on her toes, face still rush red and her grin so big it was painful to look at. “Yes! Ugh I’m so glad! That’s so good to hear.”

My attention was pulled by Joey walking up, even more dressed down than Dylan. His hair was messy from being under the wig and he still wore the white shirt, but he’d put on some jeans and was otherwise officially de-Ron-ed. “I’m assuming you liked it?” He asked, smiling.

Unable to help myself, I smirked. “Well, I just hope that you’re a better kisser than your character, Richter. Not gonna pull many girls that way.” His eyes went wide and Lauren let go, doubling over in laughter as Joey simply went scarlet red. Dylan couldn’t handle all the teasing and energy and shaking his head he simply turned and walked back to the others. Probably to greet his friends. They’d had other people in the crowd beside me. He mumbled something about ‘crazy’ which made me chuckle a little.

After a second, Joey squared his shoulders. “I guess you’ll never know. Might want to try it out for yourself.” His eyes twinkled as our gazes locked, both of us smirking challengingly now.

“Okay break it up break it up!” Lauren groaned. “This is GROSS!”

Looking over at her as she shattered the moment, I rolled my eyes. “You wanted me to like your friends, right?”

Her face twisted. “Not like that!”

Joey and I both laughed. “No I suppose not, hm?” I brushed my hair behind my ear, looking back to the taller man. “Sorry, I joke too much. It was nice to meet you.”

His smile faltered. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Nice to meet you too.” He nodded and then waved a quick farewell before pushing past us into the hall. I had to remind myself that all of them had friends and probably even family here. He had other people to greet.

A sigh slipped from Lauren as she put an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Love Bird number two. Let’s go greet my fans.”

I cringed at the title. “At least give me number one,” I complained.

She laughed, shaking her head and dragging me outside to... “greet the fans”.

--

Forever tag list: @iwannadiehere I don’t know if you still want me to tag you in my stuff but I’m writing again?

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Childhood Fears

chapter 28

chapter index

Lars and Elizabeth weren’t the sort of couple to dance every dance. They had, in fact, met while both of them were avoiding the dancing at a party held by her father at their house back in Corona. Her sisters were all competing for the attention of the young officers by the tent in their back garden, and she had gone around to the front to avoid them. Lars had been dragged to the party by his brother Karl, who had been concerned about his brother's intense focus on his studies, and insisted he needed to take some time to have some fun. The party seemed to Lars to be mostly young ladies trying to catch naval officers, and he soon found himself quietly exploring the gardens, where he ran into Elizabeth. 

This evening, Elizabeth’s mother and sisters were monopolizing her attention any time she wasn’t dancing. They were leaving in the morning, so Lars knew that Elizabeth felt obligated to spend time with them, but she had told him on more than one occasion that when she was away from them, she didn’t miss them as much as she felt she should. As soon as Lars got himself away from Mr. Meyer, he made sure to find his wife and ask her to dance.

After the second dance, Lars was once again called over by Mr. Meyer, this time to meet someone who had spent several years working in America.  He felt bad for abandoning Elizabeth at the party again, but at least, professionally, it was an interesting conversation.  There were more dances while he talked with the other men, and eventually he was able to return and get in one more dance with his new bride.

The party was starting to wind down.  He stood holding Elizabeth’s hand while her mother and sisters excitedly told her about their travel plans, and all the things they would be able to do once they arrived in Wesselton. He looked around the room as they spoke.  The Maldonian ambassador was speaking with Mr. Meyer, while the rest of the Maldonians had left for the evening.  Frederick was pestering Elizabeth’s father and Admiral Sorensen with more questions about the details of naval operations, and meanwhile he saw the Queen and her husband quietly leave.  There was some commotion in the opposite corner of the ballroom, and he noticed Inga being led out by the steward.

Elizabeth looked up at him. “Do you think something’s going on?” she whispered as her mother was busy discussing something with her sisters.

“I’m not sure,” he murmured back. It did seem odd, particularly since the princess was normally allowed to come and go as she pleased. His wife was worried about her friend, and clearly not interested in the conversation with her mother.  “Why don’t you go check?”

Elizabeth nodded and tried to quietly go. 

“Elizabeth, dear,” her mother called, “are you turning in so soon?”

“No, of course not,” Elizabeth replied, “I just wanted to check on Inga.” 

“You’ll get plenty of time to talk to her, but we’ll be leaving in the morning.”

“I just need a minute, Mother, if you’ll excuse me, please,” Elizabeth said firmly.

“I think the Princess will be fine, dear,” her mother replied.

Lars squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I’ll go see if there’s anything happening.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

“Now, what were you telling me, Diana?” Lars heard their mother saying as he walked away.

Lars saw Kate and Edith standing together off to the side of the room, exchanging guilty looks with each other.  The sisters were discussing in hushed tones about whether they had gotten Inga in trouble or whether General Mattias would hear about their gossiping and they would be the ones in trouble. The General had left an hour before on their assurance that they would behave themselves.  

“Ladies,” Lars greeted them.

They both startled a little.  

“Elizabeth was worried about Inga, so I promised I’d check on her.  Do you know why Kai called her out of the room?”

“No, I swear, we don’t,” Kate blurted rapidly.  Lars rolled his eyes. 

“I didn’t think there was a reason before, but now you have me suspicious,” Lars smiled.  He had noticed Inga taking a few extra drinks, but the evening was almost over and it didn’t seem like the princess was likely to make a scene.

As he stood around waiting for the girls to say something more, he thought about what might be going on.  Elizabeth had told him they were talking about his new position, but he couldn’t imagine why that would be a problem. If Elizabeth was there, they might have been talking about Wesselton.  Perhaps there had been too much talk of Wesselton; after all, Arendelle had no official diplomatic relations with them. He thought back to the briefings before he had arrived in Arendelle, and shook his head at their foreign policy. And they wanted him to work for them? At least with Wesselton they officially had no relations, unlike the Southern Isles, where they had quietly stopped sending each other ambassadors some twenty-one years before. Of course, he knew from talking to both Mr. Meyer and his father-in-law, Corona profited off of this ambiguity.  He knew that Arendelle lived in fear of a naval attack from the Southern Isles, though he could never understand why this was an issue if that kingdom had long ago punished and exiled the would-be claimant to Arendelle’s throne.  Perhaps if he were working for Arendelle, he could convince them to be more rational in their foreign policy.  Even if the Queen wouldn’t listen to reason, her children seemed more open.

“We should go now,” Edith announced, pulling at her sister’s arm. “Good night, Mr. Nilsen.”

“Good night, ladies,” he replied, not sure how long he had been distracted in his own thoughts.

Elizabeth remained across the room talking to her sisters, glancing over and trying to move them that direction.  Her mother had found her husband, and was discussing last minute details. The Captain came striding over to Lars.  

“Well, son,” he laughed, shaking Lars’s hand, “we’ll be leaving early, so I think this is goodbye for now.  I know you’ll write to us.  Take good care of Elizabeth.  Good night!”

“Good night, sir,” Lars replied as his father-in-law left the room.

Elizabeth followed her sisters as her mother herded them out of the party. “I’ll see you in our room,” she told him as she walked with her mother and sisters up to their rooms, “see if you can find out what happened to Inga, and don’t let Mr. Meyer keep you too long.” 

He saw Mr. Meyer shake hands with the Maldonian ambassador as they bid each other good night, and took his chance to leave the room.  There wasn’t much point to going to bed just yet, but if Mr. Meyer caught him, there would be another dozen dignitaries he needed to talk to, and they would often insist on taking him to late night drinks. He wasn’t sure if it would be prying to look for Inga at this point, but Elizabeth had asked him.  Still, it didn’t sound like anyone else was in this part of the castle, with everyone either leaving for the town or retiring to rooms inside.  

He walked out the door, and headed to the courtyard. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and the moon, though not full, still gave enough light to see his way around. He decided that a walk through the gardens might help clear his head. Ever since the new position had been offered to him, nothing seemed quite right.  As he walked along in the moonlight, he thought of his conversation with Elizabeth before the party. 

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror trying to decide what to do with her hair. "You never told me how fancy they get at this sort of thing."

Lars looked over. "It's not something I've really thought about. Dress for dancing, but it's not like it's some big occasion."

"Well," she said securing her hair, "it's the in between things that are tricky to dress for.  How do I look?"

"Beautiful.  What else do you expect me to say?" Lars smiled as she walked over. 

"You’ve seemed a bit distracted the last few days. I mean, I know it's a big deal deciding on the position, but I get the feeling it's something else."

He sighed. "You're right. Maybe it's just being gone for a week, but it feels… something feels different now.  We met with the Queen yesterday afternoon, and I could swear she wouldn't even look at me."

"Inga told me her mother wasn't feeling well last week. Perhaps she still hasn't fully recovered."

"But her husband, he had been so friendly, and he's made excuses of being busy the times I've run into him."

Lars sighed to himself.  He hadn’t discussed this with anyone else. If Mr. Meyer had noticed any difference in attitude, he certainly hadn’t said anything, but he was focused on how they would proceed once things were more settled.  Corona had mentioned sending royal emissaries, presumably to deal with the special situation. They hadn’t given exact dates yet, but he wondered if some of his classmates from the School who were particularly jealous of his placement here would be candidates for his replacement.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the noise of one of the nearby small side doors to the castle slamming open, and he heard a rustle of silk as someone ran by.  He quickly realized it was Inga.  He looked back at the door to see if anyone was following, but the door was shut again.  He walked in the direction she had run, but couldn’t see anyone.  Suddenly, he heard some noise from a nearby tree, and saw Inga sitting on one of the branches, noisily gasping for breath like she’d been crying.  He wanted to call to her, but as soon as he looked up, he found himself quickly looking away, realizing that she hadn’t taken any care of how her skirts were arranged. Even if he weren’t married now, this wasn’t proper for him to see, but Elizabeth was probably still stuck with her mother, and he had the feeling that Inga wasn’t in a good frame of mind.  As he walked closer to the tree, he noticed a nearby branch, which would avoid the awkward view he found himself looking at from below. Grabbing onto the side of the tree, he started climbing.

“Frederick, is that you?” she called out, not really hiding the sniffling sounds.

“No,” Lars called out, hoping she wouldn’t be too startled.

He saw her begin to stand up, holding on to the tree trunk. “Lars? What are you doing here?” 

“I used to climb trees, too,” he laughed.

“No, no, I mean… why are you out here? Were you looking for me?” she asked.

“Yes... Elizabeth was worried about you,” he explained, reaching a nearby branch, a little out of breath.  “She wanted me to check on you when you were pulled away from the party. Is anything wrong?”

“You can go tell them I’m fine,” she told him with a forced calm.

“But-” 

“I’m fine.”

“Elizabeth said you seemed a little unhappy earlier.”

“Everything was just fine earlier,” she spat out, looking away.

“Is everything fine with your parents? I saw that they left a little early.”

He looked in confusion as Inga began crying again. 

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asked.  Surely he would have heard something from the Ambassador or one of the other diplomats if her parents were ill.  He couldn’t think of any disputes they might have with Inga.  

“You have to leave right now,” she cried. He didn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. 

“Why?  I want to know why you’re upset.  Is there something wrong?”

“I can’t tell you.”  He watched as she carefully lowered herself to the ground.  

“Fine,” he sighed slowly, “it’s personal, none of my business.” He lowered himself from his own branch.

“That’s just it,” she said, almost shouting, “it should be your business!” She looked like she was trying to find a way out, almost like she was trapped.

“I really don’t understand. If it’s my business, you should tell me!” He grabbed her hand.  She quickly pulled it away.  

“It’s not my secret,” she sobbed, turning around and starting to run. Lars hadn’t been looking around, and was nearly as surprised as Inga was when she bumped into her father.  Lars gasped when he saw him standing there.  He hadn’t seen him walk up.  Inga collapsed in the grass where she was standing and buried her head between her knees.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know what’s going on.” Lars said as he approached Kristoff. Lars wasn’t sure what else he could say.  Had he been imagining Kristoff’s avoidance of him, or was the reason the same as Inga’s reaction to seeing him tonight?  Or was it worse now?  After all, a young lady screaming and crying, trying to get away from a young man? 

“It’s nothing you did,” Kristoff replied, stepping a little closer to Inga, “but you should probably go back inside now.”

“I… sorry again, I hope she feels better soon,” Lars stammered.  Hurrying back up the path, he heard Inga’s muffled sobs.

***

Kristoff tried not to slam the door as he walked into the bedroom. He stood rubbing his forehead.

“Where is she now?”

“I left her with Gerda to get her ready for bed. I think she’ll be better with some sleep,” he sighed, sitting down and taking off his shoes.

Anna stared at the ceiling. “That didn’t go well.”

“We didn’t exactly plan it,” he replied flatly. “We probably should have let Inga keep gossiping with those girls. She knows enough not to believe what she hears.”

“How are you so calm right now?”

“I’m not calm, I’m exhausted,” he replied, collapsing into bed.  “She was right, though, it wasn’t the right time to tell her about that.”

***

Anna quietly opened the door to the library and walked in, though it was more of a waddle.  She didn’t remember Inga or Fred being quite this large so soon, nor was she this big when she was in Corona, even if she had felt so at the time. 

“And then she unfroze!” Olaf exclaimed.  Inga cheered and giggled.  Kristoff had fallen asleep, sprawled across the sofa, snoring.  Little Frederick had toddled over and was plucking out notes on the mandolin in the corner.

“Hi, Mama!” Inga exclaimed, “Olaf was just about to get to the part where you punched the mean man!”

“Olaf, are you getting them worked up before bed?” she gently chided him.

“No, Inga asked for the story!”

“Well, why don’t you go tell Nanny that it’s time to get them to bed?” Anna smiled as he wandered down the hall, and walked over to Kristoff.  “Honey, you fell asleep.” 

“I…” he muttered, sitting up quickly, “Okay, I did.  Here, you need to sit down.”  He scooted over and gently tugged her hand.  She sat down.

“I’m fine, really,” she smiled. “I wrote to Elsa this morning that it will  probably be a little longer.  The midwife thinks maybe another month.”

“You were working too late again,” he said, rubbing her belly.

“Mama!” Inga interrupted, “Why didn’t you let Papa punch the man? He says you wouldn’t let him.” 

“Inga,” Anna sighed, “how many times have you heard this story now?”

“I don’t know.  A thousand?” 

“Well, it’s time for bed,” she told her, cuddling Frederick who had just climbed up on her lap.

“Mama, what if you had married that man?” 

“What?” 

“What if you had married that man?”

“I… I don’t know, but you wouldn’t be here asking me that question.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t have married your Papa.”

“But why does that matter?”

“Because…”  How long was Inga going to continue questioning?  “Oh, good, here’s Nanny.  Good night, Inga, I love you.”

“Night, Mama, night night, Papa.”

“Good night,” Kristoff said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.  They watched as Nanny led Inga and her brother to the nursery.

“Anna, do you think maybe you should tell her?”

“About what?”

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh…  she’s so young, but I guess at some point...  Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow night.”

“Let’s go to bed now.  You’ve been working yourself too hard.” Kristoff helped Anna up off the sofa.

“I’m fine.  Besides, I think at this point I know what I’m doing.”

“Have you thought of any more names?”

“Not really, no.  Several members of the council had suggestions this afternoon,” she laughed.

“Well, there’s still time for figuring that out,” he smiled.

Anna clutched at her belly. “Maybe not…” 

***

Lars arrived back at his room in a daze. He washed his face, and changed for bed, trying to figure out what had just happened.  He spent several minutes pacing, finally giving up and lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The door opened.

“Lars, I didn’t expect you to be back already,” Elizabeth said cheerfully.

“I avoided Mr. Meyer,” he replied, trying to sound equally cheerful, knowing she would see right through it, but he was too tired, and it was too late at night now.  He could censor himself around her, but he could never keep up the act he put on for diplomatic functions.

“What happened? Did you find out why Inga had to leave the party?”

“No, I didn’t… that is, I didn’t find out why she left. I ran into her later. She was upset.”

“Did she say why?” 

“No, and… it was very confusing.  Her father found her.  I’m really not sure what was going on.”

“Well, let’s just sleep on it. I’ll see if I can find her tomorrow. Maybe she’ll be more willing to talk to me.”

“I suppose you’re right.”