#I WISH HE HAD FALLEN AND BROKEN HIS NECK INSTEAD

[rooksnooks]

Thank fucking god that the human body is 60% liquid because if there wasn't an explanation for how you could cut me open and find burning magma in there I would just die

[azureashes]

Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned Chapter Two: Screams and Sermons

18 + MDNI The next part of the Priest!Sukuna AU. Something's wrong with me. Someone stop me. TW: Voyeurism, Incels lusting after you, Religious Themes, Manipulation of Religious Ideals, Cult Themes, Domestic Violence, Family Wounds... and I think that's it. Chapter 1 I Chapter 2

"He could so easily find out who it was. So easily wreck his life, his reputation, his future… but wouldn’t it be so much more satisfying to have you do it? Instead of always turning away from the gun you carried, promising it was unloaded… What face would you make the first  time you pulled the trigger? He wanted to know." 

Darkness surrounded him, damp, palpable and ominous. His wrists were bound painfully behind his back, the zip ties digging brutally into his skin. He struggled to regulate his breathing, trying not to let the icy grip of panic close in on him, but it felt futile. 

He was Ryomen Sukuna’s captive. 

And anyone who knew the priest well enough to know that he was dangerous, rarely lived to warn others. No, they were caught and hidden away. Either they reappeared months or years later, suddenly enjoying unexpected wealth and success – or they were never heard from again. 

With a pained groan, he tested the binds once more but it was fruitless. His arms were bent backwards around a large metal water pipe that went cold or burning hot as the church above turned the tap. His screams were never heard over the church service, over all the footsteps passing overhead and the hubbub of the congregation. Thirst and the strain of crying out for hours on end to no avail had robbed him of much of his voice in the days he had spent in this rank prison, and what little sound he could summon was muffled by the pungent rag that he had been gagged with.

Sukuna hadn’t been to see him for two days and that mere knowledge terrified him, upending and laying waste to what he thought he knew about the man. If he was useless to the priest it meant he had no chance of survival. He craned his neck to look up at the ceiling and thought he could make out distant strands of light through the cracks in the floorboards of the confessional. But it was hopeless, there was rarely anyone in the church after the service ended, as Sukuna preferred to use that time for his own business. Business that Sukuna hid away on the priest’s side of the small confessional chamber. Business that he had hoped to discover. 

With a grimace, and tears pooling in his eyes, he resigned himself to his fate. He shouldn’t have been greedy. He should have listened when the team leader had told him to leave well enough alone. But the tip off that a local priest was actually running a secret criminal underground was too tempting. It could have made his career as a journalist – and now it would be the cause of his death. 

He remembered slinking into that confessional, trying to ask subtle questions, drawing out his notebook in what he had hoped was a discreet manner. He remembered being asked what he wanted, what he truly wanted, and his mind had blanked. He didn’t remember what his answer had been, he only remembered that it had been a lie. A wish for a nonexistent child of his to regain health, a wish for a promotion, anything he had hoped would be believable. 

But the silence that had followed was menacing. 

“Ryuzaki,” the priest had spoken his true name in a gravelly voice that froze the marrow of his bones. “You waste my time.” 

Before he could even wrap his mind around how the priest knew of his true identity, the floor had gone out from under him with a terrifying creak and a heart-stopping thud as the trapdoor crashed open. His stomach had lurched painfully and he had fallen ten feet, landing badly on his left leg that was undoubtedly broken. 

He had hoped Sukuna would come to interrogate him, had hoped he would still be of some use that he could leverage to get out of here but after two days… he had no doubt the dark priest would leave him here to rot. 

Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. His mother would say that he was not one for displays of emotion. That he had not even wept much as a child. But he cried now, in the dank, encroaching cold, on the unyielding concrete floor, in the face of certain death. Sobbing into his gag as he accepted his inevitable fate. 

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence, echoing sweetly against the walls of the empty church. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned….” 

Hope coursed through him with all the force of a round loosed from a shotgun, and the kickback left him reeling, shaken. Someone was there. Closer than ever. Someone who might hear him. 

He whimpered, then cleared his throat. Please. Please! Hear me! But he could do no more than pull at his restraints and try to scream hoarsely through his gag. Something warm and wet dripped down his bound wrists – blood. He did not care. Struggling to scoot forward, closer to those faint lines of candlelight far overhead he raged against his binds like a beast. Screaming and groaning and gasping, hoping against hope that the young woman would hear him and summon the authorities. 

He heard her gasp and hope crested for one impossible moment, until he heard Sukuna’s low, seductive murmurs, not at all like the threatening voice of intimidation he had dominated Ryuzaki with. Those low tones were followed by muffled moans, sharp intakes of breath, the wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh. The sweet cry of a woman on the cusp of ecstasy. 

His cheeks burned in shame at being an unwilling voyeur to their coupling, even as outrage coursed through him that the damned priest would so abuse his position of power. Out of options, Ryuzaki slammed his head against the water pipe behind him. The clanging echo deafening to his own ears, he could only hope the girl would hear. He repeated the motion, again and again and again until blood trickled down his temples, until he felt dizzy and lightheaded, until he vomited against his gag. 

Weak and weary, he hung loosely from his bonds, exhausted. Suddenly, he felt something splash against his forehead. A drop of water, then another. Almost like rain. He pulled back and watched the liquid drip, drip, drip into a small puddle right between his outstretched legs. 

Muffled conversation sounded overhead. The scraping sound of the girl rising from the confessional. The smooth, sultry baritone of Sukuna wheedling yet another gullible woman around his finger, and then they were gone. 

And he was alone, again, in the darkness. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Who had closed the door?

You jolted upright in bed as the thought occurred to you. Sukuna – you tested the name on your tongue again, relishing the shape of it, the taste of it – had been with you throughout. There had been no one else in the church. You were sure of it. The door to the confessional had remained open – Sukuna’s build was far too large to fit the both of you and close the door. In your nervous state, you had cast repeated glances over his shoulder to be sure no one was there and you were sure there hadn’t been anyone…

But then, who had closed and locked the church door? You distinctly remembered Sukuna lifting the latch as he let you out, although the door had been ajar when you had entered the church. These perplexed thoughts plagued you all morning as you prepared to face the day and made your way towards the dining hall, taking your designated seat automatically. You bit down on the tip of your thumb as you contemplated what that had to mean. Was there someone else? Hiding in the shadows? Or…? 

“Stop that!” your mother slapped your hand away from your mouth. “Nasty habit.” 

You swallowed thickly and lowered your hand, surprised as you had scarcely noticed your mother’s presence in the room as she arranged an arrangement of tulips in a vase. “Right, sorry mom.” Even as your brain unhelpfully reminded you of someone else’s fingers that had explored your mouth rather thoroughly the night before. The taste of them, the shape of them, how good it had felt to gag on them. 

You jumped suddenly to your feet, your face aflame as you realized you were quite unprepared to play it cool in front of your mother. “I’ll go help Linda in the kitchen,” you announced suddenly, hastening to make your escape. No one could know what had happened in that church, you reminded yourself as you slipped through the doorway to your family’s large estate kitchen, where Linda prepared breakfast along with two helpers. 

Thinking about the encounter nonstop from the necessary distance of your family home had given you some much needed clarity. A priest had had no business taking such liberties with you. Why, if anyone learned of it, it would cost him his priesthood! Not to mention, you admonished yourself with a glance at your ring finger, you were engaged to be married and you took your promises seriously. No, that had to be the end of it. You would not meet the wayward priest again. 

You could not quite explain what had come over you. The entire encounter had been so surreal. Like something out of a dream. And so, you were determined to consider it precisely that, nothing more than a dream, and move on with your life. 

“Young miss, there’s no work to be had for you here,” Linda announced brusquely with the merest glance at you as she pulled fresh buns out of the oven. “You’d best get on back to the dining hall.” 

“Please, Linda,” you breathed, still fighting back the warmth that had rushed to your cheeks. “I’m just trying to get away from my mother for a bit.” 

The brown-haired housekeeper gave you another once over and tutted. “Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, miss. I’ll be hoping young master John is responsible for that glow in your eyes and naught else.” 

“John?” you blinked at her, what did he have to do with anything? 

Linda stared back, nonplussed, and gave a stern warning glare to the other servants in the kitchen before crossing over to you, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. 

“Lord in heaven,” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, gravely concerned as she took in your expression. “Where were you at all odd hours of the night, miss?!”

“What?” your throat felt thick with the lies you tried and failed to summon, and settled instead on the truth. “I was at church.” 

“Oh, right, church…” sarcasm rolled off her tongue, and I was born to a mermaid in a bar off a cove of South Italy, I was.” 

Your eyes went wide, “you were?” 

Linda smacked you with the dishcloth, “Of course I weren’t, you fog-for-brains!”

“Oh,” you rubbed your arm, embarrassed. “Then why did you say that?” 

Linda released a heavy sigh and took another long, worried look at you. “Listen here, young miss, I’ll say this once and once only.” Her eyes were brimming with love that she kept under careful lock and key. She had known you your whole life, raised you on her tea and cakes, and held you through countless fitful nights, where you clung to her, awash with tears and self-loathing.

“If you don't want to marry Mister Jonathan Engels, then for the love of all that is holy, have a word with your father, won’t you?” 

All playfulness forgotten, your shoulders slumped and you stared at your feet. 

“It’s all very well and good not to be fond of him, ye hear? But break it off proper-like and don’t go inviting other men into your broken heart while you’ve got enough of a mess on your platter, yeah?”

You hadn’t invited anyone in, per se, but that was far too difficult to explain to Linda. And if her perceptive eyes saw a “glow” on you then you would need to get yourself in check before you dared appear before your father. 

You knew Linda meant well, that she was only looking out for you. She couldn’t possibly know that you had tried to speak with your father. That you had voiced your concerns, your fears, your despair. But he had explained to you that John was your last chance at saving face within the family. That he was well-loved and accepted and would serve as the glue that would bind you to your loved ones as well. He belonged to a family of clockmakers that had expanded their business to all the reaches of the country, they were very well-off and your father’s bank had invested heavily in their business. Why not join hands more officially, they had thought. Children came and went, but business was forever.

When you had insisted you could not marry him, shakily standing your ground, you were rewarded with the back of your father’s hand. You never brought it up again. 

“I was at church, Linda,” you repeated solemnly, taking care to school your expression into something carefully neutral. “I swear.”

“Well, alright then,” she conceded, giving you one long, last look before turning back to her work. “But think on what I said, aye? Now get you back to the dining hall, ye little distraction.”

You nodded, a small, fond smile on your lips as you watched her a moment longer and then returned to the dining hall where your mother waited, now perusing a small novel as she sat at her place at the table. You sat beside her, offering a polite nod as you took your seat, duly sobered by your close call with Linda. 

“Goodness,” your mother scolded, reaching for the high, starched collar of your pale blue blouse. “It’s far too warm for such attire.” 

Instantly panicked you caught her hand before she could pull down the thin fabric concealing the purple bruise on the side of your neck. The best poker face in the world would not be able to save you then.

“That’s quite alright, Mama!” your voice was slightly higher than you would have liked and you winced at the sound of it. Clearing your throat, you smoothed out your blouse and added softly, “I felt a bit of a chill this morning.”

Your mother looked at you as if you’d lost your mind, but you were saved from further conversation as kitchen servants in crisp white uniforms quietly brought out an extravagant breakfast on gleaming silver platters. The spread included freshly squeezed juices, artisanal breads and pastries with clotted cream and preserves, a vibrant fruit display, and an array of perfectly cooked eggs and breakfast meats. Fluffy pancakes and crisp waffles were offered alongside a lavish cheese and cold cuts board. A final cart rolled in with fine teas and freshly brewed coffee, all served in exquisite porcelain cups. 

But the sight and scents of the food were lost on you, your stomach tying itself into knots as you waited for your father and your brothers to appear. You sat beside your mother, silently, watching the steam waft up into the air, until finally, footsteps sounded in the hallway, sharp leather heels clacking against checkered tile. 

You rose to your feet as your father entered, your brother close on his heels. You offered a small nod and murmured good morning in greeting, but he scarcely took notice of you as he took his seat at the head of the table, one of your brothers on either side of him. 

“Let us say grace,” he announced, his burly demeanor and brusque voice inviting instant obedience. You took hold of your mother’s hand, and she joined hands with your brother. Your left hand was empty. You stared at the lines of your palm as your father droned on, recalling what it had looked like when Sukuna’s black robes had been clutched in your fist, what the smooth fabric had felt like against your fingers. 

You did not hear a word of your father’s prayer, reflexively adding on an “amen” when you felt your mother pull her hand away. 

Now, your father looked at you as he cut through his bread, reaching for the meat as he eyed you warily. Your brothers instantly selected the same type of bread from the basket, the same cut of meat, imitating your father’s choices to the slightest detail. You did not notice your father’s sudden, unnerving attention, or how the table had gone very still as he watched you, engrossed as you were, staring at your own palm. 

“Where were you last night?” 

You jumped at the gruff sound of his voice, heavy with accusation, and your head whipped around to face him. “Oh, I…” the weight of judgment in his eyes made your mind scramble like static. “I was at church.” 

You thanked God that it was the truth. You doubted you had it in you to stomach a lie and stick to it before his all-knowing gaze. 

A moment’s weighty silence passed and then he questioned, “what church?” 

“There’s an old building in the market square,” you answered, your words tumbling over each other like a babbling brook as you tried to fight back any feelings of guilt, sure your father would catch on immediately if you looked like you had anything to feel guilty about. 

“So late at night?” he stared at you doubtfully, “What possible business could you have had there?” 

“I went to confession,” you answered promptly. And was fucked to within an inch of my sanity by the hottest priest known to man, your brain added on unhelpfully. 

Not finding fault with your story, but not quite satisfied with it either, your father scowled. “There was no need to go so far, or so late at night. The local church should have done you fine.” 

“Yes, father,” you agreed, and butterflies fluttered fitfully in your stomach chasing the next words out of your mouth before you had even consciously decided on speaking them. “This church has been very helpful, father, in helping me understand…” 

Your father cut you a sharp glance, warning you to weigh your next words carefully, and your brothers stared at you in anticipation as they chewed, open-mouthed, causing your mother to slap them on the shoulder. Anything that differed from the norm was met with contempt and suspicion, and you did your best to remain calm. 

“Well,” you began, suddenly overwhelmed by the attention. “It’s just that you know, I sometimes struggle with… obedience…” the word felt heavy on your tongue, “and understanding why God has required us womenfolk to submit to the men in our lives.”

“To question the gospel is blasphemy,” your father snapped, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, of course!” you agreed hastily, eager to put his mind to rest, “That is quite why I was glad to have found this church that is helping me put my doubts to rest. I think I would like to go there again this Sunday if that is alright with you?”

You weren’t sure what alien force had put the words on your tongue. Hadn’t you just determined not to see Sukuna again? Hadn’t you just decided that his behavior made him unworthy of the robes he wore? What of his vows of celibacy? Well, granted, he had only pleasured you during your encounter, his own clothing had remained largely undisturbed. Perhaps there was a loophole in his priestly vows?

Your father considered this, his eyes narrowed at you distrustfully as if he felt you were trying to manipulate him. 

“What did they teach you there?” He wanted to know.

You fought back the warmth in your face as you skirted that dangerous line between truth and falsehood. You thought of Sukuna, the smell of him, the feeling of being surrounded by his muscular form, power almost rippling off of him. Of his confidence, his self-assurance, his easy, attentive manner.

“That God has blessed a man with power and leadership the likes of which he did not give to us women, to me. That in following him, I will be saved as well.” You could scarcely believe the words rolling readily off of your tongue. Words you would sooner have died than speak under other circumstances. 

A man, you thought to yourself. One, specific man. With a shock of pink hair and sanguine irises. 

Your father seemed satisfied and, leaning back, unfolded his newspaper, dismissing you. “Go there, then. See to it that you lend them ear.”  

“Yes, father,” you agreed, your heart rioting in your chest as you realized that in only three short days, you would be seeing Sukuna again. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where have you been?” Jonathan scowled at you, hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You glanced up at him innocently, “Whatever do you mean?” 

“Don’t give me that look, bitch,” he snarled, “I know everything.”

You shrugged and turned back to the ice cream sundae placed before you. “Well, if you know everything, then I’m sure you don’t need me to answer you.”

You were in the parlor of the Engels home and Johnathan’s parents were out of the house. He had dismissed the servants as well. It was you, him, and your ice cream that was melting almost as quickly as your sense of confidence. 

An invitation had arrived from the Engels House earlier that day, and as all the servants were aware of it, your father would no doubt be informed as well. And there was no possible excuse that he would accept from you as to why you did not answer your fiancé when summoned. 

And besides, you didn’t want to stir the pot now that Sunday was so close. 

Jonathan crossed over to you in two short steps and glared down at you. “You are my fiancee, I will not bear this disrespect.”

You shrugged, licking leisurely at your spoon. “Then don’t. How is that any of my business?”

His response was so sudden, it would have been comical under other circumstances. Without warning, his hand struck out and connected with the side of your face with such force that the spoon in your hand went flying, clattering over the marble floor loudly. You watched it strike the wall at the opposite end of the room and frowned. So much for your ice cream. 

You ignored the burning sting in your cheek, the bruise that would likely follow, and sighed, as if the slap was no more than an irritation and had caused you no pain at all. Straightening, you turned towards him once more. “Now, Jonathan,” you refused to let your voice tremble as you channeled your best imitation of your mother, “Was that truly necessary?” 

He showed no remorse and closed in, “I called your house two nights ago. You weren’t in. Care to tell me where you were? Who you were spreading your legs for, whore?”

You held his gaze beneath furrowed brows, weighing your next words. “I was at church, with a priest, Jonathan. I went to confession to seek guidance on our many conflicts and penance for my wrongdoings. So, unless you think a man of the cloth would ask me to spread my legs, as you so delicately said, as an offering… Well then, there you have your answer.”

You rose from the high stool you had been seated on and smoothed out your skirts, preparing to make your exit. Jonathan blanched and it gave you immense satisfaction to see it. “I - I’m sorry,” he stammered. You weren’t fool enough to think he was sorry for what he had said to you, no, he was ashamed to have inadvertently insulted a priest. 

You wanted to scoff at him. Sukuna would never.

He ran a hand through his hair, the fight going out of him. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” he frowned, “I was so worried. You know I’m only this way because I care about you.”

He reached out and cupped your cheek tenderly, it took everything you had not to recoil. Any conflict today would undoubtedly reach your father’s ears, Jonathan was always quick to tell tales about you and your father was always quick to believe him. So you gritted your teeth and allowed his touch.

Jonathan breathed your name as he sidled closer to you, his other hand also rising to cradle your face. “I have such great need of you, forgive me. Only, I cannot bear this separation. I want you to be mine, already.” His lips grazed your cheek and settled at your ear, “Let me hold you.” 

Then his hands began to wander and you rolled your eyes, knowing he would not see. It’s not like he was looking at your face. You huffed, wondering if there was a way to extricate yourself from this situation before Jonathan got too excited. You wondered if your father knew that Jonathan had taken liberties with you. You wondered if he cared.

When his hands cupped your breasts through your blouse, a flash of recollection burst into your mind’s eye. A crooked smirk, bold, regal features, eyes the color of blood - an endless hunger burning within them. Hands like the warmth of the sun, solid and all-encompassing. Something white-hot burned through you. “Jonathan, stop!” 

You caught his hands in your own and took a step back, breathing heavily. No, no, no. He could not do this again. Not after you had known warmth and pleasure. Not after you had been touched as if you were made of liquid gold. You could not let him have his way with you again. 

Jonathan smirked as he noted your labored breathing, the rise and fall of your chest, and you registered dimly that he mistook your outrage for lustful passion. The absolute moron. 

“No need to be so shy, baby,” he whispered, coming closer again. “It’s not like it’s our first time.” 

You clenched your jaw, trying to refrain from hitting him. 

“I fear I must disappoint you, for I…” your mind raced for something to stop him, anything. “I am on my terms,” you said finally, watching him carefully to judge his response. 

He immediately stepped backwards, as if stung, struggling to disguise the plain disgust on his face. “Oh,” his eyes journeyed downwards towards your skirt and what lay hidden beneath. “Well, that is quite… God, you could have said something!” 

“I did say something,” you grind out sweetly. 

“You’d best go on home, then,” Jonathan whisked up his coat and made for the door, eager to let you out and you felt a rush of relief that your ruse had worked so well. You really were getting cleverer by the day. 

Only a week ago, you would have been ashamed to deceive him this way. Him, your father, your mother, Linda… but now, you felt nothing of the sort. You had no time for a guilty conscience, because on Sunday, you would see Sukuna, and you had a feeling he would tell you that you had done well. 

—-------------------------------------------------

When you stepped into the church on Sunday morning it was a far sight from what it had been earlier that week. The sun shone brilliantly on the imposing building, and you realized that the stone walls were not black but a very deep burnished, coppery red. All of the ominous chill that had surrounded the building seemed to have dissipated in the morning light and churchgoers bustled to and fro, greeting one another as they prepared to enter the building for the service. 

You felt suddenly awkward and shy. You didn’t know anyone here, and the crowd outside of the church was full of smiling faces, they all seemed to be bold, confident individuals. People that seemed so sure of themselves, as if they had drunk of Sukuna’s own confidence, and – you noticed with a start as the crowd began to stream through the church doors – they were predominantly women. 

You blinked in surprise, following the crowd as you made your way to an empty pew, trying to get as close to the front of the church as you could manage so that you could have a good view of Sukuna, and wondered what it had to mean that so many women chose to follow this particular priest, this particular church. 

You settled into a seat two rows from the altar, and pulled your purse in close as other congregants settled in beside you. The dark grandeur of the church remained just as it had been on that fateful night, its twisted elegance both unsettling and mesmerizing. The mournful notes of organ music reverberated through the dimly lit space, filling the air with a haunting resonance. 

The flickering candlelight danced across the macabre artwork and grimly beautiful carvings, casting shadows that seemed to come alive in the gloom. The scent of incense hung heavily, its acrid smoke curling through the air like spectral fingers – although this scent was not as intoxicating as the incense that had burned in the confessional. 

The rituals unfolded while you were still occupied with your thoughts but the solemn entrance procession of the priest and altar servers startled you from your reverie. There he was, just as you remembered him. Tall, imposing, and devastatingly handsome. Always carrying himself with the air of one who knew the darkest secrets of the universe. He did not so much as glance at you as he made his way to the altar, the servers following close behind and you could not help but feel slighted. 

The familiar rituals began with fervor, the recitation of the Penitential Act, the chilling "Kyrie" that echoed through the cavernous space. Each element seemed to heighten the unsettling atmosphere, as if wrought with unharnessed energy, amplifying your fascination. As the Mass progressed through its unsettling rhythm—strange hymns, unsettlingly beautiful readings —you found yourself drawn inexorably to the altar, where Sukuna’s bold features tempted your eyes again and again like a moth to flame. At length, he finally began the homily, and his voice carried over the congregation in a booming, deliberate baritone. You shivered at the sound of it. You found yourself leaning forward so as not to miss a word, this was the moment you had been waiting for. You were desperate to hear his views. 

“Children,” he began smoothly, his face impassive – cold, almost. A sharp contrast to the wicked grin he wore when accosting you in the confessional. The address itself was odd as well, you thought, as most priests addressed the congregation as “brothers and sisters” suggesting an equality in the eyes of the faith.

“As we gather in this sacred space, let us unveil a truth that stirs beneath the surface of our faith—a truth both exhilarating and transformative. Within each of you,” his gaze swept over the congregation, the many women from different walks of life who had come to hear his words, but although your body tensed expectantly, his gaze passed over you as if you were not there. He continued, “Hidden within each member of my congregation lies a divine strength, simmering in wait. One not merely latent but alluringly potent, ready to reshape our world.

Reflect on the ancient stories we revere. Think of Jael, who boldly did what few others had done. What society might have frowned upon. But as she embraced the potential slumbering within her and cracked open Sisera’s skull, that act was more than courage; it was a declaration of divine authority. Her decisive action, emerging from the shadows, showcases the meaning of true power. And the blood on her hands made her holy.”

He extended his hands to both sides, almost in invitation as the sonorous tones of his voice washed over the congregation, weaving a spell over them. 

“Did not Esther use her understated influence to alter the course of history, proving that profound impact often comes from those they considered negligible and weak?

But how did she come to that power? Through the use of her beauty, through the allure of her charms… the very ones you are asked to conceal?” The lilt in his voice, persuasive and almost sarcastic, as if mocking those that would seek to constrain you, sang in your ears like the sweetest church bells, promising liberation. It was exhilarating.

You recalled the familiar biblical tales, how Jael had murdered the last of an opposing army who had come seeking shelter at her tent. How Esther’s beauty had earned her a place in the king’s court, and how she had then used that influence to further the interests of her own people. But Sukuna’s takes on them shed a new, uncertain light on these well-known events. Twisting what you thought you knew of the commandments of your faith.

“These are not mere tales, rather, they reveal a seductive truth: your untapped potential has the power to turn this miserable world on its head.” There was something dark and menacing in his voice and it sent a shiver down your spine even as you craved more of it. “Why else would men seek to control you? Why else would they twist the tenets of your faith to keep you far from the divine force that slumbers within you? 

But power is not simply handed to us.” He shook his head disparagingly, his keen eyes and hypnotic tones raising the fervor of the assembled. Although he spoke calmly and evenly, his sermon felt like a call to action, like a summons. “It must be claimed. Though it idles within your very flesh and blood, it demands courage to be unleashed. In order to grasp it, we must sacrifice the traditions and covenants that shackle us. We must cast off the constraints of what we think we know,” 

His powerful voice filled the chamber and echoed back to your ears. It wasn’t just you, you realized. Every single woman present stared at him unblinkingly, as if on the edge of their seats, hanging on his every word.

“And it is my humble purpose, the vow that I make to you all, that I shall leave no depth of power unexplored, no energy untapped. I will bring every single one of you to the height of your own divine potential, unlocking the fullest extent of your power and authority.”

He pressed a dramatic hand to his chest, beneath which his heart beat steadily, meeting the eyes of his congregation solemnly. 

“Let me awaken the truth of your own power within you. So that you may recognize that your worth is shaped not by external judgments and constraints but by the immense divine force flowing through you. Embrace this power with the understanding that it is formidable and unrestrained.

As you leave this sanctuary, carry with you the awareness of your divine authority and the knowledge that your path is guided by a higher hand. Embrace my guidance with the assurance that through unity and trust, you are empowered to fulfill a purpose that transcends the ordinary. That you are the custodians of the future, the inheritors of the world.

Amen.”

Resounding echoes of “amen” filled the church and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. You had never felt so seen. So alive. So important. 

In all of your years, all of your Sundays, you had heard sermon after sermon speaking to the men - and recalling the women present merely as an afterthought. When you were addressed directly it was to remind you of your duties in house and home, your obligation to obey first your fathers, then your husbands, then your sons. 

You had never heard a sermon like Sukuna’s in all the years you had lived. His ideas were dangerous, they flew in the face of societal standards and practices, and they were exciting. Addicting.

It was only when the women around you began to rise that you recalled where you were and collected your bag, breathless. You turned towards Sukuna, wondering if you would get a chance to speak to him, but were dismayed to see that a crowd was already surrounding him, each of them eager to get a word in edgewise. 

You lingered at the edge of the group, glancing at the watch on your wrist, wondering how long you could delay before you would be missed at home. You chanced another glance at Sukuna, but of course, he was not even looking in your direction. 

You noticed that some other women lingered, as you did. They didn’t share that same starry-eyed look that you and some of the other congregants had. By the looks of them, they seemed to be highly successful in their individual fields. They had that unique way of carrying themselves. The solemn expressions of women who did not need to smile if they did not want to. 

“Jessica,” you startled as Sukuna’s voice sounded just behind you, and the woman you had been observing, blonde and severe and beautiful, turned at the sound of it, as if this was what she had been waiting for. “A moment of your time.”

The words tinged the tips of your ears red. Sukuna asking for someone’s time didn’t always carry a hidden meaning, did it?

You watched him lead the blonde woman a short distance away, only to then discuss something of seeming importance in low, murmured tones. Maybe he was telling her how he wanted to get her alone in the confessional. 

You slapped a hand over your own mouth in reproach at the unkind thought. He had been very gentlemanly and perfectly priestly and you had no right letting your jealousy…

“New here?” you looked up at the woman who had spoken. She wore her black hair short and a tattoo you could not quite recognize peeked out from under her sleeveless blouse. She smiled at you, not unkindly, and you returned the gesture. 

“Is it obvious?”

“Painfully,” she laughed, “did you come here for Father Hotness or to ‘unleash your hidden power’?”

“I…” you weren’t quite sure. “I met him unexpectedly and he promised to help me with something. That’s why I’m here now.” 

The other woman blinked in surprise, “Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before. Although be warned, nothing gets you nothing. If he offered his help, he’ll be wanting something from you as well.” 

“Yes,” you tried not to blush, “I know.”

“As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into,” the black-haired woman nodded. 

“Are you,” you glanced over your shoulder where Sukuna was still engaged with the woman named Jessica, “a believer? I mean, in this church, in the things he says?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” Her blue eyes sought out Sukuna’s familiar form. “To think that the simple idea that we should not have to be ashamed simply for existing as women is that radical… the world really has gone to shit. But I love every damn word out of that man’s mouth, I won’t deny it.”

“Oh,” you shifted awkwardly on your feet. Was there no one else confused by how different these teachings were from everything you had been taught your whole life?

“Amelia,” the blonde woman had returned and nodded at the tattooed stranger. “It’s time to go.”

“Got it,” Amelia clapped a hand on Jessica’s shoulder and winked at you. “Take care, stranger. And don’t worry, he won’t bite… unless you let him.”

You stare after her in confusion as the two make their way to the exit, only noticing by your own elongated shadow that someone was standing close behind you. You whirled around in surprise to find Sukuna standing tall over you, an amused eyebrow raised at your expression. 

A quick glance around the nave revealed that everyone else had gone, but you had been so engrossed in your conversation with Amelia you hadn’t noticed. 

“You came.” A small smile graced his lovely features and it was suddenly worth everything you had risked to make it here. The fond expression was so at odds with the demeanor he had worn all morning that you almost believed it was just for you. 

“I… yes,” you answered, distracted, as you took another look at your wristwatch. Your family would be nearly home already, if you lingered much longer, there would doubtless be trouble. 

You glanced up at Sukuna, who seemed displeased by your distraction, and offered hasty excuses, “I’m so sorry, I really have to go. There’ll be trouble if I hang around too much longer.”

“Nonsense,” the dismissal was so confident that you briefly doubted your own words. Sukuna reached out for your elbow and began to lead you deeper into the church. 

“N-no, I’m serious, you don’t know my father, if I’m late…” 

He glanced down at you, those sanguine irises glowing ethereally in the candlelight, a simmering threat within them. “Would you like for me to know your father?” The question was spoken coolly, innocently, but you were suddenly afraid.

“No, that’s alright…” 

“This won’t be long,” Sukuna assured you, and you nodded. There was no denying that you wanted his attention, that you had hoped for precisely such a private moment – only about an hour or so earlier. 

As you approached the sacristy, which you were quite certain you weren’t allowed to enter, your eyes caught on the confessional just to your right. The site of your shame caused blood to rush to your face, thoroughly embarrassed. Your eyes caught on the hand holding your elbow, realizing that those very fingers had been inside you… and recalling precisely what they were capable of. 

God have mercy…  you sighed internally and struggled to put on a brave face. Sukuna’s smirk went completely over your head. 

“Where are we going?” you asked suddenly.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” was the simple answer as Sukuna pushed open the door to the sacristy. 

You tried not to be disappointed. Really, what had you been expecting? A repeat of five days ago? You were awful. Disgusting. Shameless. 

“How did you like the sermon?”

The question broke you free from thoughts of self-loathing and you found yourself answering easily. “It was very interesting. Very different from what I’m used to.” 

“Mm,” he agreed. “And how has ‘what you’re used to’ been serving you?” 

You fell silent as he led you down a marble hallway, empty but intimate and cozy. Not as showy as the main area of the church was. As you walked, you contemplated his question, and admitted the answer  – quietly to yourself, and aloud to him, “poorly.”

“Yes,” he hummed, guiding you with a nod down the hallway to your right. “Otherwise you would not have come to me, now would you?” 

You glanced up at him. It was true that your anguish had driven you up the steps to his church, but more than the guidance and salvation he had promised you, simply knowing him felt rewarding enough. You might have liked to meet him outside of the church, as an ordinary person. If he were a simple salesman, or something of the like, if he liked you even a little, you might have given up on your engagement for him. Maybe the two of you could have stood up to your father together. 

“I’m glad I met you, Father,” you confessed shyly. “Even outside of the context of the church.” 

A dark chuckle left his lips as he finally slowed down. “What a naughty thing to say,” he turned you towards himself, cocking his head to the side as he considered you. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Any attempt at unaffectedness gone to the wind, your face burned a furious crimson as you blurted hasty denials, “Goodness, no! I would never!” 

He stopped entirely then, turning towards you, stepping closer until you were backed into a wooden sacristy armoire. “Never?” he purred, delighted by your distress. He tutted as you stumbled backwards, nearly falling over the armoire. “You wound me.” 

“But you,” you averted your gaze, suddenly shy and wanting to sink beneath the floorboards. You rose awkwardly to your elbows, unable to rise entirely as he hovered over you. “You’re a priest.”

Sukuna stepped closer, his right leg passing between both of yours, his knee brushed against your inner thigh, setting your lower lip trembling in anticipation. “And you’re engaged,” was the simple answer, his scarlet gaze dancing across the gem on your right hand, before wandering lazily back to your face to hold your gaze with an indecipherable expression. “Yet, here we are.” 

“I…” you didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean…” You desperately wanted this, but at the same time, you knew it wasn't right. Your mind was a jumbled, confused mess. The things he said in his sermons, the expectations of your family, your own twisted desire for a man you couldn’t possibly have. 

His hand found your face, cupping your chin, lifting your gaze back towards him. “I would seduce you,” he confessed on a low, husky whisper. “I would have you come undone, begging for me, moaning my name. I would have you relinquish every thought but the thought of what I can do to you.”

“I…” you built up the courage to finish your sentence. “I’m quite sure you’ve already done that.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” there was something demeaning about the epithet, something condescending in the malicious glint of his glowing eyes. “I haven’t even gotten started.”

“Lord Sukuna,” a halting voice called from down the hall. You were immediately brought back to the present and struggled to straighten yourself, but Sukuna refused to budge. Cold, lethal displeasure tainted his features as he glanced over his shoulder at the speaker. The shift from darkly seductive to deadly ire was so sudden that your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to draw his eyes back to you, to see if he would shift back to that hunger he liked to tease you with. Wanted to know if his tender seductions truly were meant for you alone. 

At the other end of the hallway stood a man of medium build, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He shifted nervously as he stole sneaking glances at the two of you. His foot was wrapped in a cast up to the knee and his face was gaunt as if he had not eaten in several days. 

“Ryuzaki,” Sukuna growled, a sound you had never heard before. One that had your heart skipping a beat. Whether in fear or delight, you could scarcely tell. “You were to wait until summoned.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I thought…” Now the pitiful man glanced at you. One, two fleeting looks before his gaze was glued back to the floor. You could not help but pity him.

You pressed a hand to Sukuna’s chest, easing him off of you, grateful for the distraction. The priest had been weaving that dark spell over you again. The one that reduced you to putty in his hands, and you had promised yourself not to let it happen again. You weren’t going to sleep with a priest, for goodness’ sake! You were from a noble family, you were engaged to be married, and you had a sense of dignity! 

Get it together, you crazy bitch, you censured yourself. 

“Is this the person you wanted to introduce me to?” you asked, wriggling out of the cage of his arms. 

Sukuna drew back, acknowledging that the moment was over, but there was a lurking hunger in his eyes, still, that gave you the distinct impression that he would collect later – with interest. 

“Yes,” he waved a hand in a lazy introduction towards the slight man, “I would like for you to meet Ryuzaki.” Suddenly, his voice was all magnanimity again, bold and generous. His priests’ voice, you realized. The voice he used to bend people to his will. “Ryuzaki, this is the young woman you will be interviewing.” As an aside, he added, “Ryuzaki is an aspiring journalist, and he will be writing about our church. What better way for him to learn about our ways than through the eyes of our newest member?”

“Interview?” you paled, if your father caught you giving an interview… if your name were published somewhere, if anything you said consisted of ideas he did not approve of… 

“Sukuna… I mean, Father, I’m not sure I’m the right person.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sukuna dismissed with a wave of his hand as he led you to the chamber where Ryuzaki had been waiting moments before. “You’ll be doing that sack of bones a favor as he’s struggling to get back on his feet.” There was something menacing about the way Sukuna had said that last sentence, but you couldn’t quite tell what it meant. “And you’ll be helping out the church as well, of course.”

Sukuna settled himself in an armchair, gesturing for you to take the loveseat opposite and crossed one knee over the other as he watched your dilemma play out on your face. He did not seem to notice or care what Ryuzaki did with himself. “But,” you worried your lower lip between your teeth, anxiety threatening to overwhelm you. “If my father…” 

A glint of disapproval flashed in his dark eyes, as his eyelids lowered. He rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand as he watched you fidget with the fabric of your skirt. “Ah, I see. You are your father’s possession then, are you?” 

You balked, your eyes darting towards him to see if he meant what he had just said, “No, of course not, I just…” 

“Then he owns your tongue, does he?”  

Feeling frustrated, you straightened as you crossed your arms over your chest. “He certainly does not!” 

“Who does, then?” Sukuna’s voice was dangerously light and unassuming. 

At your confused silence, he leaned in closer to you, without a care that Ryuzaki was watching the exchange with wide, hungry eyes. 

Sukuna cupped your cheek and drew a warm thumb over your lower lip. The simple touch brought you back to that cramped confessional, to the heights of ecstasy, the depths of desire. 

You averted your gaze, pulling your mouth free from his touch. “No one does,” you insisted quietly, your heart beating wildly in your chest. 

“That’s not quite right, is it?” Sukuna purred, digging his hand into your hair, taking a firm hold of your loose strands to tilt your head backwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I need to remind you?” he cocked his brow at you, waiting for you to deny the painfully obvious truth.

“You can’t mean for me to say that it’s you,” you protest on a ragged whisper, nearing the edge of your senses at his proximity, at the hypnotism of his dark whispers. All the seduction of honeyed whiskey and twice the intoxication. “Not after your speech about power and authority.” 

“Then deny it,” murmured Sukuna softly.  

The words were perched on the tip of your tongue, emphatic denials and blustering outrage, but you could not bring yourself to voice them because deep down inside, you feared a part of you did belong to him, in a way you had never belonged to anyone before. As if fate had led you to this eerie church, to that dark confessional, to this twisted priest.

You paused, considering, feeling both precariously at a tipping point but also quite safe in his unyielding hold. “I can’t,” you confessed in a hushed whisper and the beginnings of a smirk curved at the corner of his lips. You reached out and steadied yourself with a hand on his knee. “But I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove to my family that I’m not the enemy. For me to make a public statement of any kind would negate all that I have worked for.”

His eyes lingered over your features a moment longer, discerning and calculating. He seemed not to hear what you had said. His thumb brushed over your left cheekbone and you fought the urge to close your eyes, to lean into the tender caress.

“What’s this?” he breathed, a note of displeasure in his voice you had never heard address you with. 

You blinked, rudely awakened from the pleasant haze his touch had conjured over you, and realized that all of this touching must have cleared away some of the makeup on your face and that your ugly bruise from Jonathan’s slap must have begun peeking through. You drew back, alarmed and embarrassed, and sucked air into your lungs as if it would somehow clear Sukuna from your senses. 

“It’s nothing,” you answered too quickly and lifted a hand to the sore area. 

Silence lingered, painfully tense between you as you sat across from each other, your knees still touching. 

“Very well then,” Sukuna nodded, a veil lowering over his usually expressive gaze as he leaned back. “You will forgive me for overstepping.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly awkward. “There’s nothing to forgive.” 

“Lord Sukuna,” Ryuzaki said suddenly, Sukuna glanced coldly at him as if disappointed that he still existed, “perhaps I could…” he licked his lips and stared at you again. “Perhaps she can be reasoned with.”

You shook your head, “I can’t help you. The minute my words end up in print it will have irreversible consequences for me.” 

“You wouldn’t be helping me,” Ryuzaki licked his lips again. “But Lord Sukuna is facing considerable pressure to have his church closed down. This article could make a difference in public sentiment.” 

“Is this true?” you turned to Sukuna, concerned. His narrowed eyes were fixed on Ryuzaki contemplatively. 

“You’re certainly aware that this church isn’t popular,” he shrugged finally.

You bit your lip again. “I do want to help… I just…”

“There is no need,” Sukuna dismissed easily. “There are plenty of congregants willing to make a statement. It doesn’t have to be you.” 

“Oh,” you don’t know why you’re disappointed. “That’s good, then. I don’t know why I  was under the impression it had to be me.” 

“Yes, because of what you asked of me.” Sukuna waved his hand casually. “In order to gain what you have never had before, you must do what you have never done before. Power requires sacrifice,” Sukuna reminded you. “What are you willing to sacrifice?”

Your gaze fell to your feet as you were forced to recall that while you were willing to sacrifice a great deal for those you love, there was almost nothing that you were willing to sacrifice for your own happiness.

“Surely, a part of you must be curious to know,” Sukuna’s low voice cast its net again, spinning your mind in dizzying circles. “If you open your mouth and stop holding back…” He tilted his head to the side, his chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger contemplatively. “What kind of scream would come out, I wonder? How far would the echoes reach?” 

You blinked at him, suddenly curious yourself. What would you say if you weren’t always having to watch your words? How would the world receive it? If you stood up, as yourself, and all eyes were on you… what would they see? 

You glanced at Ryuzaki again who stared at you unblinkingly, before turning back to Sukuna, “Can I have some time to think about it?” 

“Naturally,” Sukuna agreed amiably. “Take all the time you need.” 

You nodded gratefully and as you did so, caught a glimpse of the wall clock to your right. You jolted in shock. “Oh, my God!” You were well over two hours late now, and anxiety and trepidation threatened to overwhelm you as you jumped to your feet. 

“I’m so sorry, I really have to go!” You scrambled to collect your purse and awkwardly straightened out the cushions – somehow leaving them more haphazard than they had been before you touched them – and bolted for the door. As an afterthought, you glanced over your shoulder and called, “I’ll be back Sunday!” And then you were gone with all the suddenness of a tempest at sea, leaving behind an unsettling quiet.

Sukuna’s amiable expression lasted until you had disappeared out of the sacristy, then a frown marred his elegant features as he began to wonder if you were perhaps too timid to be of any use. No matter, he would bring you around eventually. He always did. You were not the usual type of woman he took into his employ. Not nearly rebellious enough, not nearly accomplished enough. But the look on your face when you had confessed that you were evil had sunk hooks into his mind, refusing to release him.

You were so desperate to prove that you were good, to prove that you were no monster, that he was overcome with a twisted desire to see just what kind of monster he could turn you into. You wore a bruise on your face as if it were the natural order… the man who had raised his hand to you would be lucky to have bones in his face at all when Sukuna was done with him. 

He could so easily find out who it was. So easily wreck his life, his reputation, his future… but wouldn’t it be so much more satisfying to have you do it? Instead of always turning away from the gun you carried, promising it was unloaded… What face would you make the first  time you pulled the trigger? He wanted to know. 

His contemplations prevented him from paying notice to the quite insignificant Ryuzaki, who stared after you, nearly sick with desire and longing. He had recognized you immediately of course. The lovely lilt of your voice, the sweetness in it when you addressed him. It brought back memories of your gasps and moans in the confessional overhead. And you had been the one to get him out. Not long after you had left, Sukuna had arrived. Sure, he had crushed Ryuzaki’s leg under his foot, rolling it back and forth as a child might play with a log, listening to his screams as if they were the sweetest salvation, washing over him.

But then, he had offered Ryuzaki a deal. And the journalist was certain it was because of you. There was something about you that had led Sukuna to reconsider the fate he had chosen for Ryuzaki, though he did not know what.

His near death experience had made Ryuzaki understand that all that mattered in life was the pursuit of one ‘s desires, so as to be left with no regrets. The sight of you had awakened a terrible need within him. He was engulfed, still, in the scent of you that had wafted past him as you rushed out of the chamber, sweet and womanly, a light floral perfume. You were a perfect lady. Except that you were not. What perfect lady would allow a priest to toy with her virtue in a confessional? He knew the sounds you could make, he was sure he could drag them out of you as well. And although you wore that sweet and innocent scent in public, he knew what lay hidden beneath. He knew the heady musk of your release that had dripped down to meet him in his dark prison. Ah, but he craved it. He wanted to smell it again, taste it again.

For what he had wanted more than anything, as he had eventually confessed to Sukuna, was a woman to truly love him and stay beside him, and what he was now beginning to realize… was that he wanted you to be that woman. 

After all, a woman who spread her legs for a priest would surely have no scruples about spreading them for him. 

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

I was gonna upload this yesterday, but AO3 was down -_-

This is a fucking monster of a chapter, 4.2k words! So it's practically 2 chapters lol. Had a love-hate relationship with this one...

It is called "A Secret Disease".

Page 42 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 14:

This Beast took our children, one villager cried, It left our yields wilted and decayed, another added, O Blind Man, why can’t you kill this wretched thing, Free our realm from this monster, this blood-soaked daemon? The Blind Man asks, my friend, Have you taken their young? Have you wilted their harvest? The Beast attests, I have, O fallen knight, I have, I was a terrible thing, before I had anyone to see me, As more than a monster, as more than a Beast. The Blind Man understands, he knows well, That to be seen, is to be.

It was not Roba who buried him first. Simon has been sinking to the earth, long before he enlisted. His father dragged him down, along his brother, to a path of monsters. At a young age, his fate was already sealed-

(You will not get to be human)

The military was a last ditch effort to veer away from it. Fight against forces greater than him, fight against legacies written in shades of bruises and blood. Simon thought he won, for a fleeting moment. He had a squad, a leader, a mentor.

(Yet Simon didn’t realize, he was a man living with one foot in the grave)

It didn’t matter how much he clawed his way out, it was far too easy to drag him back in.

Beneath that tomb, Simon had to leave himself behind. He wouldn’t survive another fall. And so, Ghost rose, a faceless weapon, a monster of his own making. Shaped for battle, honed on the screams of the damned.

His path was clear. Ghost would fight and fight, until his body was left broken. And the world will go on with one less killer desecrating its soil.

(Yet, that is not where he’s destined anymore, is he?)

The hole in the back of his mask burns, as if the knife truly stabbed through him. Another death. Yet instead of killing Simon, it…

“Ghost is dead. What will ye become now?”

A gentle wind passes over Ghost, as he lines his shots and downs the endless waves of the Hunter’s soldiers.

He’s distracted. Compromised. Not only by the poison flowing through his veins, but by the hypnotic movements of a Sergeant, who once was, and now is returning for more.

Simon may be a weapon, but Johnny is a perfect storm. An uncontrollable disaster. An unescapable fate.

Soap has taken command over the civilians, easily slipping back into his role as a soldier. Ten have advanced to the left, and Johnny took the right, along with five more. Ghost watches over him, admiring how he takes down a whole hallway of hostiles by himself, clearing the way for the civvies to get into cover and fire.

It makes his heart beat faster, a heat rise within him. That all consuming want, the one first lit after they saved Price and Gaz, stokes even higher. How he wishes he could feel the weight of him on his chest again-

Fucking hell. Ghost groans lowly. He needs to focus. On the battle, on the civvies, on Soap…

On the creeping chill that encompasses his arms, the ice dripping down his spine, numbing his nerves.

No. Not now. He can’t lose control now!

Ghost grits his teeth, the shaking setting in his muscles. He has to push through, the enemy soldiers are realizing Soap’s plan, diverting their attention to the side hallways. He shoots a few trying to flank the left group, forcing his arms to move despite the immense pain.

Ghost could only last until he turned his scope to the right, then his limbs fall limp, like a puppet with no strings. He grunts, almost snarling like an animal, commanding his muscles to fucking move. His orders are left unfulfilled. 

“Fuck…” Ghost breathes, eyes lifting from his arms to the scope. What he sees makes the fight leave him, a dread stilling his heart.

Johnny is down. Arms around his neck, his face grows paler. His knife, the one that dug Simon out of the grave with, out of reach.

“I won’t die, Simon.”

“Johnny…” Simon whispers, a plea to an uncaring world. “C’mon…”

(Fight back)

His blue eyes fog over, the lack of oxygen slowing him to a halt. Simon’s thoughts scream to him-

(Don’t give up)

Johnny grips his attacker, clawing nails becoming an almost accepting hold. He’s giving up.

“Please…”

Simon feels his rib cage tear open. (You can’t die here) Poison freezes his lungs. (I can’t go back to before)

(Please don’t leave me-

Johnny’s eyes sharpen. An electrifying shock goes through Simon, restarting his heart.

Ba-dump

Soap shoves the arm over his face.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump

He opens his mouth.

Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump

And bites.

Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-Ba-dump-

Simon sees the blood, the hostile’s mouth curl into a scream. Soap leans forward, flipping the man over. In a flash, he finds the castaway knife, and buried it in the still shrieking throat. Johnny shakily lifts from the ground, his front dripping blood.

He looks terrifying. He looks… breathtaking.

“There’s more to us than heroes and monsters, Simon.”

Ghost doubted Soap then. The world seemed so clear-cut, painted only in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Ghost, a monster. Soap, a hero.

Covered in blood, teeth bared and gaze burning, Soap didn’t look like either.

Maybe a hero can be a monster.

Maybe Simon could become more.

Ghost has been through every kind of torture imaginable, by the cruelest hands to be conceived.

This? This was a new low.

Helpless like a newborn, all he could do is try and track Johnny through the battle. The building often got in his line of sight, and not once Ghost’s mind tried to convince him-

He’s dead-He’s dead-He’s dead-

After far too long, a tingling sensation started at the tips of his fingers. Ghost clenched his jaw, flexing the muscles and working through the pain, and the moment he could, he jumped to his feet. 

He rather be paralyzed on the field next to Johnny, then stay up here.

Swiftly, he makes his way to the plaza, sliding down the ladder and running. Many of the entrances are blocked, likely an attempt from the civvies to secure the area, but he finds a back door left forgotten.

Or, so Ghost thought at first. Coming closer, he tracks several figures huddling out.

They’re far too small to be soldiers. These are… children.

The older ones seem to push them out, trying to run away from the fight. They must’ve recognized it’s a losing battle…

Ghost needs to get to Johnny. There’s no knowing what he’s facing right now, if he’s broken, if he’s cornered.

But Simon… Simon wants to help the kids. He can’t stand watching little ones die, abandoned in war zones by all but gods of death.

Simon squares his shoulders. The tension lingering from the poison, the fear, it all cinches on his cold heart. 

For the first time in years, he chooses to listen to Simon.

“Oi!” he calls to them, and they instantly freeze, eyes wide. The older kids step forward, pushing their siblings behind. Right, scary soldier with a gun. Ghost lowers his pistol. It hurts, in a way it hasn’t since…

Since Joseph-

Simon takes hold of the skull stitched to his balaclava, and slides it off his face. “I’m not with them.”

One kid, holding a baby not older than one, pipes up, “you are… with the other soldier? With the weird hair?”

Simon smiles despite himself, “yeah, that’s the one.”

“Can you help us?” another girl says. She holds her arm, blood spreading on her sleeve.

He takes more steps towards them, now that they trust him, “has anyone stayed behind?”

The kids look at each other, seemingly counting heads. “No.” the boy answers.

“Good. Follow me. Be quiet.” Simon takes out his gun once more, now with about twenty children trailing him. Christ, how did he get here?

Simon leads the group away from the fight, straining his ears for any hostiles. They walk through dark alleys, musty with spilled beers and piss. The gunshots from the plaza quiet as they get farther. He motions them to stop when they reach a more open area, littered with parked vehicles and ammo boxes. This must be where the Hunter’s soldiers left their supplies.

Ghost puts the mask back on, “stay here. I’ll make sure no bad guys are still around.” the older ones nod, pushing the children into the shadows.

The more he clears, the clearer it becomes that this place is the Hunter’s soldiers’ makeshift outpost - their base of operations for the attack on the plaza. It makes cold dread trickle through him.

He didn’t lie when he told Johnny it’s all his fault. If he never accepted this contract, if he didn’t run away, if he didn’t survive…

All of these children’s parents would’ve still been alive.

Ghost shakes those thoughts away. He needs to focus.

If he could destroy this place, he could starve out the hostiles of bullets… but the civvies won’t survive that long. Better yet, getting these supplies to them and Soap…

He returns to the kids, removing the mask once more, “no bad guys.” Simon surveys their options; he certainly can’t leave the children here, but where could he take them that would be any safer?

A loud explosion rattles the windows around them, a few kids breaking into sobs. Johnny must be giving them hell.

“...Mister?” a little kid stutters, “where now?”

Ghost turns to look at them. About half are not in a state to continue much farther, either too young or wounded. They need to find somewhere, fast.

“After me.” he searches for a house with a basement, a place he could barricade and rig. He may not be a demolition expert like Soap, but he can handle a claymore mine. A hurried search results in finding a two-storey house, with a door in the back leading to a wine cellar. Must’ve belonged to someone rich, not that money matters anymore.

Ghost is about to leave the kids, when he notices how they’re shivering in the cold basement. “Stay here.”

The house, luckily, is well stocked, and quickly enough Ghost manages to scrounge up a good pile of blankets and thick winter jackets. They’re not kid-sized, but that’s probably for the better. He returns to the children, and their eyes light up when they receive what he gathered.

“Alright.” Ghost crouches down, “which ones of you know English well?”

The kids that previously talked to him raise their hand.

“Listen very carefully.” Ghost gives the boy the key to the cellar, “when I leave, you have to lock the door. Do not open it to anyone you don’t recognize, and do not, I repeat, do not get out on your own.” the kids look at him attentively, seriousness beyond their years in their eyes. “I’m going to set traps for the bad guys, so they won’t enter, but it means you also can’t leave. Repeat what I’ve told you.”

The wounded girl says, “don’t open the door to strangers, don’t go out alone. Traps outside the door, bad guys can’t come in.”

“Good. Now-”

The boy cuts him off, “what if you don’t come back?”

Ghost studies him, a challenge in his brown eyes. Reminds him of… Tommy.

“I’ll come back.”

“You can’t promise that”, the boy frowns, “the-they’re strong, they can kill you-!”

Ghost sighs. He brings out the mask he left at his side to show the pair, “you know why I wear this mask?”

The kids shake their heads, “I wear it to scare my enemies. I wear it because I’m their worst nightmare. I wear it so they think I’m a monster, and you know how strong monsters are, right?”

The kids nod, eyes locked on his grotesque skull staring back. “What do they call you?” the girl asks lowly.

“Ghost.”

They repeat, in their own language. Ghost hesitates for a moment, before clasping a hand on each of their shoulders, “you’re strong, I can tell. Stay strong a little bit longer, alright?”

They nod again, but Ghost watches them suppress the emotions brimming in their eyes.

As Ghost closes the door, and the boy comes up to lock it, he whispers a small, “good luck.”

Ghost lets him see his smile before he covers it with the skull mask.

Ghost sighs, raising to his feet. The claymores are set, creating a minefield around the house. The children’s last line of defence.

He returns to the makeshift outpost. There are a few vehicles he can use, so he starts loading one full of ammo and guns.  Spotting a few first aid kits, Ghost shoves them in as well. He’s already aware of one injured…

Possibly dead-

The truck shakes when he slams the door shut. Rifle laid on his lap, he shifts gears to drive out. Towards the gunshots, towards the explosions. 

Towards Johnny.

It doesn’t take long for bullets to start flying his way. He spots a group of hostiles pushing the civvies out of cover expertly. They would’ve been annihilated in a heartbeat, overwhelmed by sheer numbers-

If Ghost didn’t barrel straight through the soldiers, crushing them under the tires. He barely swerves away from a wall, coming to a stop right besides the civilian group. He jumps out, about to bark orders, when he freezes.

“Ghost?!” a Scottish voice asks behind him, and he turns so fast it hurts his neck.

Johnny, blood still covering his front. Alive, alive, alive.

Ghost shakes away the emotions swelling in his gut. If he lets even a shred of them show, it all would come hurling out, an ugly, disgusting mess, rotten and-

“Sitrep, Sergeant.”

Soap narrows his eyes, like he can tell how Ghost is barely holding onto the mess writhing inside him, “solid. Ye?”

“Likewise.” he quickly turns to the trunk, avoiding Soap’s knowing gaze, “what’s the latest?”

Ghost suppresses a shiver when Soap comes to stand beside him, “we opened 2 fronts on the hostiles, ye just helped us clear this one. Other side’s status is unknown.” the Sergeant picks up a box of ammo, “where did ye find all this?”

Soap motions someone to take the box, letting him spread it among the civvies, “there’s an outpost, 10 minutes away from ‘ere”, Ghost drags out a couple PDSW 528, “there’s… something else as well.”

He makes eye contact with Soap, “found a group of kids.”

The civilians around Ghost snap their gaze to his, “stashed them in a basement, secured. We need to go back for ‘em.”

He can’t name the emotion in Johnny’s eyes. “Ye…?” he exhales, relieved, “aye, I can send a couple to watch over ‘em.”

“Negative, set mines around the perimeter.”

Johnny huffs a laugh at that, “of course ye did.” his expression is warm, too warm.

Simon turns away. “Where’s the second group?”

The civilians start reloading their weapons, some replacing their pistols with the new SMGs, others using the kits to patch themselves up. Soap points back to the plaza, where gunshots still echo in the cool night air, “still holed up there. Was planning to flank the bastards.”

Soap turns to leave, but Ghost takes hold of his bicep before he can think better of it, “Johnny-”

The words dry up on his tongue. His gaze is stuck on the drying crimson over Soap’s face, and his grip tightens. “...Simon?” Johnny whispers, too low for the others to hear.

God, he can’t help but love the way it sounds between his bloodied lips.

It feels out of his control, his slow movements as he bends down, gently touching his mask to Johnny’s forehead. Out of his hands, when his eyes slip shut, brows furrowed yet for the first time since he became paralyzed on that roof, Simon breathes.

Johnny is uncharacteristically silent, probably thinking how fucking weird he’s acting right now. Simon can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can almost feel Soap’s warmth bleed through the mask.

Warmth that only comes from being alive.

A hand touches his nape, slowly curling around it. It makes Simon shudder. He opens his eyes, to see Johnny’s, and that alone is stronger than any truth serum out there, “I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

Simon leans in closer, “when he tried to kill you. I couldn’t- the poison…”

“You wouldn’t have had a clear shot.”

He knows. It frustrates him.

Johnny forces their faces apart by the hold on Simon’s neck, “let’s finish this.” he squeezes before releasing Ghost.

There are words left unsaid in the air between them. Things Simon can’t even begin to formulate. One stands odd out of all, and it confuses him.

He thinks, if he won’t acknowledge it, won’t let the thought take shape in his mind, it won’t affect him. Like a child hiding under his blankets, as if not seeing the monster would protect him. Yet he knows, it won’t save him.

It won’t save Simon from wanting.

The second front is a mess. The Hunter’s soldiers, after realizing they lost the first, focused their attack back on the plaza. The once white walls and floors are now charred black and red, Soap’s explosions certainly taking a huge part in that.

“There.” Soap stops him, spotting a makeshift barricade, “that’s ours.”

Ghost takes out his knives, “we can take some of them quietly, ‘fore they notice something’s up. Think you’re up for that, Sergeant?”

Soap scoffs, “was born ready, LT-” he shuts his mouth when he realizes his mistake.

His guts churn at the name, “...let’s see how good you are, Johnny.”

Ghost starts towards the hostiles, trusting Soap to keep up.

As he slits the throat of a soldier, his mind takes him back to days long gone. He wipes the blood off his blade and continues, a predator stalking for another victim.

They called him LT back then, too. His Sergeants. Looked up at him with full trust, put their lives on the line at his word, gave him the leash to control. As they were ordered to, as they signed their lives for.

And Simon led them to ruin. To the cold hands of betrayal.

Johnny doesn’t look at him like that. There’s doubt, there’s a want to push back against his lead, a trust he has yet to earn. Ghost can tell.

As blood drips down his sleeves, he tells himself it’s different. This time, it won’t end like that. He begs, to a God that never listened, that it won’t end like that.

Simon Riley won’t survive another grave.

It takes the hostiles a pathetically long time to notice something was wrong. It’s only when the civvies advance forward, steps loud and guns louder, that the wankers think to look back and find the mounting pile of corpses Soap and Ghost have left behind.

Ghost doesn’t relish in the fear in their eyes like he used to. Johnny takes the soldier out, letting out an exhale, and nodding determinately at him.

Perhaps there are more comforting views in the world, than watching the life bleed out of your enemies.

The civvies take care of any stragglers, some surprising him with their aim. He supposes there’s no better teacher than a war on your own home. Not that he’d know. Never had something to fight for, beside survival.

It’s only a few moments later, that the plaza finally grows quiet, and gunshots are no more than a phantom echo. He and Johnny were taught to never trust appearances, and take time to sweep the open court, the hallways, the bloody floors and broken doors. For once, all is silent.

The Hunter’s soldiers are no more.

The war rages on, but this battle is finished. Returning to the central court, Ghost sets off for one of the trucks. Twenty small figures plague his mind, and he has a promise to fulfill.

Footsteps echo behind him, and Ghost doesn’t need to turn around to know their owner.

“Yer going to get the wee ones, aren’t ye?”

“Affirm.” he’s about to climb to the driver sit, before Johnny pulls his shoulder. Ghost glares at him, but his intimidation tactics don’t seem to work on the Sergeant anymore.

Soap slides to the sit instead, “no offence sir, but yer driving is shite.”

Ghost grumbles, “never killed anyone I didn’t want to with it.”

“See, tha’s yer problem. Standards so low they’re practically in hell-”

He slams the door, “shut the fuck up, Soap, fucking ‘ell…”

The Sergeant smiles as he starts the vehicle. Ghost notices a shake in his arms, and frowns.

“You said you were solid.”

Johnny’s smile fades, “Ah am.” he huffs, “it’s… I’m just knackered. Be right as rain after.”

The answer displeases him. Sure, they’re both soldiers, they’re trained to fight in the worst conditions possible…

But he wants better for Johnny. Even if wanting is dangerous.

It’ll have to wait. The house comes into view. 

He’s lucky Soap decided to come with. Setting up mines is easy enough for an idiot to do blind. Disarming a dozen without blowing up? A little harder.

Johnny doesn’t complain, fingers deft as he expertly takes the charges apart. Ghost takes the moment to watch him work, admire the way the bombs click, wires twist, the muscles under Soap’s shirt bulging with every movement-

Dangerous line of thought there. He refocuses on the last mine, the telltale click of it signifying they’re in the clear.

He walks down to the cellar door, and knocks, “it’s Ghost, no bad guys around. Open up.”

A few moments later, the door rattles, metal scraping on the concrete floor, and it swings open, revealing the boy.

“You… you came back.” his voice wobbles, eyes wide in disbelief.

It makes Ghost wonder how many people promised this little one to come back, only to never return.

He wonders if his family ever felt like that when he didn’t-

“I told you”, he crouches down, placing a careful hand on his shoulder, “I’m stronger than them.”

The boy’s face crumples, and he startles Ghost by jumping forward, looping his small arms around him. The little body in his arms start to shake, sobs barely muffled by his gear. Ghost slowly wraps his hands around him, motions unfamiliar. Ones he only dreamt of, in musty living rooms and dirty basement.

He can hear Soap walk around him to check on the others. The boy in his arms pulls away a tad, his face splotchy and teary. Ghost takes off a glove to wipe them.

“I-I’m sorry.” the boy whispers.

Ghost tilts his head, “what for?”

“I wasn’t strong. I cried, like, like a baby-”

Ghost cuts him off, “you know what makes someone strong?”

The boy shakes his head, so Ghost continues, “it’s not someone who is never afraid. It’s someone that, despite being afraid, still fights.”

“Are you ever afraid, then?”

Simon looks over his shoulder at Soap, checking on the injured girl’s arm. The blood over his features has yet to fully dry. “...Terrified.”

They don’t all fit in the truck Soap and Ghost arrived in, so he stays behind with the kids while Soap goes back and forth.

“Yer gonna scare ‘em with yer driving, ye feckin’ animal.”

The kids seem to like him better than Soap anyway, which came as a surprise to both of them, considering his mask was still on. Johnny took it in stride, smiling softly at him in a way that makes him want.

Want what, he doesn’t dare think.

On the last round, four children cram in the back of the truck, two more toddlers balanced on Ghost’s lap. Soap doesn’t speak, and he notices his eyes flagging for a moment, before snapping open again.

The civilians welcome the children with open arms, some crying in happiness. ‘You did good’, a thought flashes in his head.

He lets a woman take the toddlers off his arms, and walks to the small group. The kids’ eyes instantly light up, and the ones that can rush towards him, calling “Ghost! Ghost!”. They say more, excitedly telling him things in their mother tongue, and even if he can’t understand, he still smiles and nods, letting them prattle on.

When he looks up, something’s wrong.

Some of the civilians have stopped moving, stare stuck on him. A woman stomps to him, dragging the kids back, almost shouting at them when they try to shake her hold off.

Johnny comes to stand next to him, “what’s going on? Alma?”

The woman, Alma, almost growls out, “tell me this” she points to him, “isn’t the Ghost.”

“He-”

“I am.” Ghost speaks over Soap. 

Alma’s eyes grow wide, before they start spitting fire, “get out of here.” she grounds in a ice-cold tone.

Soap comes to stand between them, “it wasn’t in his control-”

“He’s the reason these monsters attacked!” she starts yelling, “he’s why we’re here, fighting for our damn life! Why our children are BLEEDING AND DYING!”

Soap falters. “I’ll say it once.” Alma snarls, “get out, before we make you get out.”

The group is silent, all eyes on him. Ghost nods.

He deserves less than this, if he’s honest with himself.

“I’ll leave. I’m… sorry for… this.”

“Don’t.” Alma huffs, “we don’t need your apologies.” she turns to Soap, “you can stay. We can take care of your injuries, if you go to Helena-”

Soap shakes his head, “don’t worry ‘bout it.” he looks back at Ghost, “I’m going with him.”

Ghost’s brow rise, “Johnny, you don’t need-”

“Aye, Ah know.” Johnny pats his shoulder, before walking away for the vehicles, “I want to.”

Ghost stands frozen for a moment, before he follows him.

Behind, he can hear the children saying goodbye, the adults holding onto them.

Away from the monsters.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

So for Rementent's extended family. Did Samus in this Rwby was Ridley a intelligent Grimm that murdered her family or was he a fanuas? Either way I see him working for Salem. He is called The Cunning God of Death.

It was a cool mistralian night. The grimm in the area had quieted down recently, and a Young Samus Aran watched the stars with delight, the delicate golden feathers along the back of her neck shifting as she gazed in wonder.

And then the screaming started.

A massive, leathery grimm, a kind unknown to humanity was toppled the main belltower of the village, crushing some guards that ran to fight it, many others caught in its putrid, glowing breathe that rained down from above.

Its head was elongated into a point, mouth long like an alligator's, full of hundreds of sharp teeth stained red with blood.

It was scrawny, seemingly little more than a skeleton, yet it took every blow that landed and kept crawling, flying, sprinting. It charged through the streets, devouring and slaying any person it came across.

Samus clung to her mother, the horse beneath them moving at full gait, her father having stayed behind to help as many people escape. The young girl peeked her head out form around her mother, just catching the sight of the massive beast swoop in at truly impossible speeds, lashing its tail forward - Into her mother's chest.

They were thrown from the horse, her mother gasping and wheezing as the massive creature crushed her beneath its foot, the beast seemingly grinning at the crunch of bone and squelch of organ, before it turned to Samus.

She had broken her leg when they were thrown from the horse. She couldn't run, she could hardly crawl, left alone as this thing, this Apex Predator of Grimm.

It's Pus-Yellow eyes bored into the girl as it slowly, methodically lurched toward her, some putrid, gurgling laugh bubbled up form it's throat as it pinned her with one arm, the purple flame inside its mouth welling up.

Samus was too scared to feel it.

This was it.

She was dead.

At least, she was until a dagger plunged into the grimm's eye, the well of energy scorching a nearby tree.

It was tackled off of her, a large man in full plate armor was on top of it, beating it with his hands, as a blond woman in leather armor lifted and carried Samus away, shoving something in her mouth.

"This is going to hurt, but I need to set your leg. Bite down on that instead of screaming if you can."

It hurt worse than when it broke, followed by a wave of nausea that made her puke, crying harder than she that night.

The woman place a hand on Samus's chest, muttering something and unlocking the young girls aura.

And then she passed out.

~~~~~

Samus woke up in her bunk.

It was that night again. It was always that night.

She strode into the small cooking section, preparing navy-style coffee, running her hands over a photo of her family. Her mom, the woman who saved her. Her dad, the man that beat that Grimm with his hands until it limped away for its own life. Her many, many cousins, siblings, and nieces and nephews.

She moved her cannon off the table, designed after her Father's own weapon.

The original had been melted onto his arm at some point after he went to help people.

She missed them. Often, and a lot.

But she had this family too. It's weird and big and sometimes suffocating with love, but she wouldn't change them for the world, even if they got on her nerves alot.

~~~~~

Ridley wasn't always this, as much as he wished he was.

No, no, there was a time when he was just another body for the grimm to tear into.

Now he was on the Winning side!

That first night, oh that GLORIOUS first night! The screams, the crunching, the destruction!

licked his eye, long since healed physically, but was still pissed at the bastard that took it originally.

Yeah if he had listened to orders and fallen back after wrecking shit he wouldn't have gotten stabbed, but where was the fun in running? It's all about the Chase!

That Tyrian guy knew what he was talking about!

But, Salem figured he'd had TOO much fun, grounded him for a while while she worked on a more "subservient" experiment.

Whatever the "Hound" was. Thing'd probably just be an attack dog for her, no fun at all.

[ao-anonymousobsesser]

How Many Times?

AO3: How Many Times? - AnonymousObsesser - The Vampire Diaries (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Summary: Elena dies. And dies. And dies.

A/N: I swear I'm working on other stuff. Found this in my drafts and fixed it up a little. Hope yall enjoy this while you wait. All my love. --AO

Let me know what you think. Should I continue or leave it?

Tags: Elena/Eljah, Elena Gilbert, Elijah Mikaelson, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Be Careful What You Wish For, Elena Gilbert-centric, How Do I Tag, Temporary Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD, Mental Breakdown, Brainwashing, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Protective Elijah Mikaelson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, basically a manwha regression thing, Elena will suffer, i love her but i had to do it, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, dying and regressing, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, okay actually she kills him but time travel so it doesnt last, what i mean is they are healthier than everything else

How Many Times?

She dies from old age. Married to her high school sweetheart turned Mayor Matt Donovan, white picket fence, four children, seven grandchildren, one great-grandchild. She never knew anything outside of Mystic Falls, never left Virginia--college at Whitmore in McKinley, Medical School and internship in Charlottesville, Residency and Fellowship in Norfolk, Attending at her father's practice back home. Born, raised, married, died.

Wakes up, sixteen again. Doesn't understand, goes along with Caroline and Bonnie to the end-of-semester bonfire. Has an epiphany halfway through that this is real, she came back, she can be free. Fights with Matt, leaves early, her parents die, she lives.

She dies of old age. Married to horror movie villain vampire turned hometown hero human Damon Salvatore. Two kids, one grandchild (three grandkittens). Rebuilt her father's practice, made it her own. Traveled to a few big cities along the way--Atlanta, Chicago, New York, New Orleans--but always goes home. She has blood on her hands, but believes she's a good person; knows Damon does, too, but believes that he is good in his heart. Watches her almost-stepsisters' grandchildren on the weekends, visits her almost-stepfather's grave alongside her brother-in-law's, her husband and ageless sister-in-law right by her side. Reborn, lives, dies, loves, dies, kills, lives, loves, dies, lives, sleeps, wakes, marries, dies.

Wakes up, sixteen again. Dies two weeks later by bluntforce trauma to the head from being thrown against a wall. Hears her mother's scream cut off with a gurgle.

Again. And again.

Wakes up. Dies the next night, her family's car a torched mess wrapped around a tree.

Wakes up. Dies by drowning.

Again again again.

Wakes up. Dies by strangulation after giving her secrets away to her former husband.

Wakes up. Dies by blood loss after giving her secrets away to her once epic love and tripping over a fallen branch, a twig going through her palm--he's on her before she can even scream.

Wakes up. Dies by broken neck when her former husband finds her with said epic love and loses his temper.

Again. Again. Again again again again again again again again again...

Wakes up. Convinces her parents to let her drive when they pick her up. They pass Damon--her father leaves for a so-called business trip four days later and never returns alive, his body returned in a casket with a gaping hole sewn shut. She knows why his body looks so wrong, veins in stark contrast to grey skin,  suspects her mother knows, too, confirmed when she disappears and returns just as dead, the brand of Augustine linking them beneath the earth. Her brother lashes out too much, too drunk-high-faded to control himself, doesn't know his own strength, and she's too upset, too off-balance, her vision to blurry and reflexes too slow to catch herself on the railing. Swears she remembers hearing her neck snap this time, her head cracking open, blood splattered over the wall.

Again.

Wakes up. Asks her parents about vampires, werewolves, Doppelgängers. Gets shocked and confused looks followed by a crash course on the family history, on hate and mistrust and bigotry, and wonders aloud why it has to be this way. They get frustrated when she doesn't understand, doesn't accept their views as her own. Take her to the Society, show her their pet vampire, make him compel her to leave the supernatural alone and trust them to know best. She takes a tour around college and dies at the hand of a vampire obsessed with her face--with the last woman who wore it.

Wakes up. Packs a bag. Clothes, shoes for running, both her and her brother's money socks (bakesales of two different kinds, plus holiday and birthday money, adds up to more than a thousand each, sorry sorry), no jewelry or electronics, no keepsakes, steals from her parents' vervain stash just in case. Escapes in the middle of the day, drives to the next town and ditches her aunt's car, boosting another, repeats until she gets to the state line--hitchhikes for two states, then rents a car and makes it to Georgia.

Almost has a heartattack when she runs into her ex-but-not-anymore, but it's just a Doppelgänger, not him. He's normal and sweet, and he offers to take her to the hospital when she appears to be having a psychotic break, then listens to her sob story about losing her parents and her husband and her children and takes her to a bar instead. This is where she meets a witch for the first time again. Asks about her Doppelgänger, magic, vampires, werewolves, curses; asks to be taught, trained, a request that is granted.

Her old friend slash first hybrid-but-not-anymore-not-yet finds her in Chicago five years later, not looking, surprised to see her. She wonders if it's really coincidence, if they have a connection that transcends timelines, if his other creator can find her, too. Thoughts are silenced when he delivers the news: her parents are dead, made a mistake with a vampire in their desperation to find her (the not-hybrid doesn't know anything, isn't even a wolf yet, but she reads between the lines of "animal attack when they were out of town following a lead"), her aunt left town and never looked back, teaches at Whitmore with her fiance, Jeremy overdosed the second he was left alone after the funeral, lays in a coma with his medical bills paid for by the town.

She dies from her own kind of overdose, one of magic. Her powers fry her, emotions too raw and uncontrolled, sucking the life out of everything around her until her skin turns pale, then red, then charcoal-grey. Her friend-not-friend-son-not-son screams in shock as she explodes.

Repeat, this time with a note left behind, don't look. Same witch, same training, same new acquaintances and more training. More magic flows through her veins than ever, but she's greeted with the same death when her parents find her and explain that her brother committed suicide by overdose, angry she left him behind. She's sad and guilty and angry they came for her, and she barely registers the wave of power in her ears until it's too late. They die together.

She wakes up. Breaks down. Crying and screaming, lashing out. Can't take the pressure--tells her brother everything, as if he can help. He doesn't, can't. Won't believe her, thinks she's messing with him or losing her mind or got into his stash or something. Their parents overheard it all, understand that it's the truth, but they can't accept it. She tries to explain, but it makes it worse--they don't try to compel her this time, apparently that's not enough. They take her away, lock her up in a cell.

She knows this place, remembers it; looks to the left, isn't surprised to see him. Her best friend's lover, and her lover's best friend. She cries and cries until she falls asleep. Wakes up to someone petting her hair through the bars of her cell, fingers combing out the tangles, braiding the edges from her face. Looks up, cries again, spills everything once more, this time to someone she's pretty sure won't say she's crazy. And he doesn't--he believes her. She cries and cries until she falls asleep, wakes up to find him dead, staked through the heart; it looks like he tried to protect her, and that makes it worse, because she knows they won't hurt her, won't kill her like that.

No, they hurt her in other ways. Her parents--not her parents--they torture her for days, months, years, she loses count. Try to brainwash her into working with them, for them, using her knowledge and their skills to wipe out the creatures they abhor. They bring her husband's head, the heart of her once epic love, the teeth of her not-son. Magic can stay, but killers cannot--they bring witches to warp her memories, her best friend with cold eyes, and she knows her former sister-in-law is dead for good, probably turned after she went missing and staked after that. The shock of knowledge is enough to break her mind, let the magic and the science inside to do what they please, and she becomes their weapon.

She dies by her hybrid killer's hands, his teeth in her neck yet again, but she knows a witch is behind him, waiting for the weakness to take over his body. She feels the explosion as she drifts on an ocean, dizzy, fading into black.

Wakes up. Brainwashing is still in effect, and now she has all the memories she needs to finish the mission. She does, with a precision and finesse that would make her ancestors proud, that would horrify beings millenia her senior. The eldest first, buried in a tomb, and his lover shipped across the world--then the young ones, the ones with simpler weaknesses, first the wolf, then the coffins, then him. He almost gets her, almost breaks through, with those dark eyes gazing at her like he knows.

But when she asks, Do you know who I am? all he can say is, I knew that you were coming, and I knew that you would save me for last, and I know that you are not Katerina, but no, I cannot say that I know who you are.

Even that is almost enough to bring her back, remembering him from lifetimes ago--could she be even older than him now, with all the regression? no. no, that was impossible, but she might be older than them, or even her--but he tries to strike when she's conflicted, and her reflexes are faster than her emotions. The stake goes in at the same moment he reaches for her face, clutching her with both hands. She watches as he grits his teeth, his flesh burning like embers rather than flames, and she can almost see her own memories in his head, watches the horror dawn alongside pain and pity and intrigue.

He laughs when his knees give out, blood spraying past his lips to splatter her, and she jumps; she wishes she could say it was the blood, the disgusting sight of his flesh flaking away, but it's not. She jumps because he laughs, and she's never heard that before--it's marred by the grotesque scene, muffled from the blood in his teeth, but it's still... something. Not pretty or beautiful or soothing. But something.

His grin is sharp but almost sad as he looks up at her, and as his body turns fully to ash, he tells her, Come find me next time. Tell me the truth, and I'll help you. Then he's gone.

And the world burns with him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd always wondered if this might happen. If magic, especially Earth Magic, Nature Magic, might be more like science than witches could comprehend. Vampires had been part of the ecosystem, the biosphere, for centuries--they were around when life-expectancy and population were both low. A thousand years of adaptation from five to dozens to hundreds to thousands of them, only to be wiped out in a matter of days; it was an ecosystem's worst nightmare. Nature had adapted, people had not, and this destroys them both.

It starts with confusion--where did all the dead bodies come from? What disease is this? But they don't know, can't see vampirism in permanently-dead tissue, and witches refuse to come clean with humans. The death toll is larger than she expected, somewhere in the millions, and a chill runs down her spine as the witches cheer.

In just one year, overpopulation runs rampant, and whole nations begin starving. No space for new homes, so forests are leveled; the rich live underground, mansions sprawling beneath mountains.

Two years, three years, and water becomes scarce; rivers dry up, reservoirs disrupted. Humans begin getting sick, too sick to move, let alone work. Birthrates drop in big cities, then small towns, then all over. Businesses go under, followed by whole governments. More death, more desperation, more destruction.

Five years, and half of all animal species are extinct. Another decade, barely a quarter remains.

Nature rebels. Plants wither, whatever is left burns. Deserts where there were once lakes and forests, ocean levels drop, volcanos erupt. The world does not end slowly, over centuries or millenia--as it turns out, it doesn't take that long to starve to death when you're too weak to move. A vicious cycle of fatigue and starvation leading to more fatigue and starvation. Three decades after she finished her mission, she's one of only a handful of humans left scraping by.

She dies in fire, with no one to see it.

Wakes up. Fights the itch, the urge to start again, finish the mission. Finds her parents, tells them she'll be back; won't accept their love, their physical affection, can't if she wants to stay sane. She catches her brother's eye, sees his suspicion, grits her teeth and leaves; makes it to a hotel five towns over before she breaks down. It hurts to resist, hurts more than anything ever has, but she has to keep going. There's only one person who can help her now and she almost laughs as she thinks of their last meeting.

Come find me next time.

Can't use her phone, her family might track her before the job is done, asks a concierge instead. Ten minutes is all she needs--gives the guy fifty dollars to keep his mouth shut when he gives her a look that screams, Should I call the cops?

She calls. No answer. Leaves a message, hangs up. The concierge clears his throat, but she holds up a finger, staring at the phone in her hand. Exactly one minute later, it rings loudly--she grins, victorious and a little pained, and answers immediately. Two questions, three answers, and a click. She hands the phone back and goes to her room.

It hurts. She drinks. Her mind drifts to the mission--she breaks the little bottle and cuts her leg. The fog fades while the pain burns, and she's glad he's not here yet; she doubts he'd hurt her, or pay any mind at all, and he probably wouldn't ask outright, but he would wonder. Wonder what she was doing, and why. He'd help her wrap it up--wouldn't heal her, not if she didn't ask--and that touch would break her. Soft, gentle, professional. It would shatter her like the glass she still held, and she would spill everything, and that wasn't how she wanted to start the conversation. Not this time.

Next time, maybe. But not now.

He comes the next morning. Suit immaculate, hair not quite. His knock is concise--tap tap, that's it. She opens the door a second later, already at the door since six a.m., and it's now eight. He's not surprised by her face--one of her answers last night had told him as much--but his gaze drops to the makeshift sheet-bandage wrapped around her calf, and he's confused, but only for a moment, because then she speaks, and he has something else to wonder about.

I need you to help me fix my brain, she grits out. In return, you can see my memories. I'd also appreciate it if you would kill me when we're done.

Must I?

If you don't agree, I'll do it right now and go find someone else. But I think you'll agree to my terms.

How can you be so sure?

She grins, a little insane. Because my words don't make any sense, and you can't resist the desire to find out what they mean.

She watches him, knows he wants to ask, ask how she knows him like this--she doesn't, not really, she knows him better than most, yes, but that doesn't take much when he doesn't let people in as a general rule--but he leans in at exactly the wrong moment, and she feels the urge tugging at her gut again. Her feet move back, and she holds up a hand to ward him off when he follows.

Give me your word. She leans against the opposite wall with crossed arms, her nails digging into her arms with the effort of keeping still.

He passes through the door, shuts it, leans against it with a posture to mirror hers. His dark eyes observe her from head to toe, then meet hers with a sharpness she recognizes even before she feels the nudge--his mouth ticks up at the corner. You can't be compelled.

I can resist compulsion, she corrects with an irritated sigh. I am the one that decides who gets into my head. Do we have a deal?

He ponders it for a long moment. I have a condition, he says, which is as good as a yes when it comes to him, or them, because she doesn't care what the condition is.

She asks anyway. What is it?

Before I kill you, he says slowly--she sighs in relief--as he steps closer, I want the right to ask any questions I so desire to ask... A pause, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. And after that, I want a favor.

A favor, she says slowly. But I'll be dead.

Well, he drawls. Then I suppose it will be a quick favor. His smile is miniscule but sharp. If you can agree to these terms, we have a deal.

She tilts her face away from his hand, eliminating contact but keeping her eyes on his. Then I guess we should get started, she says with a nod. Her eyes close, and her shoulders relax with the sigh she releases. We have a deal.

She sits down at the little table provided by the hotel, and he pulls the extra chair around to sit directly in front of her, their thighs interlocked with each other. Every minute shift in their seats presses their legs together, and she has to grit her teeth to keep the magic under her skin from surfacing. He asks her several questions in a perfunctory tone, very professional--what exactly does she want removed, why is it there, who put it there, can he touch her skin to keep their connection steady. She lets him touch her hand; her face would be better, but it's too intimate and leaves her hands free to do what they really want to do, which is kill him--it's not her that wants him dead, but her mind and body. Something in the way she twitches must alert him to this fact, because he grabs her hands between his and looks into her eyes with no hesitation.

By the end of it, she feels relaxed for the first time since her husband's best friend died for her; there's no more pain, no more itch. She feels calm.

He isn't, though. Calm, that is. He's still--eerily so, not even blinking or breathing, as far as she can see. His gaze is the only sense of life on him, filled not with void but with pain and horror. It's clear he's disgusted, but when she tries to pull her hands away, to run from him in shame, he pulls her close, gripping her shoulders.

What happened to you?

Unbidden, her eyes fill with tears. I died, is what she says.

She moves his hands to her face and pushes, forcing the memories to float between them--watches as they're sucked into the black chasm of his gaze, as said gaze gets wider and wider with horror as he watches it all play out before him. Hundreds of lives, some short and some long; some including his brother, others her many lovers, only two before this with he himself in any capacity.

He says, Did you ever trust me? But he knows the answer.

I trusted you from the very first deal, she whispers. But everyone that I told either didn't believe me or just killed me. I didn't want... I don't think I could have survived if you did, too.

He's seen it in her mind--she loved him, at least in some capacity, in the first life they met. She might still, even, but she's broken in ways that can't be fully healed, not by him or anyone. And she feels guilty for all of it: for loving two, three, four people at once, for killing people, for killing him and his family, for hating the people that raised her, for not saving the people she loves that love her, for being selfish at the end of her first life and wishing for something she'd never had.

Five centuries, give or take. Five hundred years of guilt, and it reminds him of his family, of himself.

He asks her a hundred questions, pushes her for exactness, digs through her memories for every emotion, every thought, every compulsion placed on her; he asks and asks and tears at her psyche until she breaks down and repeats it all, shows him every piece of her, and then he asks for a favor. The same favor, and she knows he says it this way on purpose because he's seen her memory of the past.

Come find me next time. He tilts her chin with both hands, his gaze pleading. When you wake up, find me. Don't go to anyone else, don't ask questions, don't run away from it all. Just come to me. I will save you, if it's the last thing I do.

More tears trickle down her cheeks. I'll have to go through this again, then. She doesn't care, not exactly, but it hurts too much to be fully okay with it.

No, he insists. Don't tell me everything, but tell me the truth. Give me a glimpse, but don't hurt yourself. Can you do that?

Yes, she manages to whisper. But why do you care? Why do you want... to save me?

For the first time in her many lives, he hesitates to speak the truth. Because... I think I loved you. And I'm incapable of abandoning those that I love when they are in such immense pain.

But you want to kill your brother.

Only because I believed he destroyed the family we shared. Family is his only redemption, and as I thought he had buried them at sea... Well. If he could so easily abandon them, then the last of his morality is already gone. I believed him a true monster.

She sighed softly. But anyone who is capable of love is capable of being saved. Her eyes filled with tears again. She used to say that all the time. It's how she forgave my husband. She sniffled. But I can't. I'll never forgive him--them. The brothers... how many times have I died by them? By their sire. And my sister, she died, too. On the inside, and then temporarily, and then permanently. Over and over and over.

There was even a time she herself had killed the blonde, if only to put her out of her misery. She'd forgotten about that particular life, or perhaps buried it purposefully; the one time she managed to avoid her husband by seeking out her twin along with her sweet sisters. The blonde had turned alongside her, only to be bitten by her once-upon-a-time-wolf-boyfriend by accident. She'd held the blonde's heart in her hand, crushing it as tears ran down her face and the blonde begged for her mother to read her a fairytale.

Her life had ended shortly after, the witch unable to control her grief and she unable to run from it under the weight of her guilt. It was the only time she actively killed either of her sisters.

Another sob ripped through her chest. I can't even forgive myself. I destroyed the world. And I might do it again.

He shook his head. You won't. His hand curled in her hair. As you destroyed, so you will save. I will help you, if you allow it. But you have the power to do anything you wish. Forgive, forget, destroy, save. It is up to you.

What did I do to deserve this? she cried. I never would have made a wish if I knew it would never end.

You know what they say about wishing, he mused gently.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat and past her lips. Yeah. She gazed up at him, wiping her face with a sleeve. Is... Is that your favor? Telling you again?

She watches him swallow, looking at her with that analyzing, calculating, contemplating gaze. No, he says finally. I don't want to force you. Tell me if you want, or keep it to yourself. It's your trauma, and yours alone.

She blinks in confusion. Then... what do you want?

He smiles. Please save me.

Another blink. From what?

A deep sadness crosses his face, flickers in his eyes, before it disappears as he leans closer. His lips press against her forehead in a featherlight touch, palms a gentle collar around her neck.

From myself.

There is no pain, and she does not hear it as her spine snaps in his hands. She dies in the beat from one second to the next.

And she wakes.

[avacadokin]

Pssst I think you should write that fucked up fitpac thing

aughhhhhhhhhhhh fuck but im literally in the middle of writing another fitpac smut rn and ive got class, so instead im just gonna dump my ideas here and hopefully come back to them later

ok uh fuck pac uses his control over fit's mech dick (he made it after all) to overload fit with pleasure in purgatory to the point he cant fucking move at all, trapping him and taking him out of the fight until his 5 hours are up in purgatory.

or fit just fantasizing about how pac could do that, at any time just take advantage of his past trust and reduce him down to a pathetic moaning mess, taking him back to past encounters in 2b2t, how he successfully fought them off back then but wishing he wouldn't win for pac

fit going out to hunt, ambushing tubbo or some other blue team member not to realize that pac was there, killing the other blue but getting so low and his armor so broken he's completely at pac's whim, trying to run and falling horribly

fit getting called "big daddy" condescendingly by pac, just to rub it in his face how far he's fallen

a big fight between both blue and green ending with them being the only two left, covered in quickly drying blood of their friends and enemies (though at this point what's the difference?)

circling each other like starved dogs

ripping and tearing into each other pulling and scratching at anything they can reach when they finally collide

pac using the sharp hard edges of his prosthetic to kick fit wherever is closest, fit biting hard on his other knee to remind him how he lost his first

pac disconnecting fit's prosthetic arm, or just disabling it, he's repaired it enough times to know how to break it easily

tearing away his weapons and clothes, enabling some fun features he added like auto-lube and vibration before fucking fit on his own hand

pac hastily (he wants this to hurt) preps himself with fit's hand (slapping away the flesh one whenever it gets close) before shoving it back inside fit

if his prosthetic arm still had any feeling left in it it would burn from being trapped against the dirt beneath fit and from the angle his wrist must be at to get his fingers anywhere near his prostate (pac wishes it still had feeling)

pac getting fed up with the interference from fit's working hand, so he rearranges himself to pin it under his prosthetic leg, hoping the rough edges leave cuts and bruises, marking fit's entire body as his

then he sinks down onto fit's cock in one smooth motion (only lightly hampered by the blood dripping its way down from somewhere, pain is pleasure at this point so he doesn't care)

fit's hips buck up at the sensation, lifting pac up with him (the knowledge that he has so throughly conquered someone so strong does things to pac's brain)

one of pac's hands is busy restraining fit and acting as leverage for pac to fuck himself on fit's cock, but the other, pac brings up to the top of fit's bald head and scratches a bloody path from there, to his cheeks, over his pecs, and down his abs before resting atop pac's dick

pac gathers the pre-cum, blood and who knows what else that's settled there, before smearing it along a messy path up to fit's neck, where he just holds as he rides fit

when he feels fit cum inside him he doesn't stop, pac just grips even tighter onto fits throat, praying he's cutting off his airway as he rides to completion

then idk maybe they kill each other so they dont have to clean up, maybe they clean up and apologize and its terribly sweet for the situation they're in

[charmingsoa]

■ Gunslinger ■                 Ch. 6 ✶ Jax Teller/OC multi-chapter story ✶

🀰 Taglist available🀰

(TW: Mentions of rape, physical abuse, cursing)

@cindsvibes @sweet--catrastrophe  @stephv213  @itspdameronthings @neverland14353  @sweetdispositionsss @fandom-oneshots-etc @xtwistedxwonderlandx​ 

His dirty fingers lingered on my skin as I laid beneath him – tears falling from my lined eyes as his cigarette breath fell onto my neck. I knew she was in the room too – probably standing in the corner as he had his way with me. This had become a nightly ritual between the two of them. She was either too drunk or high for him to get enjoyment – barging through my door instead as she watched with dead eyes. The following morning, I would have to come up with many lies as to why my face was busted or why I was absent from school for such a long period. I had learned to ease the pain with the random drugs I would find as my mother slept. A line or two – a pill or four – just enough to numb the pain as his sweaty body laid on top of mine.

I spent the rest of the night in the broken-down truck that sat in the yard. I didn’t want to be in that house – be near the two of them. I didn’t even bother crying anymore as I washed his stench off my battered body. It was a regular occurrence at this point. I slowly made the walk to school – the clothes that I’ve worn for the past week hanging off my body like dirty rags. I knew the other students and teachers looked at me with pity – some whispering as I would walk by. I was just another kid from the wrong side of the tracks – a welfare case that should have either been aborted or placed up for adoption. I was a pawn to my mother – a warm body for her boyfriends – a guaranteed check from the government.

“Carter?” I looked up as the principle made her way towards me. I already knew how the conversation would go.

What happened to you this time? I’m gonna have to report this if it keeps happening? Is your mother aware of this?

“What happened to your face, Carter?” Her voice stern.

I had learned to lie at a very early age thanks to my mother. “Just an accident is all, Ms. Lions.” I smiled. “I was helping my mom with some home renovations and a couple things fell off the shelf while I was under it. Total stupidity on my part.”

I knew she didn’t believe me – “This is the fourth time something has fallen on your face in the past year, Carter.”

“Just clumsy and accident prone, I guess.” I replied.

She stayed silent as I walked away – a part of me wishing that she would finally call…

“Stupid bitch!”

I whimpered as her nails dug into my skin – no doubt causing blood to pool to the surface. “Had to open your fucking mouth to those nosey fucking teachers and tell them lies.” I glanced to the side, Butch, the fuck of the week, leaning against the trailer door. His eyes glazed over as he tipped back the beer bottle.

“I didn’t say anything!” I cried out. “I promise!”

“Lying fucking bitch.” She growled. “All you do is lie and try to steal what’s mine!”

I managed to get the courage to push her off of me – her body landing on the dirty carpet below. She looked around shocked – Butch just hanging in the shadows. Before she could jump up, I sprinted to my room, locking the door behind me. The sound of more bottles falling to the ground could be heard – glass littering the living room and kitchen as she raged. I had nowhere to go but I wasn’t staying here any longer. I packed up what I could fit in my duffle and backpack – climbing out the broken window to escape. She had put her hands on me before – practically choking me out enough to make me almost lose consciousness at times. This was the last straw though. I didn’t want to stay in a place where I needed to fear for my life. If I didn’t leave tonight, this could have been the last night of my life…

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Carter?”

I leaned against the clubhouse walls; my eyes drawn to the concrete floor. Word of my house burning to the ground quickly made its way to the city of Charming, the club being the first to respond. “It was an accident.” I muttered.

His head turned sharply in my direction, “An accident-“His voice stern. “Carter, you lit a fucking match and set the house a blaze. That’s not an accident – that’s fucking arson!”  

“Stop yelling at me.” My voice low. “If I say it was an accident then that’s what it fucking was, Jackson.” His body tensed as he grasped onto the chair. “You don’t know what it’s fucking like going back into a place where you once felt safe – content. Now you have to look over your shoulder every damn second, afraid someone is gonna be there and finish off what they started. I can’t bring Madison back into that house – I don’t feel safe anywhere, Jax.” Tears fell as I spoke. “What if those bastards come back and hurt our daughter? I can’t have that ever happening and if that meant burning down the God damn house then so be it.”

He let out a loud sigh, his hand running down his tired face. “I know this is a huge mess that you and the club are gonna have to clean up but it needed to happen.”

“It’s fine.” I looked at him. “Clay knows the fire marshal – paying off will be no problem.”

The room turned silent as I took a seat, my hands running through my hair. “You and Maddie will just have to stay at my place for the time being. Her room is already set up and most of her stuff is there anyway.” Jax spoke as he sat next to me. “Be like old times.” A smirk formed on his face.

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah – just like old times.”

“I still love you, Carter.” His voice more serious. “What I said the other day was just out of anger. I would never mean the things and names I called you.”

I glanced up at him, his eyes red with incoming tears. “We both said things that we never meant- that’s just how we work.” It was true – we would always say the vilest things toward one another. “Let’s just put it in the past like everything else, okay.”

He took my hand in his – my heart fluttering as he pressed his lips against my skin. “Promise.”

I moved what was left of mine and Madison’s things into Jax’s house. Half-sack was in charge of watching me – receiving orders from Jax to take out anyone that looked suspicious. I doubt Georgie and his goon squad would try anything right now – especially knowing that the club was on the warpath. I had him drive me over to the studio – Luann still in disbelief that this would happen to one of her girls. Jax had placed a couple of the prospects at the studio to protect the girls, even buying two large dogs in case no one was there during the night.

Luann was restricted to what she could do seeing as the feds were still looking into the business aspect of Cara Cara. The new talent that she had hired weeks before were already gone, either too scared or too greedy. Ima had decided to return after her little stint with Darby, basically begging Luann to take her back. Rumor was she even went and worked with Georgie for a week or two before crawling back.

“How’re you doing sweetheart?” Her arms wrapped around my frame.  

“Bout as good as I can be at this point.” I smiled as I pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry.” Tears formed in my eyes.

“Oh, Carter-“She sighed, pulling me back into the hug. “None of this was your fault, sweetie. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

We stayed silent as she continued to hug me – pulling away after a few minutes. “I should be the one apologizing to you – I’m the one that stirred shit up with him and he comes after you and the others.”

I looked at her confused, “Who else did he come after?”

She stayed silent for a moment, “Well-“She shifted in her seat. “One of his men threatened and punched Lyla in the face. Another guy followed Ima home and basically terrorized her all night by calling and stalking her. Jax and the guys have been trying but the more they press back, the worse the assaults get. They know you’re involved with Jax and that you’re one of my top earners. Georgie doesn’t just want to hurt you – he wants Jax and I to suffer too.”

“He approached me a week or two before the attack.” I spoke. “I was at the grocery store with Madison and the bastard came up to me while I was putting her in the car. Started telling me that I needed to drop you and work for a true professional. I of course told him no and to leave me alone. He obviously followed me home and I didn’t even know it. I’m just thankful Madison wasn’t home when they did it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Carter?

I shrugged my shoulders, “I thought I could handle it – plus you had enough on your plate at that time. I didn’t even tell Jax – I didn’t think it would come to the point it did.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it?”

I shook my head no. “I’ve been through shit like that before – I don’t need to talk to a fucking shrink and have them pick my brain about why I think this happened to me. I don’t need to tell a stranger about how my mom’s boyfriends would have their way with me and then how my mom would beat the hell out of me the next day. I don’t need them telling me that the reason I picked a career in porn is because my father wasn’t around and the abuse that I received when I was a kid. It’s nobody’s fucking business except mine.  

Luann stayed silent.

“I just want this whole thing to be forgotten. I was raped – attacked – it fucking happens.”

“Carter, shit like that doesn’t happen – it’s not supposed to fucking happen.” I rolled my eyes. “You may try to forget about it but that’s gonna eat you alive. Even if you don’t talk to a doctor about it – just try to talk to someone.”

I simply nodded my head, “Sure thing.” I forced a smile before walking away…

“I’ve missed you so much, baby doll.”

Her little legs and arms were wrapped tight against my body as I moved us around the room. I hadn’t seen my daughter in almost two weeks – crying as soon as I saw Jax’s truck pull into the driveway that night. I sprinted off the porch, throwing open the door, her little face lit up like a Christmas tree once she saw me.

“You stay here with me and daddy?” She asked as she played with my necklace.

I nodded my head, “Sure am, baby.”

I set her down on the floor, watching as she ran into the other room. I couldn’t help but cry – Jax coming to my side – his arm wrapping around my middle. “She missed you, kid.”

Moments later, her little sandaled feet came running back, construction paper in her tiny hands. “Mommy, I drew these for you when you were sick. Nana Gemma helped me with the glue and scissors.” She handed me the drawings. “That’s me and you when we go to the park and the other one is me, you, and daddy.”

I looked at the pictures, stick figures and scribbled coloring making my heart break even more. “Nana Gemma said that pictures would make you feel better – make the monsters go away.” Her little hand placed on my leg. “You like it, mommy?”

“I love it, sweetheart.” I pulled her in for another hug.

We ordered pizza that night for dinner, Madison crashing soon after. I carried her into the room, placing her into the princess bed Jax and Opie cursed over a year ago. I still remember the look of happiness on her face when she saw it for the first time. Jax and Opie’s face told another tale. I placed a kiss on her forehead before turning off the lights, cracking her door before walking towards the bathroom.

“All set?” Jax whispered as he leaned against the door frame.

I let out a sigh, “I think so.” I looked around – everything still the same from years before. My eyes caught the tub – Jax and I relaxing in the bubbles before bed most nights. As our relationship slowly started to end, I would go in there alone as my thoughts raced. A glass of champaign and too many lit candles keeping me company as the bubbles faded away.

I looked back at Jax, his eyes searching mine as I slowly started to remove my shirt. “What’re you doing?” He asked unsure. I stayed silent as I plugged the tub, pouring the rest of Madison’s bubble bath into the water. Our eyes stayed locked as I undressed – finally breaking as I stepped into the warm, welcoming water. It had been quite some time since Jax and I had been in an intimate situation. We would tease each other here and there but it had been over a year since we slept together. I just needed a familiar touch – not in a sensual way – but a protective, loving way.

He stood still – moving once I gave him the reassuring glance. I kept my focus ahead as he removed his clothes, moving up slightly as he placed himself behind me. As my back hit his chest, a sense of relief was lifted. My body was positioned between his – a protective bubble that made me feel whole once again. We stayed silent as I laid my head against this shoulder, his hands locked around my waist. Everything felt right for that moment in time.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Fall

Pairing: Cha Eunwoo x female reader

Genre: demon x saint au / romance / fluff

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: once again, I’ve returned to the world of The Ledger of Hearts. This was a story many have waited for. I hope you enjoy it.

Word count: 669

The Ledger of Hearts | Peace and Chaos | The Fall

You were falling. Alone.

Wheezing out a laugh, you were impressed that Eunwoo had lured you into this descent. You had always been one for a dare, and when he had suggested you both jump off the bridge that connected the portals to heaven and hell, you had only done it because he was at your side.

Clever saint.

It was hard to see where you were going exactly. Time was irrelevant, but you could tell that the longer you fell, the faster you went. You were burning through realms, bursting through one indistinguishable scenery into another, the briefest amount of pain shredding through you at each interval. It seemed as if you would keep falling forever.

A just punishment for a demon who wished for more than your stack.

And then, he was in front of you. Or beneath you. His warm eyes caught yours, wide and frightened, yes, but also full of determination after finding you again. You attempted to smile, and you were certain the tears in your eyes weren’t just from the speed you were both descending at. Reaching out for him, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, burying your head into his neck.

Eunwoo was panting, the strain on his body beneath yours evident. Still, you clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms folded over the other. If you were to fall for eternity, at least you would be together.

An unfurling happened around you, and with a strength you shouldn’t possess now, you pulled back a fraction to see shimmering white wings spread out wide, attempting to slow your fall. You gasped when you realised it was working, and yet, feathers were loosening and flying by your face in clumps.

“Your wings!” you cried in horror, Eunwoo’s jaw clamped tightly against the strain. You hadn’t known that saints could have wings. Perhaps his position above had been more powerful than you had assumed.

Delving inside, you pushed out your remaining magic, not being sure why you hadn’t thought to do something aside from fall at such a grand pace before. Curls of darkness caressed what remained of his almost bare wings, protecting them from further damage.

He smiled with relief, relaxing his jaw a little as his hand rose to meet the side of your face. “You were scared, little hellion.”

“Of course. I couldn’t see you.”

“We chose this together,” he reminded, and you nodded, nuzzling his hand. You barely had a moment more before you crashed into the unknown, the very life being knocked out of you.

For uncounted moments, you considered your death had arrived. You could see nor hear anything, and Eunwoo’s warmth was gone from your embrace. Whilst you felt no pain, you assumed you must have broken entirely upon impact.

Blinking slowly, the haze of the world around you began to clear. You were in a mortal land, though you weren’t sure where. Hesitantly lifting your hands to your face, you noticed your skin was no longer luminous, your fingernails now painted and round instead of claws. Pulling yourself up off the ground, you tried to understand what had happened.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked, and when you turned around, you stared at the man before you.

Gone were the wings, the heavenly glow. The man before you was simply that. No longer a saint, for he had officially fallen from piety. And a demon such as you? Had you been given some level of grace?

Eunwoo shifted forward, uncaring of the people that stepped around you in this strange metropolitan. “We dared to dream for more than peace and chaos, my love. Are you happy with our choice?”

“We’re now mortal.”

“It appears so.”

“We answer to no one but ourselves,” you continued, and Eunwoo sighed, giving a slight look to the heavens above. You chuckled. “I will not follow His lead.”

“No, but will you follow mine?”

Leaning in to kiss him, you smiled against his lips. “Always.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[ASTRO Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] 

[cast-you-dxwn]

"Michael. . .long time no see. Still at God's beck and call I see." It was a taunt meant to poke at his pride as she projected herself just outside the respite of the harbingers.

Her physical form wasn't completely solid, but he could at least see her. Lilith held a hand out in front of her, hoping he would give her a chance to explain her appearance before he made himself look ridiculous and strike air with his blade.

"Don't worry, I won't be here to bother you for long. I simply wish to warn you that once this cycle is finished, Lucifer will be with me. He'll be free to come and go as he pleases, but he will be the only one allowed in my little pocket realm - save for God, unfortunately."

She wasn't entirely pleased with the idea that God had the capability to go where he wished but that was how things worked. "So, if he seems to be scarce, you need not wonder where he has been. I plan on taking wonderful care of him."

Any smile she had been wearing before hand faded, "I worry for Luci..he appears to be more broken than he was in our cycle together. There hasn't been anything that's changed between you two, has there? I know how much he cares for you, so I can only assume his mood change has been a cause of what happens between him and his family oh so dear to his heart." - 🕸 🗡

“Always, dear sister.”

If the prod has any effect, or indeed if he even recognizes it as such, he gives no indication of it. The term of endearment slips easily from his tongue, and though there is little warmth in his voice, he does not move from his place. No threat of violence nor harsh action seems forthcoming, and he does as he has done through the eons.

He listens.

He listens to her plans, as he has listened to the plans of other Liliths, in other locales. How he has listened to her in the Garden, counseling her softly against rash action. How he has listened to her at the gates of Heaven, vitriol on both of their tongue before her head was relieved from her neck. How he has listened to her in the halls of the Palace, a Fallen Seraph speaking with his beloved sister-in-law with mirth and fondness.

Her query rings surprisingly earnest, and Michael glances behind him, as though he might catch a glimpse of the subject of their conversation between the clattering of pans and ghostly wails. He turns back to her, and his expression is somewhat sullen.

“He has watched me kill him innumerable times, Lilith. In truth, I believe he harbors fear for me. I have done all I can to be supportive, reassuring, giving voice to his worries and putting them to rest. But this duty weighs heavy on us all, and though he is mighty, he is no soldier, you know this well.”

His concern for his younger sibling is bare, raw, and positively exposed, the normally taciturn and stoic Seraph clearly harboring no small amount of thought for Lucifer’s wellbeing, poor as he may be at expressing it.

He allows a few moments to pass in silence, looking her over, before he speaks again.

“I am sure you have put no small amount of effort into your realm, I know you have a talent for such things. But have you considered joining us, instead? Whilst I expect Samael to be able to come visit, we would miss him terribly.”

[inertflouride]

Trap of Lies Part-25

This is a dark AU collaboration started by @x3kristax3 Viewer discretion is advised! It starts from here

TW: Heavy Violence.

MC's POV

"Tell your father to keep regard of his age and speak as much as his position allows him to or I can't guarantee his coming years to be filled with mirth", Alan threatens me, cracking his gloved knuckles as he does.

Jesus, does this man not infuriate my existence. If I had my way, I shan't have kept myself from snapping his neck, but I must keep my temper at bay for no good has ever come from it. I need to keep at this daunting task, however much it makes me tear my skin and itch at it. This is MY revenge, MY order of justice. I'll serve it as I wish to.

I keep my gaze from darkening at his looming yet empty threat and instead, pull a whimpering mask over myself.

"Alan, love, please stay at ease", I fawn my helplessness, "You can do whatever you wish to do with me but please, keep my parents away from it."

"Or what?", he grabs my chin, digging his nails in my cheeks, "You plan on fleeing to that bitch, Jake, now that he already took over my business?"

I put my hands on his chest, trying to calm his grip on my face and distance myself from him. Of course though, my mere act of self preservation ticks him off wrong and he pushes me hard backwards, making me trip and fall on my arse.

"Oh, so now you can't bear my touch too?", he scoffs and manically starts bellowing in laughter. I shall be lying if I said I wasn't scared, because I really was. I was terrified at the sight following before me.

Suddenly, he jerks towards me, taking advantage of my fallen state and kicks my side, hard. I feel air being knocked out of my lungs as he again makes contact of his foot with my body, this time my spine.

He picks me up and suddenly, a knife appears in his hand, which he strikes inside the left of my torso. I gasp from the sudden excruciating pain, making me grip the broken skin from bleeding the life out of me.

I can't die.

"You have to die, MC", he says cooly, "but not in my house. Your blood cannot seep into my house."

With that, he takes the knife out of me, making me fall down with a thud, sideways, my hand still gripping the stabbed part. He throws a rag over me, covering my body before throwing me over his horse and taking off god knows where.

Every gallop the horse takes makes me want to jump off it so the pain stops. It's too much. Just too much that I can't help but cry out a scream when the colt jumps over a puddle.

"One more word and I'll tie your feet to this horse's stirrup and drag you to the location", he hisses at me. I bite my tongue to keep every moan in as my insides churn.

Somebody needs to find me, and fast.

Anthony's POV

"Ow", I wince as a needle pricks into my shoeless feet, making me stagger towards the heap of concrete sand. As I make my way there, the loud stampede of an animal catches my ear. I look towards the source of the sound and see a horse with two people mounted on it, making their way towards my direction in a very hasteful manner.

I jump towards the side before getting under the stallion's feet and quickly try looking at the person riding it, but I am too late to notice their faces, their backs and saddle pad the only view I manage to catch. A bobby.

Dejected, I look down, my attention back to my aching foot when I see dark red blobs making the trail behind the horse. My eyes widen on their own accord, making me remember my own childhood trauma.

"Get on, Tony. We gotta reach the town centre for goods exchange", I hear Luke howling. I try to speak but the sound does not escape my lips. I try to turn and look back at Luke but my feet just gets stuck.

"Tony?", Luke asks, putting his hand on my shoulder and shaking me back to reality. When he sees my paled face, he grips both my shoulders comfortingly and squats, asking, "What happened? What's wrong?"

I know there's no point trying to talk so I simply point my little finger at the sight. Luke follows my direction and shocks paints his face too, though he handles it better than me. "Ok boy. We need to tell this to Leader" and takes my hand to rush to the Bar.

Phil's POV

I brush my hair into a neat ponytail and check my appearance once again in the mirror. The last time I felt this nervous was probably when I fled my stepfather's house as a 16 year old.

I, again, takeout my pocket watch for the umpteenth time and then take a look at my desk, unfolding the note again.

Phil, I need your help. Meet me at the town square at noon. Jess

It's been 5 years since my sister made any contacts with me. The last time we exchanged a word, she had sworn to sever everything between us. So, now that she has sent a word to me, it worries me green over what went down that has pushed her towards me.

"What have you gotten yourself in, Jessy?"

Jessy's POV

"Hello to you too, brother", I greet him, as politely as I can allow myself to, trying not to scoff over how, even after 5 years, my brother doesn't show any affection or longing or anything but asks me, in the plainest way possible. 'What have i gotten myself into?'

"I need your help to expose Angus Barnett", I return back the curtness.

"How do you expect me to do that?", he asks me.

"Well, I know you're with a wrong crowd, I know you have quite an influence in this area and I know you are engaged with the trading of drugs."

"How do you-", I am about to ask her when my gaze falls onto two frantic kids. "Excuse me, Jessy."

He moves towards them and the two kid's faces brighten up on seeing him, though a worried frown is still etched on the younger lad's face.

"Leader. Tony here saw blood blobs on the town's outskirts trailing behind a horse", the older kid tells him, his voice raspy.

"It was a bobby. Coming from the Chief's den", Tony chimes in.

"A bobby?", I can't help but shriek behind me. "Phil. We need to get there, right now."

"Huh? How does this bother you?"

"Because that's probably MC!"

"Ok. You need to tell me what's going on here, but first, we need to reach MC. Tony, you come with us. Luke, I need you to keep a watch on the bobby station and tell any suspicious activity to Daniel."

Phil's POV

"You are absolutely nuts, Jessica Hawkins! Oh no, my bad. Jessica Hallister", I shout at her over the loud galloping of our horses. "I know you care for MC, but you should not support her in her crazy rendezvous. What if Alan were to attack you both? How would you protect yourself?"

"Oh, hush Phil. I am no damsel in distress and neither is MC. To think we are both weak is a grave error on your chivalrous self. We are more adept than you would believe."

I am about to prove her wrong when Tony intercepts me, saying "That's the horse I saw. The same saddle pad", pointing his finger ahead.

I nod to Jessy and we both dismount the horse, as quietly as possible. Tony begins to descend too before I stop him. "Child, you go back. Take my horse and retreat back. We shall take it from here", I instruct him, handing him a few gold coins just in case. He takes them from me and nods, making his way back.

I move to tie the horse to a faraway tree, taking the gun out from the saddle pocket, before joining Jessy and making our way, sneakily, towards the horse, talking shelter behind the tall trees as we do.

I hear Jessy gasp, and jerkingly move my gaze over her line of vision, and does it not make my blood churn.

Alan drags MC by her hair towards the centre, a huge spot of blood colouring the torso area of her croset. Jessy makes a rush towards the scene, when I grab her by her arm and stop her. "We go in there and he'll kill MC if he hasn't already", I whisper shout at her.

MC struggles to free herself from his chainsaw hold, though to no avail. I squat towards a nearer tree and take cover behind it before aiming my gun on this coxcomb.

3, 2, 1

The snap of the gunshot fills the abandoned area, making crows kaw away in fear. We rush towards MC as Alan grips his shoulder, howling in pain.

Jessy goes and wraps MC in her arms, crying on seeing her friend in an almost dead state.

"This wench, Jessy! I knew she would cause some hurdles in my plans. I will kill you, you bloody-", Alan curses until I break his jaw with my punch, making blood splatter.

"You. Do. Not. Insult. My sister. In front of me, do you get it?", I get on him and say this, ending each words with a punch on his face, till his face turns plump and distorted.

"Phil", I hear a weak yet firm force call me and I immediately look back. "I need to handle this in my own way. Please."

I look at her for a while and then get off Alan, handing MC my gun. "End him."

She nods and takes her aim on his heart. "I wish that your afterlife is filled with so much pain, that you'll beg them to kill you until you realise that you're already dead."

She shoots one shot. Then two. Then three. And then, keeps firing until she empties the barrel of gun. After empty clicking the gun, she throws the gun over him and squats down, breaking down in the most gruesome way possible.

I leave them two alone, inspecting what to do with the body. I move towards Alan's horse, surprised at how it stayed motionless the whole time until I see.

"The horse is dead", I hear MC saying it behind me. "He killed it demonstrate how he plans to kill me."

I look at Alan's body and crook my brow, before saying, "We can't leave it here. We can't take it back. If it is not dealt with properly, it is bound to haunt your future."

"I have an idea", Jessy suggests, still rubbing MC's arm. "What if we bury Alan's body here-"

"No, Jessy. Have you lost it?"

"At least let me finish, brother", she spits the last word with anger, silencing me down. The way she said hurts me deep, and according to her, I deserve it. Whatever.

"So, as I was saying, we bury his body in here. But, we bury the horse's body over his."

MC and I look at her, bewildered, trying to make sense of what she said. After she notices no reaction from us, she goes to reexplain it.

"We dig a hole. A deep hole and throw Alan in there. Then, we cover his body with sand, so it is not visible and then bury the horse's body over it too. That way, if anyone were to search for his body and start digging in here, they find the horse's fossils and stop excavating this sight further."

I stay silent, mulling over it for a few seconds until I look up at her, and say,

"Sister. You're evil!"

[bronwiebear-brad]

i'm so happy you're writing again, can you please do a cute angst?? i love those s2

This is a part two of this thing I wrote long time ago.

His eyes didn’t left your figure following you through the crowd to the exit door. He hopelessly tought he could move from his spot and run to catch you, but his legs didn't obeyed his brain. His heart got broken in so many small peaces that it was going to be so hard to pull them back together. 

Deep down in his mind he had a small chance that you would say i love you back. He was the one who ruined everything and he couldn’t bare with that burden.

“What are you doing? Follow her!” James tapped Brad’s shoulder but he couldn’t move. Instead he stood in the same spot frozen, emotionless.

“She doesn’t love me anymore.” He looked at his friends eyes, tears already falling. "I fucked up."

He tried to abstract himself with the rest of the wedding. Also for the next few days he tried to relax and stop thinking about what happened. A few days in the countryside with friends  to take his mind off everything but everyone was with their soulmate and everywhere he looked, he could see happy couples and their perfect relationships. It was kinda hard not to feel lonely no matter how hard everyone tried. So he decided to leave.

As soon as he got back to his routine, everything went back to normal for everyone. Unless for him. He had returned to his empty house. To his cold bed. He wouldn't get home and hear the laughter, the crackling of someone who had just burned their dinner or said a really awful joke. He would return to a dark house full of memories of someone he had one day.

So he moved out. Found another apartment, on a new neighborhood. Met new people, focused on his music, on his bar, on his family and friends. He even got a new dog. Now he wasn't alone or haunted by the walls of his house.

But it didn't took him much time to realize that he was simple disguising the pain. And when he finished his day he wouldn't mind not eating, not sleeping, not showering. He started drinking more and smoking. He was no longer answering calls from his friends and soon after, from his family. And the only way they could get him out of that house was to walk his dog.

He was slowly losing himself, just as he had lost you.

"Come on, Jack, hurry up buddy. It's freezing!" he instructed to the little ball of fur sniffing around some flowers, while rubbing his hands and trying to heat them with his warm breath.

The dog was pretty unaware of the little drops of rain falling from the wet trees. It had been raining all night and it was really cold.

Brad wished he could brought a scarf, his hoodie was very nice keeping him warm such as his beanie but his neck was getting the cold breeze that blew. He took a cigarette from the white box of his pocket and put it in his mouth. Grabbed his lighter and lit his cigar. Soon he was on his journey back home, where he could just disconnect from everything.

As the next day came he opened his eyes lazily. He realized he had fallen asleep on the couch again. He watched his phone on the coffee table buzzing and noticed missing calls from his parents and friends. He tried to reach it but his body was hurting, soon his throat started to burn and he felt dizzy and sick.

"Fuck no." He said. Grabbing his phone and calling his bandmate to cancel plans onf the studio. It didn't took him long to pick up.

"Brad?!" he sounded concerned.

"hey Tris" His weak voice almost didn't let him talk. Plus he started coughing.

"are you okay?" he asked.

"I think I got the flu or something, besides that I'm fine" he lied. "I don't think I'm able to go today."

"I'll tell Joe. Do you need anything? We are so worried about you, it's like you're isolating yourself." He changed his tone. "James said you needed your space so we let you be but this is coming out of hand"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Tris. I can take of myself" He had trouble talking. Great now he was losing his voice.

"it's clearly that you can't not! Your mom called us and told that you don't eat or sleep and even didn't let her into your house."

"I'm fine, maybe next week we can start planning that tour"

"Brad, you told us that last week... You need to take care of yourself!"

"I know, I know..."

After the phone call, Brad fell asleep. Three hours later he felt he was going to trow up so he jump really fast from the couch and ran to the bathroom.

After throwing up he couldn't simple get up from the floor. His body so weak and he was about to pass out. So he just laid back on the bathtub tiles and slowly felt his eyes get heavy again...

"Brad..?" he heard his name being called from his living room and thought he was delusional.

"h-here..." He tried to talk but his voice was really low.

"Brad? Are you there? The door was unlock.." the voice was getting closer. "Brad?!"

"hel-p.." He tried to raise his voice.

"Omg, Brad!" the voice walked in the bathroom and kneeled down beside him. "what are you doing?" He knew who it was, the voice was to familiar.

"help me, (y/n)" he said not capable to move.

"I'm here, I got you" she tried to bring him closer to her, since he was white as a ghost, she touched his forehead. "you're burning!" so she grabbed a wet towel and place it in his face. She laid him down on her legs.

They stood there in that position for half an hour, she gently taping his face with the cold towel and watching his face gain a little color again. Her heart broke seeing him like this.

"(y/n)...?" he said opening his eyes slowly.

"Hi Brad." She looked down at him and sadly smiled. "how you'd been?"

"awfull" he said and tried to sit.

"easy. Here, let me help you" she helped him to sit slowly. Her hand touched his forehead again and he closed his eyes and leaned in. "The fever is lowering."

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"your mom called me." she looked at him and for the first time their eyes crossed. "I had to."

He didn't said anything. Instead he just nodded. He was to weak to fight this. So he just let himself be and be cared by her.

She helped him get up, undress and sit inside the tub. She waited until the water was warm and gently helped him get wet. She washed his hair and body, got up to get his shaving utensils and shaved his face. And wrapped him in a warm towel. Helped him upstairs into the bed, dressed him with clean clothes and even brushed his hair. While she was tucking him inside the covers he spoke.

"You don't have to do this" He looked at her.

"I want to. We swore to care for eachother."

"why? I broke that promise, I hurted you. I don't deserve it."

"You don't have to stay like this, Brad. You have to move on. You can't stay forever grieving a love that died."

"Why you don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you."

"I broke your heart"

"Yes, you did. But I can't stand watching you go down."

"I left you alone and you've always been so good to me. You're still so good to me"

"You have to accept that it was your call. You're a grown up man, things end." She spoke again calmly. "I'll make you some tea for your throat, just take these meds and try to rest. Okay?"

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until you're okay"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She stood up and went to leave the bedroom. She stopped by the door and looked back at him. He was looking out the window, so small, so broken.

"Brad." She said and he looked at her. "and when I asked you how you'd been, I meant I missed you more than I've ever missed anything before."

[pomegranate-cuties]

Chapter 19 Reactions

First time poster, long time reader and so on. All instances of bold in quoted text is my own emphasis. Now, without further ado:

People who have never seen these structures, and have only the ill-imagined efforts of artists or the imperfect descriptions of such eye-witnesses as myself to go upon, scarcely realise that living quality. I recall particularly the illustration of one of the first pamphlets to give a consecutive account of the war. The artist had evidently made a hasty study of one of the fighting-machines, and there his knowledge ended. He presented them as tilted, stiff tripods, without either flexibility or subtlety, and with an altogether misleading monotony of effect. The pamphlet containing these renderings had a considerable vogue, and I mention them here simply to warn the reader against the impression they may have created. They were no more like the Martians I saw in action than a Dutch doll is like a human being. To my mind, the pamphlet would have been much better without them.

Tell us how you really feel Mr Narrator! As someone who's been accepting any and all illustrations of our tripod aliens as canon, I'm feeling very attacked right now. And who was it who first described the Martian machines as a milk stool, hm?

The internal anatomy, I may remark here, as dissection has since shown, was almost equally simple.

I love these delicious little hints of a post-Martian world 🥰

They did not eat, much less digest. Instead, they took the fresh, living blood of other creatures, and injected it into their own veins. I have myself seen this being done, as I shall mention in its place.

Virgin digestive system (humans) vs Chad vampire metabolism (Martians). Also, I'm having a bad feeling about the fate of the Curate...

Their undeniable preference for men as their source of nourishment

[Audio and video description: Official YouTube music video for the US version of "Maneater" by Nelly Furtado, an uptempo electro-pop song with an infectious, thumping beat. The video is set to start at the chorus (timestamped 2:12), depicting Nelly Furtado dancing in a dimly-lit, dilapidated warehouse, interspersed with shots of the crowd dancing in other rooms of the warehouse:

Maneater, make you work hard Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love She's a maneater, make you buy cars Make you cut cards, make you fall real hard in love She's a maneater, make you work hard Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love She's a maneater, make you buy cars Make you cut cards, wish you never ever met her at all

End description.]

These creatures, to judge from the shrivelled remains that have fallen into human hands, were bipeds with flimsy, silicious skeletons (almost like those of the silicious sponges) and feeble musculature, standing about six feet high and having round, erect heads, and large eyes in flinty sockets. Two or three of these seem to have been brought in each cylinder, and all were killed before earth was reached. It was just as well for them, for the mere attempt to stand upright upon our planet would have broken every bone in their bodies.

[Audio and video description: Scene from "Chocolate with Nuts" (season 3, episode 52) of SpongeBob Squarepants. SpongeBob, with a bandaged head and two crutches, and Patrick, with a neck brace and both arms in casts, knock on the door of a potential chocolate customer. The customer wears a full-body cast, eyepatch, and ventilator face mask, with an IV drip attached to his right side.

The video begins with a close up of the customer's face, who laments, "Ugh, some guys have all the luck. I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning, I break my legs, and every afternoon, I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep." As he speaks, a violin begins to play, and the shot cuts over to SpongeBob and Patrick, who look like they're about to cry.

Right as the customer finishes his speech, the mobility device holding the customer's leg out from him falls. A wire snaps, sending the customer tumbling down the stairs to the sounds of shattering glass and cries of pain.

End description.]

In the next place, wonderful as it seems in a sexual world, the Martians were absolutely without sex

Ace pride 🖤🤍💜

The last salient point in which the systems of these creatures differed from ours was in what one might have thought a very trivial particular. Micro-organisms, which cause so much disease and pain on earth, have either never appeared upon Mars or Martian sanitary science eliminated them ages ago. A hundred diseases, all the fevers and contagions of human life, consumption, cancers, tumours and such morbidities, never enter the scheme of their life.

Yes! I'm so glad this's been finally addressed, because it was the first thing I was curious about. It's a little inconceivable to me for life to exist on other planets without microorganisms, but that may be a lack of imagination on my part. What's more interesting is what this might mean for Martian immune systems...

[mydarkdevotion]

Chapter 1

The Prince needs a night off

Prince Stephen Harrington gets startled awake by the sound of the curtains being pulled open. In order to avoid the early morning light, he moves his head to the other side of his pillow. Trying to get comfortable again to fall back asleep.

"Unfortunately," His covers were yanked off quickly, causing him to curl up against the cold. "Your parents want to have breakfast with you in 15 minutes."

Stephen groans as he rolls onto his back and rubs away the sleep from his face. He adjusts his view to see Murray, Stephen's personal attendant, holding up two different dress jackets.

He held up the jackets slightly thicker than a tunic only the wealthy could afford. One that was solid green with dark green pleats. And the other was raised higher with blue embroidery and white fur lining. “I'm thinking blue today.” Murray said then tossing cream stockings to match on to the bed.

“Sounds good,” Stephen replies, without even looking up at it. He sits up, moving his feet off the side of the bed, stretching his arms out high. He pops his neck as he stands, grabbing the hem of the nightshirt, and tossing it down onto the floor. Reaching over to grab his pants to put on, Murray walks by to pick up his nightwear And tosses it outside in the hall to the boy standing in wait for Murray to order him around.

“Hmm, let's see, What are the occurrences of late? Oh yes, your future? Or Someone probably important died, or if I had to really guess, it’s more than likely something to do with what happened with Lady Wheeler.” He noted with a bit of humor.

The marriage.

Stephen both loved and hated the idea of marrying. Everything had been working according to plan. He had set his eyes on Nancy Wheeler. She was beautiful with her brown curls, the way her eyes bloomed with enjoyment with Stephen. The only problem was Nancy was a leader and not a follower. She wasn't supposed to be just the wife to bring about a family, to help rule a kingdom (At least not in the way she wanted to) From what she told Stephen. She wanted to do more in her life, instead of being tugged by royal ropes.

They had broken their engagement. And he wished her the utmost happiness she could get. It wasn't until earlier that next week that he found out she had fallen in love with someone else. He didn’t blame her for finding true love. He had once thought about that with her. Sure, he still cared for Nancy, maybe even a small part of him deep down still loved her, but it just wouldn't have worked out.

His parents had found out and weren't happy. He already knew that her parents were feeling shame for their daughter refusing the hand of the future King of Hawkins.

Murray checked Stephen's attire again out of habit to make sure it was tied and in the right places. He picked up the Prince's leather shoes, handing them over one by one to slip on.

He dreaded it. He never saw his parents often. They were busy most of the time doing their kingly and queenly duties, which he didn’t mind. He was raised on being by himself and having others take care of him. The only thing he would get from his father would be weekly trivia on ruling the kingdom and showing the people that the only Prince of Hawkins was well-mannered, charming, handsome, and ready to wed. His mother showed affection sometimes but in other ways, gossip, fashion and the secrets of women finding the perfect woman but she mostly kept to her ladies-in-waiting and her dogs.

“Tell me you’ll be in the room at least ?” Stephen asked Murray with pleading eyes, not to leave him completely alone for the next hour or so with his parents. Because at least if he knew Murray was there, he'd be paying attention, and reply everything to the prince later on the important details. Murray was very intuitive. Knew how to work around the bullshit. He talks to the prince freely, which Stephen truly appreciated.

Murray laughed. “Me? Miss out? Wouldn't miss it for the world.” He grinned, pulling the door open to walk through. “But I can't make any guarantees.”

Stephen exhaled loudly and started for the stairs to get to the dining hall. Their footsteps on the stone would alert serfs working in the halls to turn from whatever they were doing. Cleaning the curtains or dusting the tables. To stop and bow as he passed and proceeded to go on with their day.

“Have you seen any travelers in town yet?”

“For the festival? Some.” Stephen had been told before by Murray that there probably wasn't going to be a lot of outsiders coming to this year's royal festivities. Only those People who were lucky enough to get past the enemies outside “And I don’t think it really matters because you’d only be beside your parents on the last day. Up high in your small booth, above us peasants.”

“I could sneak away.” Stephen grinned toward Murray.

Murray scoffed. “Sure, you're getting away from all of them?” He whispered, pointing to the knights in blue and gold standing outside the dining room doors as they approached. “Good luck with that.”

“Yee of little faith.” Stephen said, putting a hand on his heart.

“Yeah well, it's not your head on the chopping block, if things ever go south, your highness.” He gritted back.

The royal family dining hall was a small room that his mother made as a personal space mostly for the three of them. It was brightly lit with open windows. Red and gold tapestries hang from the walls. At once it was cold and was now gaining heat from the fireplace at the end of the room. The fancy furniture was cleaned and polished with fresh flowers from his mothers gardens. The room was filled with the smell of breakfast making his stomach rumble. He looked to see his mother sitting on the far end of his fathers side. Usually she’d sit opposite, but when it was just the three of them. She preferred they were closer.

Murray was close behind Stephen as they made their way over to the Queen, who was sticking her cheek out for him to kiss. “Hello my dove, sleep well?” she asked with a soft smile, watching as he made it around the table to sit across from her. Murray pulled out his chair and proceeded to adjust it before standing against the wall behind him.

“Yes mother, and you?”

Her soft smile disappeared. “Actually, not very well. Another headache.” For the past few weeks, she had been suffering with this ailment with no resolve. “Luckily, it has faded. Have any plans for today?” She asked changing the subject.

“Well, I'm not sure yet -“

The doors opened again to the king himself, walking proudly through the hall toward them, followed by his entourage. Master Commander Hopper, Captain of the king's guard. Looking as grimaced as the day before. And a few other attendants who stayed close to the doors.

He stopped to give his wife a quick peck on the cheek as Stephen had done, and just sat at the head of the table to the queen’s left.

“Morning son,”

“Morning, father.”

Now that the king had arrived The servers were able to start putting food on the table, as well as on the plates of the royal family. Each nodded, or passed their hand to show what they did or did not want.

“I was just asking Stephen if he had any plans for today.” His mother said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh?” His father asked, intrigued. Placing his fork in his mouth.

Stephen almost wanted to ask right there in front of both of them if he could go into town just to explore. However, he kept his mouth shut and answered with another.

“I hadn’t decided yet. I plan on training with Thomas at the ring, or call on Robin.”

“Oh, Robin Buckley?” She beamed. “Do you remember her, dear? General Buckley’s daughter.” She asked her husband, who only looked up briefly and didn't answer. “You do spend a lot of time together. Do you think she could be the one?" she asked, turning back to Stephen.

When Stephen first met Robin, it was an arrangement that his mother had made. For him to meet one of his mother’s friend’s daughter’s. And her father was a General in his fathers military.

She's from an excellent family, a sweet girl that you might like. His mother exclaimed one evening.

After the failed arrangements with Nancy, which, luckily, for Stephen, was still under wraps in the kingdom. And people didn't know much about it, only the inner circle. His Parents and her parents, mostly. Of course, there were a few that had noticed, like servants or guards, but they kept quiet.

He had no interest in meeting anyone's daughters, he was feeling bitter for days (You could say maybe a broken heart was involved) But he listened to his mother after weeks of avoiding everyone and met with Robin Buckley.

His mother, being a hopeless romantic, had set up a picnic for the two of them in the gardens of the castle. One of the nicer ones. She arrived all painted up and looking obviously uncomfortable. Her back was stiff due to her layers and she was not anything like any woman who he’d met before. When other women would smile and bow. Robin, watching her mother leave from dropping her off, peeled off her outer coat, tossing it on a nearby bench. He watched as she crossed her arms, taking a turn in the garden first before even acknowledging him. Once she got closer, she only gave him a quick hello, walked right past him and sat at the table where the food was to be set. It had made Stephen smile at her, this unique creature of sorts, and made him fascinated by her unladylike manners.

And they hit it off, but not in the way their mothers would have wanted. Becoming best friends. Both discovered that they craved independence. Freedom. Talked in length about their likes and dislikes. Listening to each other intently. He had even admitted that his feelings were becoming more than friendship, maybe even love, that's when she trusted him enough to tell him her deepest secrets. That Robin would never be interested in Stephen in that way. At first, it was baffling and a bit strange to him. Making him think frequently about it. Two women together? It was unheard of, and he knew people would reject this. It made him really think about Robin and her safety if the wrong people were to find out and her parents could never. From him overthinking for days made him realize he truly cared about her and he knew he never wanted to lose her.

They usually hung out often, if she was invited over for a stroll or at court. And of course, the people were pests with their rumors saying maybe, just maybe something could be happening between the two. It made her worried after her parents started asking questions. Once people did start talking Robin couldn't help being caught in the crossfire of people’s questions. Do you like him? Isn't he handsome? And Robin, being Robin, froze up face growing red and would turn and run or deny deny deny the rumors. She’d never want that with anyone, any male, no matter if it was Stephen, staying friends, even though it was not what her family would want. So they pretended just so they could be in each other's company as often as they do.

“We're just friends, mother.”

“I have an idea! We can have them for dinner tonight!” she said happily, ignoring him and waving for one of her ladies to come to her side to already make arrangements.

Stephen frowned down at his eggs. Even though he’d get to spend the whole evening with Robin, it made his stomach turn. He didn't want to be this way knowing that all the wrong attention would be on Robin. If only his mother would listen-

“Well, it’s time that you do find out soon, son.” His father said, cutting off his mother's joy. “I am not getting any younger. It's time for you to grow up, get your head out of the clouds, because you have duties to achieve. Sometime in the week coming, after these festivities are over, you’ll be coming with me to more councils. War might be upon us and I need you by my side more often. Time to get a better insight into how the world really works. During this time, your mother will be aiding you more in finding a wife. Buckley or not, there are many fine young ladies in the court.” His father ordered, and continued putting more food into his mouth after the pause.

“Yes, sir.” His cheek heated from embarrassment from being talked down too in front of the people in the room. He placed his fork down to reach for his glass tasting the wine against his tongue made him gulp it down more.

“In fact, I believe some of the nearby villages of nobles and their families Will be here within the week to partake in the town's excitement.” At least the ones rich enough to afford a whole garrison to protect them on the journey there. “This is a perfect opportunity for you to show them what the future will be with you being their King.”

Alright it was now or never. Stephen cleared his throat to ask. “Since we're on topic of the ‘festival’ since it officially starts tomorrow. I could go without you, i'd be protected and I know how to take care of myself-”

“What? No!” his mother exclaimed. “It's too dangerous. The newcomers have not been fully checked who knows who's going to be out there.”

“Your mother’s right Commander Hopper will be busy till the tourney. You can wait till then, once we're there together. You can walk freely then.” His father finally looked up at his son to make sure his point had gotten through.

“Yes. Sir.” losing his appetite completely. Well there goes that idea. The Tourney was three days away and even though he’d be able to get around it had to be under the supervision of Hopper and hopefully not Sullivan. That man was too much of a hard ass.

His parents continued to make small talk about their daily lives before they all finished eating. His father was the first to leave, announcing that he would be out checking on military matters. And his mother, probably going to make more future preparations for tonight's dinner.

Knowing Murray, without even saying a word, was beside him when they reached the hall. “That went well,” he joked.

Stephen didn't feel like talking about it. “I'll be outside.” Without another word, Stephen headed to the courtyard because at least that’s the closest he’d get to escaping the castle. It was the only part of the castle that was connected between the castle and the inner city, giving access to military families. Followed by two knights, he headed in the direction of the clanking of swords and shields. Stephen walked around back to find the ring, knowing that Thomas Hagan had to be somewhere nearby. He was always training. There was better training with the best of the best of Hoppers soldiers. He wanted his father, Lord Hagan, to be proud of having a military son.

And he was. Striking his weapon sideways with other young men who were training with him. Doing their duties to be the next in line for the King's guard or military. Some came for just good sport, others to watch. If they were really lucky sometimes Nobel Ladies would stroll by to watch as the men fought but they could never stay too long, as their governesses would push them along.

"Hello, hello!" Thomas shouted, making everyone turn their heads in the Prince’s direction. “What took you so long?” Because normally Stephen never sat and ate breakfast, let alone with his parents, he’d just grab an apple or a piece of toast and be fine with that when he made his way to train.

“Parents decided to have breakfast together.” Stephen took off his outer jacket. Only in his loose dress shirt, grabbing a sword from the rack and swinging it around, in warm up. “And I don't want to talk about it. Ready?”

Thomas nodded, smiling at him, putting both hands on the handle of his sword and waiting for Stephen to make the first move.

They train for a few hours to pass the time before Stephen has to go back to court to speak with his tutors. He’s sweating by the time they finish. He tosses the sword at the feet of one of the young squires and grabs his jacket from where it was left.

“So tonight, are you coming?” Thomas asks catching up with him, as they walk up the long path toward the castle.

Thomas had an idea a week before, told him of a tavern in town deep on the outskirts near lower city where no one would know who he was and wouldn't even know what the prince looked like. Where beautiful women could fulfill their every desire and the drinks were cheap.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it.” He just needed to figure out how to get past the guards. looking over his shoulder at said Knights following.

Thomas’s grin grew wider. “Alright and when you do, I'll be there waiting after dark at the stables.” he grabbed Stephen's shoulder, shaking it a bit with a laugh. “See you then.” Thomas then turned away to head back in another direction of the front gates, which led out to the inner city to where he lived.

"Till then." Stephen murmured, pushing open the entrance before the knights did.

Stephen went up to his room to get washed up. He put his jacket down on the loveseat in his room and pulled off the underclothes that were soaked with sweat. His serfs already knew to start hot water for him after morning training and usually already had gone before he got there. His body melted in relaxation in the heat.

As he laid back staring up at the candle lit chandelier. He thought about tonight. What to expect who’d he’d see. What creatures would be there. As he daydreamed he began his washing rituals. Unlike most males Stephen liked to smell good if it be essential oils for his hair or a poultice of fresh flowers for his skin. He had it. Soaking in this luxury he’d never give up.

Once the water turned cold he walked out with a towel wrapped around himself to see Murray there sitting in one of his chairs with his journal writing away. Being laid-back with his legs crossed over each other. With a look of contemplation across his features. It was a nice advantage for him to be so casual being Stephen's personal attendant and friend the Prince didn't mind.

“What are we writing this time?” pointing to the book. “What secrets lay before us?” he asked jokingly.

“Oh a little of this, a little of that. Lets see here, One of the girls downstairs says that Lord Nickels has been plotting to get rid of his wife to remarry that Wells woman. Messy business. Then I heard that one of your mother’s ladies-in-waiting is pregnant.” Murray grins widely.

Murray’s proud book of big secrets. He almost has something on everyone. ‘You never know when you need some collateral’

“Interesting. You know I think I know which one you're talking about. Kinda short, round face…May? Milly? Anyways i've seen her around with a few of the guards, here and there.`` Stephen mentioned as he pulled on a long sleeve maroon undershirt that was already out for him. Next a simple tan tunic and belt. He sat down on the bench as he put back on his shoes avoiding form looking over toward Murray who was writing down what Stephen had said. “I'll be going into the city tonight, just a forewarning.”

There was silence, even the scribbling from Murray's writing stopped followed by the snapping close of the journal seemed to echo loudly through the silence of the room. Stephen slowly looked up to see Murray squinting with a raised eyebrow.

Stephen raised his feet and said, "You don't need to worry."

“Oh really?” Murray placed his book down and stood as Stephen did. “I could have sworn I said-”

“Yes yes. I know your head.” Stephen says as he mimics the action with his fingers across his neck. “I'm going to come back before anyone finds out.”

Murray laughs. “I swear if I wasn't already losing my hair, I'd be pulling it out right about now.” he exhaled, closing his eyes to relax some of his stress. “Listen, this isn't like the time you snuck out to watch falling stars when you were a kid.”

When Stephen was young he had a teacher, Master Clark. He was the only teacher he truly liked. Talking about other cultures, places where people lived freely. Like an open field of water called the ocean, or of the mountains where the trees were auburn in the fall as if they were on fire. And most of all the creatures of imagination, to which Master Clark would turn his head with a large grin, as if to say or maybe they won't only from tall tales or songs . He opened Stephen's mind to new and wonderful possibilities. One of those instances being shooting stars.

There's so much more out there Stephen! He'd explain. Rare moments at night of rocks so hot would fly across the sky by the hundreds, maybe the millions! Would fly across the sky And all you need to do is watch for them at night.

This gave Stephen the idea at 12 to sleep outside with his blanket and his small stuffed rabbit that was made for him by an old nursemaid. Hopper found him asleep and half frozen in a rose bush.

Master Clark was banished after The Grandmaster found out as well as his parents.

“You're really lucky I put up with you.” Murray said, breaking up the memory. “We'll finish this discussion later. Now get to the library.” he groaned, leaving the room with the dirty clothes. As soon as the door had shut a moment later it reopened. “Oh don't forget about the great hall later so wear your crown and act like a prince.” Murray informed shutting the door once again.

Stephen walked over to his closet and inside was a box with his gold crown. It was smaller than that of the Kings but it was his status, for now. Yet it was still a painful reminder of what was to become.

He left shortly after adjusting the piece on his head . Making his way toward the library, because his father still insisted on tutors. Education became dull after the Grandmaster took over. Repeatedly going over the history of his family and the church. Lucky as he aged, he didn't need to be there as often showing up for an hour or two reading a few pieces of text, answering with correct answers that the master would approve of. Then he’d be on his merry way toward the main hall for his lunch.

Instead of eating in his room like his parents, he ate alone, with other serfs sometimes. He didn't mind the company from them but he was only really close with Murray and Benny the chef. A man of build that Stephen could have sworn should have been the champion at fighting. When Stephen had asked at a young age all Benny said was fighting wasn't for him anymore and that his passion was cooking. And it was, he was the finest of their kingdom and had a rightful place as a royal chef. Stephen sat at one of the tables in the kitchen picking at his food that Benny placed in front of him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and turned to a bowl where he was peeling potatoes and other vegetables. Benny was a quiet man and didn't talk much so when Stephen stayed in the kitchen for 3 hours till he had to leave for the great hall, he didn't mind the Prince visiting.

The great hall was the one place in the kingdom where Noble Lords with their Ladies and High-ranking generals would bring their families to talk with others like them. Together in their gossip circles presented before the Royal family. His parents weren’t usually both there. His mother was always there, but his father only showed if they had important guests. And once Stephen was of age, they always enforced his presence to be there. It builds character for him, shows that he cares for them.

Rounding the corner he saw that the doors were already open maybe if he walked in quick he’d go unnoticed-

“His Royal Highness, Prince Stephen.”

He staggered to a stop, adjusting his feet to stand up straight. Feeling all the heat creep to his cheeks seeing All eyes on him then bowed to him.

Stephen waited for a minute before he could strive through the room. Showing off a dazzling smile as he passed between all the Lord and ladies of the kingdom. Men nodded their heads once or twice as he passed them. Women would bow slightly again toward him. He made his way up the steps to stand beside his mother. Saying hello, her giving him one back. His eyes flickered to Murray along the wall moving closely toward people (finding more topics for his hobby). His mother patted his hand that was resting on her shoulder, a way to say that he was free to wander back into the crowd. And that's when people talked. Saying small little things like ‘hello my prince, pleasant weather we’re having' ‘how is your father?’ ‘any news on this or that?’ All in all, he wanted to ignore them. It made his mother happy to make the effort to go and talk to everyone at least once.

When he spotted the Wheelers, he half turned, wanting to move in the opposite direction, but Theodore Wheeler was already moving at him.

“Hello, young Prince,” He hated when they introduced him with young. “How are you this evening?” His voice boomed. His family is close by. Lady Wheeler walked to stand with her husband. Michael Wheeler is behind them, standing tall and looking rather annoyed being there. Stephen’s eyes couldn't help but wonder and not see her standing there so they scanned the crowd.

Nancy.

She was over by one of the large windows in a chiffon blue dress with puffy clear sleeves. Her hair was pinned up with jewels and a blue scarf. He wished her brown curls settled freely over her shoulders. She had been talking with Heather Holloway And when she heard her father's loud voice her eyes shifted to Stephen, with a small smile that quickly disappeared as she continued her conversation with Heather.

“Good, Sir. I’m assuming the same for you and yours?” taking the man's sweaty hand that was shoved out to him to shake.

"Yes, always,” Ted gently pulled the prince's hand to bring him a tad closer. “If you ever need anything, my shops are always open and free to you, my boy.” After the failed union, Lord Wheeler did his best to try and patch whatever cracks had formed between the families. So Lord Wheeler, the wealthiest man (beside the royal family) was offering anything for free from his expensive shops of clothes, jewelry and exotic goods, it was no surprise. But he indulged the man with pity, for Nancy's sake.

“You are too kind, my Lord. It was pleasant chatting, but I must make my rounds.” With that, he released his hand with a smile, bowing again as Stephen walked away.

He avoided Nancy's corner, and headed over toward a waving Thomas.

“Well hello, have a nice nap?" Thomas asked, grinning.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “I did not take naps. Thank you very much. Hello Lord Hagans, Lady Hagans.”

“Hello my Prince. Are you ready for the weeks end? Has your father chosen a champion?” Lord Hagan asked. It was known to everyone that at every royal tourney the king would choose a strong individual to fight in the honor of the King. he knew his father well enough to know that he wouldn't be choosing. Hopper or Powell would be looking through their own men.

“No, I do not. I believe he's looking into all the candidates.”

“Very true, he is king after all and needs the best.” Lord Hagan clapped his hand down on Thomas rather roughly making him jump. “Thomas has been training for weeks. And I know he'll make a fine knight.” It was definitely a hint to Stephen to speak to his father about making Thomas said champion which Stephen probably already figured Hopper to choose him. Either him or that of Jason Carver, another strong willed man with aspiration of a future in knighthood.

“Maybe I shall speak with my father. Good day.” He nodded and kept walking once again scanning for the one person that he wanted to speak to the most.

Robin.

Sitting at one of the tables in the corner. She had arm bent on the table with her chin on her palm. She was restless, with her leg crossed over the other. The way her foot swayed so fast. It was when she saw him coming toward her that she stood quickly along with her mother, Elaine standing at attention with a smile and moving forward with a bow.

“Good evening, Lady Buckley. How are you?” The prince asked her mother.

“Wonderful, Your Highness." She exclaimed calmly. “I guess I could ask you ‘how you are’ even though you’ve probably heard it at least a dozen times already.” She joked, making Stephen grin.

“Maybe a few times. But I am well. The general's not here?” he says looking around.

“I believe he's with your father, your highness. About some important matters.”

Robin took a step forward clearing her throat, making both turn to her. Her eyes looked down at her arm with persistence for him to take. That way, they could leave. Stephen lingered a few more moments of small talk with her mother just out of spite from her impatient ways.

“That is a lovely dress Lady Buckley.” Elaine thanked him. Telling him that it had been in the family. As he listened he could feel Robin glaring at him making his courageously look over at her enraged tight smile. Maybe it was time to end her torment.

“Yes well, if I don't take Robin around I fear she might combust.” He grinned to Robin before bowing ever so slightly, holding out his arm. My Lady,”

“Thank you, my Prince," she said tightly. Pinching the inside of his arm once it was taken.

“It was wonderful to speak to you, Lady Buckley,” he said, giving her a small nod before turning to leave.

Their goal was to slowly walk around the room to reach the back hall. She scoffed quietly at him, as he continued his pleasantries in front of people as they passed.

“If you plan on flirting with my mother again, I might kill you.” she whispered through her smile.

“I was not-”

“Also it's about time, you know I hate being at these things.”

“You say that, but I know the real reason why you actually stay, and it’s not just because of me.” Stephen looked at her with knowing eyes, turning his head to look at all the ladies that they passed by. She wants to hit him but doesn’t.

Beautiful women in brightly colored dresses all painted up to the nines. Who are also glaring at Robin, either in hatred or sadness, to be on the arm of the Prince? ‘How dare she!’ ‘I wish I were her right now!’ ‘She’s so ordinary!’ they’d say once backs were turned.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh? Have you finally popped the question to someone? Should I be worried that we will not be speaking to each other anymore?”

“You know that would never happen. I’d still be your friend, no matter what.” He leaned over a bit for her to hear. “You might not like what I'm going to say.”

She turned slowly at first to question jokingly. But his face was serious and she closed her mouth just before reaching the corner and she quickly pulled him into said hallway with less people. “Spill.”

His eyes wandered once more to see where the guards were and he quickened his pace with her in tow but not enough for the guards to chase. “Don't freak out. I'm going to the lower city tonight.”

She stopped walking and took in what he said.

“Don't freak out? Are you crazy? You do realize who you are, right? The prince! The one and only prince, I might add.” She talked quickly. Stephen shushed her from getting louder. “What if something happens? You get hurt or kidnapped! Oh god! What am I going to do now? Who am I going to be able to confide in about the women of the court?” She whined.

“Robin, calm down. You know me, I can protect myself. Nobody is attempting to kidnap me.” He huffed a laugh. “I swear you and Murray are too alike.” Robin raised an eyebrow at his cockiness. “You know if you're so worried, you could always try and sneak out and come with me.”

Robin gawked at him and this time was laughing. "Okay, now you really are crazy. Do you think that my hard-headed father is about to let me escape? Or my overprotective mother to just leave the doors unlocked for the occasion? Don't worry honey the Prince will protect her because he’s a man that can fight'' Stephen rolled his eyes at her sarcasm.

They walked through the double doors leading out to the gardens. The sun was making its way across the mountains, leaving behind orange and pink layers in its descent. The air was still mild, which made it pleasant for them to go out for their private talk without anyone else around. They walked up the steps to a large white gazebo, making the guards who had been close by to circle the garden, leaving them to privacy while still keeping their eye on them.

Robin let her arm fall and sat down on the bench, moving to stretch out from the awkward form, pulling on the sides of her corset, finally feeling comfortable. Stephen looked out into his mother's garden, taking a deep inhale of the lilac in the air. The climbing roses were in bloom. Bold, bright, and beautiful as they spiraled around the columns of the gazebo. Steve couldn’t help but place his fingers on the pedals of the biggest one that he could find, pulling it to his nose to smell it. He took the flower with him to put in Robin's hair, making her smile. “Robin, I just want to get away. Even if it was just for the night. I'd be free to roam. Do something without the eyes of everyone watching my every move. To be normal.”

He sat down beside her, wringing his hand together with unease. “Father told me this morning that I need to basically grow up, that my time is up. He wants me to be a part of war meetings and more after this week is over.”

Robin’s face softened, placing her hand on his. “I get it, Stephen.”

As he turned to her, he saw the sadness in her eyes. He knew better than anyone. Robin had it a lot harder than most when it came to wanting to be herself. But it would never happen, and he knew with all his heart that he would protect her forever. His fingers laced with hers and squeezed, making her brush away a fallen tear from her cheek to smile back at him.

“As much as I dislike this idea,” she exhaled. “I support you.” He hugged her.

“Alright, alright. ” she laughed, squeezing back. “But you need to tell me the whole plan. Just in case.”

“Thomas is going to meet me tonight outside the courtyard, from there he's going to lead us out I'm guessing. My only problem is I don't know how I'm going to get out. I can't just walk out the doors.”

“Obviously,” she said, flicking his forehead. She looked back at the castle’s long tall stone walls, knowing that climbing down was out of the question. “Where's the staff wing?” She questioned.

“By the dining hall.” He pointed to the other end.

“There you go. It's closest to the ground, right?” he nodded. “You get out that way, make an excuse to be at the kitchens and leave out the servant doors.” He hugged her again.

“You are brilliant.”

“It's not that impressive. It could still fail.”

“But it's still something.”

She stared at him for a moment. “ You're gonna come back, right?” his smile faded, and he pulled her in close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Why would she think of something like that of him?

“Of course I am. Even if I did…leave. You'd be the first I'd take, beside Murray.” He laughed, making her smile.

“I'm glad you're my best friend.” She said, letting her head fall to his shoulder.

“Your Highness, your mother asks for you.” One of the guards from the house spoke outside the gazebo. Stephen grumbled. Why couldn’t they have a few more moments?

“Dinner time.” He sighed, taking Robin’s hand to return inside. “I'm sure you already know about the arrangement.”

“Mom told me this morning that the Queen requested that we attend dinner with the Royal family this evening. It must be something really important. Not just anyone dines with the royal family.” She joked with a grin.

“Damn!” Stephen cursed. Having forgotten to tell Robin what she was in for. Having been distracted by the nightfall adventure and the other reasons for tonight.

“What?” she asked quietly as they made their way back through the double doors.

“My mother is under the impression that you might be the one,” Robin’s face scrunched up with disgust. “even though I've told her it's not like that. I'm sorry in advance for anything that might occur.” They walked into the hall, where their mothers stood. Robin quickly changed her expression from an open-mouthed fish to that of a lady within seconds. Stephen squeezed Robin's arm as she bowed to his mother with a smile. “Robin, my dear, are you enjoying the evening?”

“Yes, your Highness. Always. The Prince is always too kind.” Robin acted sweetly.

“Oh I'm delighted that Stephen is treating you so gentlemanly. Shall we go?”

The four of them moved toward the other side of the castle, toward the dining room. Being welcomed by the opened doors from Serfs. This time dressed too fine for this small occasion. His mother did know how to make everything perfect. And on a rare note entering with his father already there standing with General Matthew Buckley. Both men turn to look at them enter, breaking whatever conversation they were having.

Stephen turned to gaze to see Murray beside one of the far tables in his best attire. His disdain was masked by a fake trilled expression. It was one thing that he would be there just for Stephen's sake but when it came to the queen making use of him herself? He was anything but happy. Damn, he and Robin were way too similar. Yet have never met. Maybe they should? Or no, that might not be a good idea. Then they'd be thick as thieves, tormenting him together.

The table was already set beautifully with extravagant colors and food that wouldn't be touched, that would only sit to look pretty for the guests. The King and Queen are the first to sit at the heads of the table. Robin sits beside her mother on one side of the table, while her father and Stephen sit on the other. The General obviously sits closer to the King so that it's easy for them to engage. While the mothers also sit closer. Stephen and Robin could only make small talk across from each other, only when necessary.

“General Buckley, how are things fairing outside the kingdom?” The Queen asks as they wait for their plates to fill with fancy foods, from serfs moving silently with carts moving around the table.

“Better than last week your highness, the enemy has been staying low this week for some reason. Nevertheless, it gives us more time to gather more troops."

"Do you think they might be giving up?" She questions.

“Unfortunately, no, they are still moving within the forest borders.” He answered, taking a bite, and ending the conversation between them.

“Robin,” Robin stopped mid-way from her fork making it to her mouth to look toward the Queen's attention. “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Well, ma’am,” Robin cleared her throat and sat straighter.

“She has many.” Her mother interrupted, happily. Robin grimaced because Stephen knew that Robin hated being put on the spot like this.

“Oh? Do tell?”

“Um-”

“She paints beautifully," Her mother added, patting her hand. She did paint, but she wasn't happy with art, at least not enough to make it a hobby.

“That's wonderful,” his mother smiled. “What about music? Can you play?”

“Just the harp." This time Robing did feel a bit more comfortable because she did enjoy music, it was easier to talk about.

“Oh, that's wonderful. Music is one of my greatest passions. And can you sing as well?”

"No ma'am." She replied a bit too casually, making her mother scold her by bumping her elbow.

“That's quite alright. In my opinion, I think it's a rare gift.” Robin relaxed slightly until- “

“And what about your future?” she dragged out, looking from Robin's wide eye's expression to Stephen and back. At some point, everyone had stopped eating to watch the exchange. It made Robin clear her throat, looking away from the Queen’s eyes. She was being examined by his mother now, trying to find the perfect wife material within her. Stephen turned his attention to the Queen shaking his head ‘no’ to not continue on. She only glanced over briefly.

“My future? I’m not sure, my Queen.” Robin said softly, her cheeks turning pink.

“Well, you're a talented young lady. Quite lovely with an excellent family. I hear you have two older brothers, that's good to know that you can have fine children yourself.” Stephen almost dropped his fork on the table. His mother was really digging into this. She’d never amplified such a thing when Nancy had dined with them. “Stephen is quite handsome. I think you both would make a perfect match."

“Stop Mother.” Stephen strongly interrupted. And you could swear you could cut the silence with a knife. He wasn't one to speak to his mother in such a way, especially with company. He also didn't need to look over at his father to know his mistake, something he’d hear about later.

His mother sat in shock at the outburst, her wide eyes blinking fast and back toward her plate to return to eating. As did everyone else.

Dinner passed in painful silence.

Once the plates were removed. The King was the first to rise, followed by Stephen and the rest of the party.

“Dinner was wonderful, your Royal Highness.” The General said, bowing to the Queen, then taking his wife's hand as she made her way around the table to him. Robin is close behind.

Stephen gave them a reluctant smile, with a brief nod as they passed. Robin bowed toward the King and Queen and then to Stephen. She gave him a wink, in her way of telling him she was alright and left her happy parents. Even though dinner had become awkward, today was a good day for their family. Dining with the King and Queen and for their daughter's prospects for the future. If only they knew.

Stephen walked out of the room before his father could call out on his behavior and quickly made his way up the stairs, taking two at a time. Throwing open the door, he undid the buttons from his dress jacket and threw it roughly to the floor. He flopped down on his bed before hearing footsteps come in the room and close the door. He looked up to Murray, breathing slightly heavy from catching up with Stephen.

“You know I'm not as young as I used to be, right?”

“She's ridiculous! I tell her over and over that Robin and I are only friends and she throws all that on the table. Agh!"

“And what did you expect?”

“I don't know. Maybe for her to listen to me for once.”

Murray exhaled and rubbed his face, looking tired. “I'm sorry, Kiddo, but that's a ‘you and them deal’. It's probably too late to say, but maybe you shouldn't have been spending so much time with her. And maybe it wouldn't have given your mom the wrong impression.”

God, he was right. Stephen had been showing off his affection that normal people wouldn’t understand. He’d gotten so comfortable just being around her. "I'll fix it. I'll tell them I already met someone else, I don't know.” He said, throwing up his hands in defeat.

“Oh,” Murray nodded. “That's perfect! What excuse are you intending to make? wait, what about-” Murray cleared his throat. ‘Mom. Dad, it was love at first sight! She's the one! And no, you don't know her’ even if you did find a wife, I doubt your parents, let alone your future wife, would take kindly to you having another female friend.”

“Honestly, I don't think they even care at this point anymore.” Stephen groaned. Maybe he would have to look into this tomorrow. He was so frustrated with his mother and stressed from the soon to come wrath of his father that he needed to get out. “And this is why I don't care about going out tonight. Father usually retires to his study and Mother had a lot of wine tonight. I’m not worried. And I won't be alone."

Murray shook his head in disbelief. “Don't worry, I won't be alone.” He repeated.

“That doesn’t convince me,” Murray said, crossing his arms. “So what you're saying is I should be thinking of an excuse now? Put on my good running shoes?”

“If anything happens, you wouldn't even be blamed. If anyone was to be, it would be the guards. And I'm not saying I'm going to get caught.” he pointed out. “ I'm going to wait an hour and head downstairs. And out near the kitchen. So can you make sure no one locks them when I come back?”

“Fine, fine! Do what you want." Murray walked toward the door mumbling to himself about his frustrations about the situation. “I'll get your dirty clothes in the morning.”

He was about out the door when Stephen remembered something that he had thought about earlier.

"Murray."

The man's shoulders sagged as he turned to face the prince.

“Do you have any clothes I could borrow?”

[blackhardtt]

"Why are you drinking so much tonight anyway?" cyrus

Alcohol & Drinking Sentences // accepting

His imposing figure slouched slightly in the ornate chair, the absence of his armor allowing the burden of his regrets to weigh heavily upon him. His hand, weathered and marked by countless battles, clutched the pewter tankard as if seeking solace in its solid weight. The dark liquid inside trembled, mirroring the storm raging within his troubled gaze. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the drink, the faintest tremor in his fingers betraying the control he fought so hard to maintain. His broad chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, the kind of breath that carries more than exhaustion—it carried the ghosts of those he could not save. The room was thick with the smell of wood smoke, but to Cyrus, it was the scent of charred flesh and blood-soaked earth that filled his senses.

He lifted his gaze, and it was clear that the weight of the world rested heavily upon his shoulders. The once striking teal of his eyes now seemed clouded by grief, his jaw tensed and his neck muscles tightened as he fought back the surge of overwhelming emotions. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "Why do I drink so much tonight?"" The pain in his words was palpable. "Because I failed them. Men of honor, warriors who believed in me, who followed me fearlessly into the trials of war. I returned them, but not whole. And some... I couldn't bring back at all." Despite his efforts to contain it, his anguish spilled out, etching deep lines of sorrow on his troubled face.

He set the tankard down heavily on the table beside him, the thud echoing through the otherwise silent room. His fingers lingered on its rim for a moment before pulling away. His hands now rest on his knees, fingers curling into fists as though trying to grab hold of something—anything—that might make the emptiness less suffocating. "I should’ve been better, stronger. I should have known when to pull back… but I didn’t. I pressed on, convinced I could shield them from the worst." His lips curled into a bitter half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "But a king cannot shield his men from death. I’ve known that truth since I took the throne, yet it never stops cutting me."

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to shut out the memories, the faces of the fallen. His shoulders, broad and usually so strong, sagged under the invisible burden he carried. "It’s been weeks since the battle, but the silence that followed… it’s louder than any war cry." His voice cracked ever so slightly, a fracture in the iron resolve that had held him together for so long. He opened his eyes again, fixing his gaze on the fire, his expression somber. "I drink not because I wish to forget but because I remember all too well. Each sip dulls the edge of their faces, of their final moments. And for just a fleeting second, I don’t feel their blood on my hands."

Cyrus fell silent then, his throat tightening as he clenched his jaw, the pain deep and unrelenting, etched into every scar on his body. His hands twitched at his sides as if he longed to draw his sword again, to battle the guilt he couldn’t defeat with steel. Instead, he reached for the tankard again, bringing it to his lips slowly and deliberately. He paused just before drinking, his eyes flickering with grief that could only come from someone who had led too many to their deaths. "I’ll drink to their memory," he whispered. "Because they deserve more than the broken man who remains."

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 67 + Epilogue

“We did it.” Seina said, hardly believing her own words. After struggling against the impossible, they’d broken through and gained victory.

“Yes! Yes!” Colten appeared from nowhere and threw his tiny paws across her neck in a massive hug. Seina joined the jubilation and swung him around.

“Told you!” Takako said, shooting her twin pistols in the air. Massive firework-like explosions rocked them as the bullets exploded far above. “We kick ass!”

“Heh.” But Seina noticed a sad tint to Charity’s smile. While Kaguya’s destruction had been necessary, she hadn’t relished it.

“Thank goodness. It’s finished,” Paliah said, sheathing his sword. “Seems our desperate gambit worked.”

“Paliah, you’re fading!” Seina said, gasping as the knight suddenly became more transparent.

“I’ve lingered too long,” Paliah replied. “When my Seina gave up her powers, it weakened me. I’m fading away.”

“No.” Seina’s voice caught in her throat. This meant whatever alternate future he came from was finally disappearing for good. Her alternate self had sacrificed everything to defeat the last Devil Princess.

But Paliah didn’t seem afraid of his existence disappearing. Instead, he smiled warmly. “Hey, other me. Take care of her, okay? She’s a special lady.”

Lost for words, Colten only nodded. He’d understood Paliah’s sacrifice as much as Seina did. This person was him, after all. With a slight wave, the white knight vanished into nothing.

“Dang it!” Seina wanted to scream. They’d finally won, but it almost didn’t seem worth it anymore. Gentle tears flooded her eyes, overwhelmed with grief. While she hadn’t known the alternate Colten long, it seemed she’d known him forever, too.

Takako placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. No quips or snark, only gentle comfort. She accepted Seina’s tearful hug, but her eyes were also wet. Colten hugged her. No tears, but she sensed his sorrow.

“Let’s go,” Seina finally said. There was still much to do. To honor Paliah and her other self’s sacrifice, she’d tear her world free of the vampires once and for all. And nothing would stop her.

Takako smirked as she laid out her plan. “I’m for it. Let’s wipe out those nasty bloodsuckers! No offense to you, Seina.”

“I’m not even sure I’m really a vampire anymore.” No longer did she sense any thirst. While she still had her fangs and red eyes, she’d regained her soul. The dark urges had vanished, buried by something more powerful, love.

“It’s a worthy goal,” Charity said. “Charity wishes you luck.”

“You’re not coming?” Colten said, a quizzical tilt to his head. 

“No, Charity needs to find her partner. With the seal broken, she’ll show up somewhere.” The Wicked Queen’s fairy gave a slight smile. “And she’s going to be hopping mad.”

“I can imagine,” Seina replied. And with no bad guys left, the Wicked Queen won’t have an outlet for her frustration.

“Don’t worry about us. Charity knows a group of roaming pirates Arisu can play with.”

“Poor them.” Seina stifled a laugh. “Goodbye, Charity.”

“Oh, Charity will see you again.” Huh, did Charity know something? “Good hunting.” The fairy vanished in a flash of light. 

“Let’s get going already,” Takako said, lifting her twin pistols. “I’m eager for some destruction!” 

“Yeah! Let’s kick their butts!” Seina had a score to settle with a certain annoying ex-vampire king.

---

“You won’t get away with this!” a hulking vampire said, eyeing his fallen comrades with a frightened eye. “W-with my power, I can increase my strength a million-fold! You ain’t leaving here alive, traitor!”

Traitor was a label she’d heard countless times since the Earth’s liberation. Even some humans called her the Traitor Queen. But Seina would bear the label, even if it hurt. Despite her new leaf, people still feared her and called her a monster. It seemed, despite her purification, the vampire taint still ran deep, even if it wasn’t by blood.

“That right?” Seina said, releasing a deep sigh. These dang vampires seemed to have a never-ending supply of bravado. 

“Need any help?” Takako said, raising her head from her manga volume.

“No, I got this.”

“Fool!” the vampire said, regaining his confidence. “It’s your funeral! You’re facing Jentin, the Big Boss of Osaka!”

“That’s right!” his buddies said, jeering at them. “You ain’t knowing what you’re messing with!”

“You’re dead meat, traitorous scum!” However, Seina saw the fear hidden behind Jentin’s eyes. He was acting tough to bolster his men’s flagging morale.

With a booming thud, Jentin slammed his fists together and cracked his neck. “You’ll pay for your arrogance, Traitor Queen. Let me demonstrate the power of a fist that can obliterate supernovas.”

The boasting failed to impress Seina, who only yawned. She might as well humor him. Rage bypassing common sense, the vampire charged at full force. His steps were like thunder as the vibrations rattled the entire planet.

Jentin’s arms bulged to grotesque levels, a roadmap of purple tendrils spidering across his biceps. Any fear left the vampire’s eyes, replaced with exultation. The punch’s power surprised Seina, knocking her off her feet and causing nearby buildings to shiver at their bases.

“Die, you little..!” But Jentin never even finished his punch, blood pooling from his mouth. Everyone blinked in surprise as the vampire’s chest expanded like a balloon before his entire body burst apart. Seina recoiled as black blood splashed onto her face.

“Heh? So much for the Big Boss of Osaka.” A dark figure said.

“Huh? Who are you?” Seina asked the newcomer, somewhat horrified. With distaste, she wiped away the ichor that had landed on her dress.

“Yeah, what’s your business?” Takako tensed, lowering her book.

“Momoe Nakamura, the Tansy Terror, Dark Lady,”  With a flushing, the green-haired girl curtsied in her skirt. Tiny yellow fuzzy petals decorated her dress, making the girl seem like a bouquet of sunshine flowers. Next to her hovered a fairy.

“Not bad, eh? I created a shield inside the vampire’s body until his body burst to pieces. Pretty cool, huh? I’m at your service!”

“That’s right. We’re yours to command! I’m Lala!” the fairy partner said, head lifted pridefully.

“Uh, why?” Seina asked, confused.

“We heard you overthrew the Devil Princesses and stole their throne for yourself. You even destroyed Starlight Dream to cripple any chance of retaliation. We wish to join you, the Last Devil Princess. We’ll do anything you ask.”

“Sorry?” Seina blinked, even more confused. This magical girl thought Seina was the newest Devil Princess?

Sweat trickled down Momoe’s forehead, this wasn’t the reaction she’d expected from Seina. “Just let me prove myself. Watch this! I’ll eliminate all these rebel scum daring to oppose your righteous reign as Devil Princess!” With a glint in her eye, she flicked a finger and each of the remaining vampires’ heads just exploded off their bodies like a bottle with a cap flicked off.

Seina, however, only stared, mystified by this bold pronouncement. “Reign? Hold on, I think you’re under the wrong impression. I don’t rule anything! I’m not a Devil Princess! Nor did I destroy Starlight Dream!” 

“I’m still more than willing to serve as a henchman!” Momoe said, her voice getting more desperate. Her bravado faded, replaced with raw terror. “Any chores you need to be done, we’ll do them.”

“Laundry, dishes, gardening, assassinations?” Lala added, desperation heightening her voice. “We can do it all! Please, don’t abandon us!”

“What the heck?” Takako shook her head, baffled.

“It’s fine. I’ll help you!” Seina said, trying to calm the frantic magical girl.

“Thank you!” The girl and fairy clutched at Seina’s legs, tears of relief streaming down their faces.

“Why are you so scared, anyway?” Colten asked. “What can scare a magical girl?”

“The huntress. She’s coming after us all,” Momoe said, hugging herself tight. “With Starlight Dream gone, and magical girls scattered to the winds, we’re defenseless. There’s nowhere safe!”

This story earned a frown from Colten. “It makes sense. With Starlight Dream and the Devil Princesses gone, plenty of people will take revenge for the bad things they’ve done.”

“But a new Devil Princess changes everything!” Momoe said, face brightening with hope. “The multiverse shall tremble in terror at our very name!”

“I’m not a Devil Princess,” Seina put a strong emphasis on the unwanted title. “And we’re not causing anyone to fear us!”

“What?! But causing fear and destruction is what magical girls do!” Momoe said, scandalized.

“Yeah, what gives? It’s Starlight Dream’s mission statement!” Lala said, outraged.

“Who cares about that crap?” Takako replied. “It’s dull. I’d rather read manga.”

“Some of us actually take our duties seriously!” Momoe shot back, giving Takako a scathing glare. “I know you. Aren’t you that layabout Lieutenant Emiyo used to complain about?” In response, Takako only yawned and shrugged.

“Well, it’s not what we do anymore. We bring peace to the multiverse now. So says I, the new leader of the magical girls!” While Seina hated making this commitment, someone had to make the claim. What if another magical girl tried becoming another Devil Princess? She’d gone through too much hell to suffer that mess again. 

“What?!” Momoe stared at her, shocked that anyone would pronounce such blasphemies.

“My house, my rules. Or you can leave,” Seina said pointedly. “I won’t tolerate any more pointless bloodshed!”

Momoe sagged, realizing Seina would never budge on this issue. “Okay, Lady Devil Princess.”

“And don’t call me that! Just Seina will do.” Dark Lady and Traitor Queen were bad enough. She didn’t need more stupid nicknames.

“How about Lady Twilight?” Colten said, musing.

“No, not that either.” But Seina groaned as a light lit in Momoe’s eyes, pleased to have some honorific to call her new mistress.

“So, what now, Lady Twilight? How do we handle the huntress?” Momoe said. “She’s utterly relentless. She’s chased us over three galaxies!”

“Such a nuisance!” Takako said with a huff.

“We need to create a haven for the remaining magical girls.” Despite their crimes, she needed to stop this mysterious hunter from preying upon the survivors of Starlight Dream.

“Hey, like a new Starlight Dream!” Colten said, brightening. While he put up a brave face, the fact his race was nearing extinction troubled him greatly. “Neo Starlight Dream!”

“Let’s gather more survivors first. We can name our new home later.” But Seina knew her partner would provide a hundred other ridiculous suggestions before the night’s end.

“And if they cause trouble, we’ll blow them to bits!” Momoe said, ecstatic at the prospect of more violence. She shrank at the glare Seina gave her. “Or just give them a stern talking to!”

“Better.” A small smile twisted Seina’s mouth. “No fighting unless provoked, and they won’t listen to reason!”

“I suppose we must. So much work!” Takako rolled her eyes. Yet, the prospect of this new project pleased her. This might mean redemption for magical girls.

Not every magical girl was a murderous lunatic, forced into evil by the remorseless Devil Princesses. Takako proved that. But now magical girls could walk a new path. Seina’s heart raced with excitement.

Seina pondered the location for the new Starlight Dream’s home. Not her planet, obviously. But it needed to be somewhere close, somewhere in the same universe, a quick hop from home. There had to be a habitable planet somewhere near Earth.

Despite the hardships awaiting her, Seina bristled with excitement. “Let’s get to work.”

---

“What do you think?” Seina asked as she peered into the bubble. She beamed with pride. “She’s doing pretty well for herself.”

“In any timeline, we make a kick-ass team!” Takako said, showing teeth.

“I hope I’ll be okay in this timeline,” Himari said, worry written across her features. “This hunter sounds scary. I hope my past self redeems herself, too.” The poor girl still beat herself up for her past transgression. It must have been something terrible.

“It’s probably Ume causing problems again,” Seina said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. That girl was relentless. Even though they’d become sort of friends in her timelines, their relationship hadn’t been the best. The poor girl had died before she could become a true hero. Perhaps this younger, alternate Ume will fulfill her true potential.

“...” Chō stared at the image of the other Seina declaring her new mission with fascination.

“Will this even work?” Paliah said. “Momoe is a maniac, and Seina wants a planet full of magical girls like her?”

“She’ll work something out.” With a wave of her hand, Seina dismissed the bubble she’d used to create a link between her and the alternate history. “Still, I feel kind of guilty making her think we’re all dead.”

“It was necessary,” Mr. Kiyojiro said in Seina’s head. “For everyone’s sake, it’s best we keep our timelines separate.” Thanks to Kaguya’s meddling, she’d made her history into an aberrant one. The rules of time dictate they should cease to exist. Only Mr. Kiyojiro and Botan’s tireless work with the Heart of Starlight saved them from nonexistence.

“I suppose,” Seina said, bummed out. Her alternate self had a tireless job ahead of her. It was a pity she couldn’t even send Paliah to help. Still, her bodyguard’s words had wisdom. Her counterpart had to solve her own problems. Besides, they had plenty of their own.

Reading her thoughts, Mr. Kiyojiro responded. “Some good news on that front. The edges of the dimensional barrier are expanding. In a couple of hours, we should have ten new universes. Empty, but they’ll be there.”

“And let me guess, it’ll be our job to fill them up?” Takako said, rolling her eyes. When Mr. Kiyojiro gave her a mental glare, her friend relented. “Fine. I can fill them with star stuff. They’ll eventually have their own planets and even life, given a whole lot of time.”

“I suppose I can speed things up,” Paliah said. “We can’t sit around for billions of years for something to happen, can we?”

“A whole new multiverse, ours to create.” Seina felt overwhelmed with the task and responsibility. In some ways, their timeline had the tougher task. Still, as a magical girl, it was their responsibility. Her little sister Seiko deserved to live in a vibrant, live multiverse. 

She shook her head, wondering how it came to this. Seina's dream had always been a peaceful life, not the burden of creating a brand new multiverse. 

“Growing up sucks!” Seina thought to herself. To make matters worse, since she’d never grow taller, always be too short to drive, even when she became a legal adult! Still, this was her responsibility. She’d make this work. 

Besides, she had her friends. Chō and Himari grinned at her, eager to do their own parts in this mighty endeavor. Could she honestly claim this as the worst timeline? For all the suffering the vampires and Devil Princesses caused her, she’d gained something hundreds of times more precious. Heck, she was prepared to create this new multiverse to spite them. After what they’d gone through, they all deserved a new beginning, no matter the hardships. In many ways, they’d started an even more exciting adventure.

---

“Another one?” Arisu said, puffing out smoke from her cigarette. 

“And it’s like the others, too,” her partner said, hovering over the cadaver. The body lay face down in a puddle, rain gently tapping against him. From the outset, the corpse seemed unremarkable. The killer had attacked while they were jogging in the park. They’d landed a clean blow to the heart. The victim would have died almost instantly. This didn’t seem like the type of situation that would attract the Wicked Queen’s attention.

“It’s all wrong,” Arisu shook her head, disquieted. For reasons she didn’t understand, this dull, ordinary college-aged man’s death had caused a ripple in time, undermining the foundation of history. When Lady Twilight called her to investigate the death of a cousin of her friend Aiko, Arisu hadn’t been too excited, but now things had turned interesting. 

Was this man important? The Wicked Queen couldn’t tell. An upcoming degree in Fine Arts didn’t seem like a career that would leave an impact throughout history. The web of time was a spiderweb of possibilities and opportunities, however. No one could predict the impact of one’s life on history’s grand design. Despite disrupting history, thankfully the death hadn’t caused a timeline split. Arisu constantly altered history with her power, without causing problems, but somehow this death damaged the fabric of history. Quite vexing.

“Do you think this has something to do with his vague relation to the new ruler of Starlight Dream?” Arisu asked, tossing away her used cigarette. 

“I don’t see why.” Charity said, frowning. “Charity isn’t understanding this one bit. This shouldn’t be happening!” 

Arisu understood her partner’s apprehension. In her visions of the future, the Wicked Queen only saw chaos. Thousands of strands of possibility snapped, only to be replaced with thousands more. Even the terrible Wicked Queen couldn’t predict what the future would bring.

“You seem pleased,” Charity said, amused.

“I just realized something. Haven’t there been other strange murders lately across Japan? Want to bet they’re related?” Arisu smiled, showing teeth. “I was worried, with the Devil Princesses gone, things would get dull!” 

And Arisu was eager to bust some heads. Nothing else remained for her. With Kaguya gone, nothing of her past remained beyond Charity. All her old friends had long passed. Every day with her cousin Hinata gone was like salt in the wound. Heck, she’d even take the sourpuss Mizuki’s company! Deep in her heart, Arisu felt adrift, aimless. Although a new order of Magical Girls had been created, she knew none of them. Seina seemed nice, but it wasn’t the same. The Wicked Queen was unsure how to handle this loneliness.

“No, this is better.” With heads to knock around, she’d have plenty to distract her. Arisu refused to fall into a melancholic slump. Better yet, since she’d lost almost all her power sealing Kaguya, fights would be fun again.

“Hey, stop it. Don’t get so grabby,” Arisu said as her partner hugged her chest. “I’m fine. No, better than ever!”

“...Okay.” Charity opened her mouth to say more, but decided against it. They knew each other very well. Any further conversation about Arisu’s troubled feelings would only tick her off. “Shall we get going?”

“Good. This guy is pissing me off, but they can’t hide in the shadows forever. They’ll show themselves eventually, then I’ll kick their ass!”

---

Author's note:

Thanks for sticking with is strange story for so long. It's been quite a ride, but it's been a fun one for me. I think I've grown a lot since I wrote the first Chapter of Starlight Dream, and I hope to reach even greater heights! Yes, the epilogue is hinting to a sequel, and I've already worked out the basic idea for it. It's going to be quite different from this story, with different characters and a lower power scale. I won't say too much yet, but the hero of the next story will be a magical girl that's a hard-boiled detective. I hope to see you for the sequel. If you have any questions, I will be happy to answer them! Please post them in the comment section and I reply to them as soon as I can!

Love, 

Jonathanvik

[chloehazeljane]

“When Icarus Fell” by Chloe HazelJane

Original Post On: chloehazeljane.com

Icarus had always been told the world was in his hands and there were no boundaries to how high he could go. He had never believed it, but now that he finally did, it seemed he was the only one.

“Icarus, come down!” The shouts belonged to his father, Daedalus. His voice was distant, almost as if it were a memory. Icarus paid it no mind.

They had fled the Labyrinth in a rush. Haste was required if one wished to escape Minos, the Golden King.

Icarus had found the concept of Minos’s power intriguing and often thought about it as he lay awake at night, listening to his father’s snores as they echoed off the Labyrinth walls. To be able to turn everything he touched into gold sounded at first like a dream come to fruition, but he supposed it was a curse above all else, for Minos could not touch people or water or food or anything else without it becoming the precious metal. Even a blanket would be no solace to the King. It must have been lonely.

“Icarus!” His father’s voice pierced through his head again, and he glanced down at the churning ocean below. He was growing too high—he knew that—but despite his father’s warnings that the sun would melt the glue from his wings, the pulse in his chest told him to keep going.

There was something about pushing the limits that sent flames through his bones and released the tension at the base of his skull. He was aware this wasn’t safe, but it was the knowledge of that danger that captured his body and took control of it. He pushed higher.

“Icarus!”

There was a sharp snap, and something hot licked at the bare skin of his neck. The wings had broken. He began his descent toward the water.

The legends would say this was the death of him, that he had ignored his father’s warnings, fallen from the sky in a ball of flames, and drowned in the sea and that was the end of it. They would be wrong.

He did fall from the sky, kicking and screaming, his body on fire as he braced it for death, but when he landed it was on neither land nor water. It was in the arms of the god Apollo.

Icarus shook his head as he was placed in a patch of grass on the ground. They were no longer anywhere near an ocean, instead positioned at the mouth of a cave surrounded by grass, trees, and hyacinths.

As he looked up to meet the god’s golden eyes, a wave of heat swept through his chest.

“You did that on purpose,” he said.

Apollo ignored the remark. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard it at all. “The sun is my responsibility, you know, but it will always be hot. There’s nothing I can do about it. You’re lucky I caught you.”

“Where are we?”

“You have a lot of nerve. Flying so high, demanding things from me…” Apollo clicked his tongue. “That’s why I couldn’t let you fall into the ocean like you were nothing. I believe you deserve another chance.”

As he stumbled to his feet, Icarus felt as if a haze had come over his mind, clouding his thoughts. “I did exactly what I was told not to do. I failed, and I was fine with it. I was fine with falling.”

“Good. You should be fine with falling. Those who never fail will never truly succeed because they will never be able to give themselves the room they need to grow,” Apollo said. “That’s why babies are born with their skulls in fragments rather than one fully fused bone. Their brains need room to grow.”

Icarus was unamused. “So I’m a brain?”

Apollo’s thin lips quirked into an impish smile. “Indeed you are. In this metaphor, at least. Because I’m trying to get you to understand that yes, you will fall as you just did, but later you might thank the Fates for it. Because it’s making the conscious decision to get back up that will make you stronger. He who never competes will always lose. Remember that.”

“A poet he is.”

“The Muses would be jealous.” Apollo’s smile had only grown, nearly becoming a smirk. “No, they are some of those I hold dearest to my heart, and I should be embarrassed as their brother and the god of song if I too were not somewhat poetic or dramatic.”

Icarus’s face was so straight it almost hurt. “Okay but you did knock me down on purpose, right?”

“Oh, my dear boy.” Apollo sighed somewhat wistfully. “Obviously. Even gods get bored sometimes. Now, come.”

As he followed the god through trees and over boulders toward whatever plan was in store for him, Icarus felt the weight he’d carried in his chest since Minos had first imprisoned him and his father fade. It didn’t move to the pit of his stomach or the back of his neck or the curve of his shoulders as it usually did, but it evaporated.

Yes, the Icarus who had taken flight from Crete would never be heard from again, but not in the sense the stories would lead the masses to believe. He hadn’t died the day he fell, but he had become a different person because, with his descent, he had found opportunity. With Apollo. And there were no boundaries to what the new Icarus born that day could do.