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joaquinwhorres · 4 years

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shots (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder when you know you're dating the wrong people. The right guy just isn't interested.

REQUEST ››››› ANNA HI HELLO FRIEND. okay, you're taking requests? i'm gonna SCREAM but okay could you do number 45 and diego, please? also i'm gonna look at the thing you sent me last night right now (45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.)

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,016

WARNINGS ››››› takes place partially at a shooting range

A/N ››››› I wrote this as a continuation of alone together, but it can really be read as a standalone. I just loved the reader + Diego's dynamic, so here's more.

You've been into Diego Hargreeves since your police academy days, which is to say, a nearly obscene amount of time. It's hard to pinpoint exactly how long it's been, though, because as with most things, falling for him was a rather fluid process. One minute you were reveling in the fact that you were suddenly single for the first time in three and a half years. The next, you were hanging off every word in his tirade about saving teargas for bad guys rather than protestors. And yet, it also felt so sudden. As if he had come out of nowhere and clotheslined you the way he did one of the instructors in restraint training.

And while it's hard to say when you fell for him, why is entirely too easy. You liked him because he wasn't afraid. He was stupid and brash, but he was bold and honest when it mattered. But more than that, you liked how he cared so deeply and passionately about doing the right thing rather than doing things the right way. Even when it cost him.

Also, his forearms.

You’re watching them now, muscles rippling under his tight long sleeved shirt as he raises the gun, his gaze intensely focused on the target. You hope he doesn’t see you staring in his periphery because it’s pretty obvious you’re not just checking his form. There's a breath and then he fires five rounds into the piece of paper, every shot precise and lethal.

“That’s how it’s done, baby,” he grins, laying the gun down as he steps back to direct his excitement at you. As if he'd ever done anything less than absolutely perfect at the range. Still, you can’t help but smile back even as you roll your eyes. You love it when he calls you baby. Even though he only ever says it to tease you, it still feels like it's your nickname that he has for you.

Yeah. You’ve got it bad.

Which is unfortunate because he simply doesn't. He's never so much as shown a single bit of interest besides the first day he met you, and let his eyes linger on your body a little too long. But after that? Nothing. It soon became clear that he only had eyes for Eudora, and while it was tempting to be jealous it was all too understandable. She was gorgeous and smart and kind and obviously going to make a damn good cop. But even after that imploded, he never seemed interested. You'd come to the conclusion that you were simply too close, which was unfortunate but also fine.

It would be fine.

You just need to follow your friends’ advice and find someone new to focus on. And not just flings. You've tried the "get over by getting under" method and it just doesn't work. You need romance, a good personality, someone you want to see again outside of the bedroom. What you need is a boyfriend. Instead you've gotten:

Ghosted more times than you can count

Four no-shows for dates

One catfish

Five break up texts

Seven dick pics

Six angry men calling you a whore

Three dates that were meant for other people

The most recent of the “oops I texted the wrong girl” dates had been a week ago, and you suspect it's also the reason Diego dragged you out to the shooting range today. Diego doesn't talk about feelings--you learned that real quick--but he is more empathetic than he looks. He just doesn't know how to translate that into words. Thus, shooting range. It's sweet.

Except for the fact that he's an insufferable show off. That makes it a bit less sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, cheater,” you huff, moving forward to take his spot at the firing line. Obviously you can't tell if he cheated, but his arms had looked a bit too low for one of those shots to be as perfect as it was. You pick up the gun, waiting for his instructions, eyeing the target.

"Head right 7, body right 9, body bullseye, head bottom 9, body bottom 8," he decides. Of course he gave you more body than head shots.

It's tempting to insist that he keeps up the pretense that this is an even and fair competition and give you another head shot. But your time is running out, and who are you kidding--you'd like the win. So, you nod to confirm his choices before lifting the gun up and taking a breath in to clear your head of all else, the constant rejection, the unrequited crush, the stress at work, so you can focus. And then, you breathe out.

Your shots aren’t as pretty as Diego’s, but they all hit their marks.

“Not bad,” he says as you place down the gun and then spin around to grin at him.

“Not bad?” you echo back, gesturing to the target. “That’s the best all day.”

“That's the best you got all day,” he corrects, smugly. “Not the best.”

The smile vanishes from your face, replaced with narrowed eyes. "You're a dick."

He laughs then as you double check the chamber to make sure the gun's unloaded and ready to be packed up. "A huge dick," you clarify, placing the firearm in its case and turning to follow him out.

"Better than a small one," he shoots back, removing his headphones once the two of you enter the lobby.

If it weren't for range safety and all that, you'd kick him in the back of the knees. Instead, you settle on glaring at the back of his head as he checks the two of you out, stuffing your safety glasses and headphones into your bag.

"I really hate you, you know that right?" you ask as the two of you push through the door and out into the parking lot.

"Not sure I'd say that if I was the person who needs a ride home," Diego smirks at you over his shoulder as the two of you reach his car.

"Like there's even going to be room for me in the car anymore now that your head's so big," you say, reaching over to flick him on the side of the head. Before he has a chance to respond you speed walk to the passenger's seat and get in before he can lock you out.

"You're lucky I like you," Diego says, pointing a finger at you before he climbs in, sticks the keys in the ignition and shifts into reverse. You take your cell phone out of your pocket as he pulls out of the parking spot, hand resting on the back of your chair so he can look over his shoulder. You feel your cheeks grow hot and are thankful that his eyes are on the road and yours are on your phone screen.

There are approximately 16 unread messages.

None of them are good.

In fact, you're feeling pretty crushed as you scroll through them. It doesn't help when Diego withdraws his arm to shift the car into drive. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, and you try to pull yourself together but end up just wilting into your seat. It's not your friends' fault. Yesenia's babysitter fell through. Galilea was caught up with more work than she anticipated. Lilly probably really did need the extra time to study for her actuarial exam. These were all reasonable excuses. But it still sucked.

"What's up?" Diego asks as you slow to a stop at the red light.

"Nothing," you say absent mindedly, texting out a message to the group. Life happens 🙃How about next Saturday??

Diego's eyes dart to you before going back to the road as the light turns green. "Y/N," he prompts.

You turn off your screen and cast a look at him. "It's really nothing; my friends just cancelled on me tonight." He remains quiet and you try to push out the growing frustration that you've been planning this for a solid week and it's only now, hours before, that all of these conflicts pop up. "We were supposed to go out," you sigh. "You know, do drinks and dancing."

He's silent again, only the sound of the turn signal clicking echoing throughout the car. "Alright, so what time tonight?" Diego finally asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

It takes longer than it should to piece together what he's offering, but the thought of Diego taking you dancing is just too much on so many levels. The most immediate level being how absolutely hilarious it would be to see Diego dance. The thought alone elicits a surprised laugh.

"What's so funny?" Diego asks, his brow furrowing. It's clear he wants to glare at you but the car ahead moves, and he takes his chance to make the left turn.

"You want to go dancing?" You ask, through giggles.

"And?" He sounds offended, but you're still trying to picture Diego on the dance floor and every resulting image is sending you into further hysterics. He catches on, eventually. "You don't think I can dance!"

"Mm-mm," you hum, shaking your head, and there's literally tears coming down from your eyes as you picture Diego doing the Hitch dance at the club. God, he always knew how to pull you out of your spirals.

His face screws up into a frown, and you can vaguely tell he's annoyed. Unfortunately, you don't care. "I'm a great dancer!" he protests, turning onto your street.

"Ok, ok," you say, finally calming down enough to stop laughing and wipe away the tears from your eyes. "Meet here at 9 and we'll decide on a place?" you ask as he pulls into a spot near your building.

He nods, still clearly annoyed, but he's a good friend, better than most, and doesn't rescind his offer. In return you give him a beaming smile as you climb out the door. Almost immediately you turn around and tap on the window. He raises an eyebrow and rolls it down.

"Yes?"

"You know you're not allowed to wear that, right?" You check, pointing at his black on black tactical uniform. He looks as if he's a real life Batman. Right now he's giving you the Batman glower. "I'm serious, Diego. Go shopping if you have to."

"Bye, Y/N," he says, pulling away from you without even bothering to roll the window up. You smile to yourself and walk to your building's front door. You cannot wait for tonight.

Diego knocks on your door a few minutes after nine. It's tempting to give him a hard time about being late, to tell him that you thought yet another friend had abandoned you in your hour of need, but seeing as he had to rearrange whatever plans he had in order to take you out dancing, you decide to let him off the hook.

You're kind of glad that you didn't come up with a witty line for when you opened the door because holy shit, he’s handsome.

In a way, he's stuck to the usual uniform. It's black on black, and he clearly has put no effort into his hair or shaving the stubble lining his jaw, but he's missing the usual tactical harness, armguards, and gloves. Instead, his arms are on full display, and while you're able to admire his muscles under his usual tight black shirt, it's nothing compared to what that short sleeved button up is doing for him. He looks broader, fuller, and more human than you've ever seen him.

"Look at you, all cleaned up," you say, allowing your eyes to run over his body under the pretense that you're teasing him. "Do a twirl for me," you demand, spinning your finger. He rolls his eyes, but slowly spins in a circle so you can admire each angle. "It'll do," you say, allowing him into the apartment.

"Glad I meet the standard," he says, coming in further. You're still staring at him and are able to see the exact moment his eyes land on the two shot glasses and bottle of tequila that you've placed out on your kitchen island. His eyes light up and naturally, he makes a bee line for the booze. Even more naturally, you follow him.

"We're gonna have a good time, then?" he asks, eyeing the tequila.

"Oh yeah," you confirm, grabbing the shaker of salt from the table on your way into the kitchen. Diego pours out a shot for each of you, sloshing a bit on the counter as you salt your hand. When you pass the salt over to him, your fingers brush causing a warm and tingling sensation to stir in your stomach. You probably shouldn't have already taken a couple of sips from the bottle. Maybe if you hadn't, you wouldn't be watching him so intently as he licks his hand. You're able to tear your eyes away to grab a lime and place one in front of him as he finishes.

"To a good time," Diego says, raising his glass to yours. You clink your shot glass against his before swiping the salt off your hand with your tongue, following it with the silver tequila burning its way down your throat. Placing the glass down, you grab the wedge of lime and bite into it, allowing the lime juice to ease the sweeten the sting.

"Mm," you hum, taking the lime out of your mouth and placing it on the opposite edge of the cutting board from the rest of the lime slices. Diego places his wedge over yours and looks at you.

"Another?” he asks, and well, you can’t let the rest of the lime go to waste. Besides, even well drinks are expensive these days.

After your second shot, Diego moves to clean up the island as you watch. “Taxi should be here at 9:30.”

“You decide on a place yet?” he asks, and you hum a yes, eyes on him as he places the bottle of tequila up with the rest of your alcohol. It's easy to blame the tequila, but you're not sure if that's 100% why you feel the surge of almost overwhelming tenderness for him.

"Hey, Diego?" your voice comes out a bit smaller than you'd like, and he notices too because he turns to face you immediately, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for coming out tonight."

He relaxes, shoulders dropping slightly, and his smile which always looks like it's caught between being a smirk and a genuine grin comes out. "We're supposed to be alone together, right?"

"Right," you agree, and you're certain he'll see your affection glowing off you like some kind of aura. Except he turns quickly back to dump the cutting board and knife into the sink.

"How's all that going by the way?" he asks, still bent over the sink. He has to mean dating. Or maybe your feelings. You're proficient in Diego-speak but you're not sure if you'll ever be fully fluent. He's hard to read his words; it's much easier to read his face.

"I think I meant what I told you," you say with a sigh. "I think I'm done with all that."

He turns around to face you then, and you can see the concern and sadness on his face. Sympathy is a rare emotion for Diego, and you don't like how it makes you feel. "Look, if you want to find someone, you can't give up."

"It's just hard to put myself out there when I know none of them are right," you say, frustration and an aching loneliness fizzing under your skin. "You know? None of them are you." The words come out too fast to stop, and it takes less than a breath to reach you could grab them out of the air. Your face is growing hot, but you push it back down and quickly try to remedy the situation, “I mean none of them are like you.”

He seems a bit frozen as well, assessing, and you wish to God that you had another shot of tequila right now to take your attention off of the way his brow creases slightly and mouth turns down. “You don’t want me,” he says finally with a shake of his head.

You do.

You really do.

“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, not liking his tone or the way he's still frowning slightly and can't meet your eyes.

He shakes his head again but steps forward to stand across the island from you. “I’m not going to psychoanalyze myself, but I gotta lotta shit. I don’t know if you could put up with two of us. And I'm not letting you throw me away for some guy who came after.”

You sit there quietly, taking in his words and trying to hear what he was saying. What he was really saying underneath and you don't like any of the deductions you're able to come up with. “Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, and you know you've been quiet too long right after he's been as vulnerable as he can be.

“You know I don’t consider it putting up with you, Diego, right?” You ask, quietly. It’s important he knows. He has to know at least that.

He gives an attempt at a smirk, but it doesn't make it to his eyes. “What else would you call dealing with my bullshit?”

You reach out to him, wiggling your fingers in an insistence that he take your hand. It takes a second, and some aggressive eye contact for him to take your hand, but when he does, you fold your hand over his, smoothing over the knuckles with your thumb. There’s scars there. Probably from his childhood. Or last week. “I’d call it returning the favor.”

He snorts but doesn't take his hand away. Instead he squeezes your hand, and you know he'll never tell you that he loves you, but this feels pretty close. You squeeze his hand back.

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years

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A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 4

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AN: I’m so sorry this took so long, I wasn’t having such a good week and writing a scene where Rowan meets back up with his ex was hitting a little too close to home haha so it took me a while. I’m not fully convinced I’m happy with it, but it’s here. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway and leave any comments if you feel like it they fuel me so well!!

-----

Aelin gave herself a few days for a pity party. It wasn’t every day you lose a job you enjoy, and she had some savings that should be able to tide her over for a month or two, she had time to feel sorry for herself before she needed to move on. She had spent a day on the couch, crying and drinking wine watching Dirty Dancing which had unashamedly improved her mood. Lorcan had joined her at one point despite his protests when she first moved in, she knew he couldn’t resist it even though he had thrown popcorn at her when she cried at the end.

She had slept in late most mornings, hungover after many drinks in the bar the night before with the occupants of the loft, but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t like she had anywhere to be. Last night hadn’t been a late one and she hadn’t drank as much as she had the day she had lost her job, that night Rowan hadn’t let her glass fall below a quarter full.

She moaned, rolling over, brushing the nest of tangled hair off her clammy forehead. Her tongue was like sandpaper and her mouth tasted old and bitter. Gross, she needed desperately to brush her teeth.

She clambered across the bed to her bedside table to find her phone, unlocking it and checking the time. 8:02am. Not too bad, but she needed to get up now to be ready in time for the wedding. The wedding where she was going to be playing Rowan’s girlfriend.

Why had she agreed to that? At the time it had seemed like a good idea, she was feeling down and had wanted to help out a friend in a time of need. Now time had passed she questioned her own sanity; having to get close to Rowan, and to touch him, and to play all lovey-dovey with him was a task she wasn’t sure her acting skills were up too.

The morning of the wedding was probably a bit too late notice to back out on Rowan though so she would be Aelin Galathynius, fake-girlfriend extraordinaire.

She dragged herself to the bathroom to shower and clean her teeth, breakfast could wait and Lysandra would probably bring something when she came over to get ready. Lysandra’s attendance at the wedding was something Aelin hadn’t expected, she thought Aedion was joking when he told her he had invited Lysandra, and even when he clarified he was serious she hadn’t expected Lysandra to have said yes.

She trudged out of the bathroom in her towel, the other residents of the loft were nowhere to be seen, not unusual for early on a Saturday morning. She wished as little time and effort went into her own getting ready for the event later on, stupid guys and their ability to throw on a suit and be ready, she knew Rowan and Lorcan wouldn’t even consider beginning to get ready until noon.

Lysandra was likely to spend hours doing Aelin’s hair and make-up, and no doubt even more time having her try on numerous different outfits to find the perfect dress. Lysandra was given endless amounts of clothing through her modelling gigs, and they were similar in size enough that Aelin could steal pieces here and there.

There was a knock at the door and she double checked the time on her phone again, 8:43am. Lysandra was early. She ditched her towel and threw on her robe and went to answer the door.

“Good morning!” Lysandra’s voice was bright, in one hand she held a paper bag, and in the other a small suitcase.

“Morning,” Aelin pulled her friend into a one armed hug, taking the paper bag Lysandra held out to her.

“How are you feeling Ae?” Lysandra’s voice was full of concern.

“I’m okay,” She shrugged, she had come to terms with her joblessness now, and her pity party had helped her move past the disappointment. “How are you?”

“I’m glad,” Lysandra squeezed her even tighter before releasing her. “I’m fantastic of course, now; are you ready to become so hot that Rowan’s ex cries herself to sleep tonight?” Lysandra’s voice was sweet as syrup.

“I don’t need any help for that thank you very much.” She called as she shut the door and pulled Lysandra towards her bedroom, she didn’t need Aedion hearing Lysandra arrive and trying to monopolise her.

Once in her room, with the door closed, Lysandra threw her case down and flopped onto Aelin’s bed. She twisted onto her side and propped her head up with a hand and turned to face Aelin.

“I can’t believe you agreed to go to a wedding and pretend to be Rowan’s fake girlfriend.” Lysandra wasn’t wasting any time, an undercurrent of laughter hovering in her voice.

“I can’t believe you’re going to a wedding as my cousin’s date.” She leaned against her desk and folded her arms across her chest.

“Don’t change the subject,” Lysandra sang, “And anyway, I agreed to go with Aedion for the same reason that apparently Lorcan is going with Fenrys; two words. Open bar.”

“Sure, easy explanation.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “It’s the truth. Now stop changing the subject, you’re going to pretend to be Rowan’s girlfriend to make his ex jealous. Are you ready for that, and what you’ll have to do?”

“Yes,” Aelin deadpanned, she opened the paper bag Lysandra had brought and started on the chocolate croissant. Her favourite.

“Aelin,” Lysandra rolled forward and propped both hands under her chin “Come on, you can’t pretend you’re fine with this, I’ve seen you near him.”

“What do you mean?” She knew she was setting herself up for failure with the question, but she couldn’t help it.

“I mean when you go all goo-goo eyed around him and laugh at his stupid jokes that aren’t funny.”

Lysandra pulled a doe-eyed expression, a bad imitation of Aelin.

“I do not,” She said stubbornly, pouting a little. “And his jokes aren’t stupid.”

Lysandra gave her a desperate look.

“Look,” She levelled with her friend, finishing her last mouthful of croissant. “Me and Rowan are friends and roommates, nothing more. A friend can help a friend out, you know, hug him when she’s looking, dance with him. It won’t mean anything.”

“Okay, sure. What about kissing? Could you kiss him?”

Aelin had thought about this. Kissing was an unstated expectation of a couple, even if they weren’t big on PDA Lyria would probably expect some kind of affection from them. A kiss on the cheek, a brush of lips.

She could imagine how Rowan would cradle her chin with his hand as he leant in, his lips a feather-soft brush against her own. Lysandra’s knowing smirk interrupted her, and she pointed her tongue out in return.

“Yes I could, and it would be fine. We are friends. Now, are you going to do my hair or just lie on my bed and gossip all day?” She raised an eyebrow at her friend, who took the cue that Aelin was done talking about this, at least for now.

“Shut up,” Lysandra laughed and moved to open her suitcase. Aelin shuddered at the thought that an entire suitcase would be needed.

-----

There was some bubbly pop music coming from Aelin’s room, Rowan assumed that meant Lysandra was here and the two of them were getting ready for the wedding. He was nervous, way past nervous actually, about seeing Lyria at the wedding. He hadn’t seen her at all since their break-up and he knew it would be awkward when they ran in to each other.

At least he wouldn’t be alone, the rest of the guys would be there too, and Lysandra and Aelin. He supposed that an element of his nerves were probably apprehension about pretending to be Aelin’s boyfriend. He couldn’t believe Aelin had agreed to do it, or that he himself was going along with it.

He smoothed the lapels down on his blazer as he walked into the living room. He was wearing a suit borrowed from Aedion under specific instructions from Lysandra, she had deemed his own options not up to scratch. Aedion and Lorcan were already seated on the couch, both ready to leave, drinking a beer each.

“Alright man, looking good.” Aedion raised his beer, “Want one before we leave?”

“Thanks, you too,” He said, taking the beer Lorcan held out to him. Aedion did scrub up well, and he looked smart in his navy blue suit, but it wasn’t unusual to see him so well dressed, unlike Rowan and Lorcan.

He took his seat on the couch, there was still time before they had to leave, but Fenrys wasn’t ready yet and neither were the girls, so he had time to calm himself down before they needed to set off. The beer would probably help to calm some of his nerves, he hoped if he drank enough they’d all be covered.

He, Aedion and Lorcan made idle conversation about the football game on the television when they were interrupted by Lysandra coming into the room.

“We’re ready,” She said. “Are you guys all ready to go?”

Rowan’s response died in his throat when Aelin walked into the room. Her hair was curled and pinned so it cascaded down over her left shoulder, loose waves folding over one another. Her dress was tight at her waist and flowed out slightly to where it hit mid-thigh, emphasising her slender figure.

It had one strap over her right shoulder with ruffles that complimented the way Lysandra had styled her hair to the other side. Had it been blue he would have compared it to water, but it was a rich, green shade of fabric that stood out brightly against her pale skin and sun-kissed hair. The golden earrings she wore brought out the ring of gold in her eyes that crinkled as she gave him a soft smile. She seemed slightly unsure in her strappy heels but gained her confidence as she joined Lysandra where she stood by the side of the couch.

“Hot damn, ladies,” Aedion drawled, his eyes not straying from Lysandra for a second. “We’re ready I think, but I don’t know where Fenrys is.”

Rowan cleared his throat and tugged his eyes away from Aelin, but he noted the blush gracing her cheeks at his expression before he turned.

“I’m here,” Fenrys’ voice came from behind him as he left his bedroom. “Looking good.” He grinned at Aelin and Lysandra.

Rowan stood as Lorcan and Aedion did the same, getting ready to leave, and he wandered over to where Aelin stood.

“Nice suit,” She smiled as he walked towards her, crossing her hands on her bag across her front.

“Thanks, it’s Aedion’s.” He brushed his hands awkwardly down the front of his jacket. “Your dress is nice too.”

It was so much more than nice, but his brain was short-circuiting and didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Aelin smiled at the compliment and folded her arm around his own.

“Ready boyfriend?” She asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Ready girlfriend.” He nodded at her and led the way out of the loft.

-----

The wedding was being held in an up-scale hotel in the city-centre. The floors were marble, and the sounds of her heels echoed throughout the room as Aelin walked in with the rest of the group. There were marble pillars stretching up to the elaborately decorated ceiling and flowers filled every available surface.

It was a beautiful wedding venue, Fenrys clearly hadn’t been lying when he said their friend from college was wealthy. He had made idle chatter with her in the Uber on their way, but she hadn’t taken much of what he said in, unable to draw her mind away from where Rowan’s leg was pressed against her own. Heat seeping through the layer of fabric of his trousers, the only barrier between their skin.

She held onto Rowan’s arm as they entered, they hadn’t spoken much since their brief exchange in the loft, but she knew he was nervous about seeing Lyria again. She hadn’t wanted to push him to talk, but they needed to begin their act and holding his arm seemed a good place to start.

She took in all of the guests milling about, there was a little while before the ceremony started yet and most of the guests were talking in small groups.

“Ro,” Aedion’s voice filled the air, “There’s Lyria.” He pointed subtly behind her and she felt Rowan tense. Aelin couldn’t spot Rowan’s ex in the crowd, she caught the sight of a head of dark hair before Rowan pulled her back around.

“Maybe she won’t spot us.” His voice was short.

“Ro,” Aedion began, “You’ll have to see her before this is over.”

“I know,” Rowan said running a hand over his hair. “But just—not yet.”

Aelin squeezed his arm in silent encouragement, and he relaxed slightly as he sent her a small smile.

“Well,” Lorcan’s voice broke in, “I’m getting myself to the bar to at least get one drink before this thing starts.”

“I’ll join you.” Lysandra said quickly and the two headed off into the crowd leaving Aelin with the three college friends.

“She’s looking this way.” Aedion said without looking away from Rowan, who slipped his arm around Aelin’s waist. She tried not to react to the warmth seeping through her dress from his hand, tried to remind herself why he had done it when it was so easy to sink into his side and tuck her shoulder under his arm.

-----

It was a beautiful service, the couple were clearly very much in love, even to Aelin who had never met the pair. At the end she even felt a little teary, the outpouring of love in Essar and her now-husbands vows had touched her. Once the ceremony was over the wedding relaxed a little and the guests mingled helping themselves to food and drinks. Aelin, Lysandra and the rest of the Loft 4D residents all made use of the open bar.

Rowan had played the doting boyfriend well.

A gentle hand on her lower back when he introduced her to other guests at the wedding, an arm along the back of her chair when they sat at their table for the speeches.

Aelin was dealing with his physical affection, trying to keep herself focused on remembering the reason for it and she wasn’t shying away herself. Resting her head against his shoulder or ghosting her lips across his cheek when Fenrys let slip that Lyria was nearby.

She hadn’t been introduced yet, and Aelin was wary but it wasn’t long until Rowan turned to her, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. She enjoyed seeing him dressed smartly, but he looked far more himself with the few steps taken to play down the formality. “We should probably go and say hi to Lyria.”

She took the final swig of her drink and linked her fingers through his. “Lead the way.”

He led her through the crowds towards where a woman with dark hair was talking in a group.

“Lyria,” He called.

“Rowan!” Lyria’s voice was high but soft as she turned to him.

Lyria was, in a word, stunning. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly and her poker-straight lengths shone under the gentle lights of the hotel. She was slender, but had curves that her tight, sea-blue cocktail dress highlighted, and she seemed to glide as she turned towards the pair. Rowan’s perfect opposite.

Her smile was blinding as she took in Rowan, who was attempting a small smile and Aelin squeezed his hand in hers. He glanced briefly down at her, returning the squeeze.

“Rowan, so good to see you. How have you been?” Lyria leaned in to peck his cheek, which he returned stiffly.

“I’ve been well thanks,” His voice was low as he slid his hand from Aelin’s to loop it around her waist, taking in the dark-haired gentleman holding Lyria’s hand. “And you?”

“Yes, well,” She laughed, a beautiful sound. “I’m well too, I’m sure you remember Rolfe from work.”

Aelin felt Rowan’s hand tighten on her waist as he stretched his other hand out to shake Rolfe’s. Aelin hadn’t anticipated Lyria bringing a date too. Was hers fake too? Based on Rowan’s reaction she guessed not.

“Yes, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend Aelin.”

Her time to shine.

“Great to meet you Lyria,” She offered her own hand and Lyria’s eyes lit up. Not quite the reaction that Aelin had expected, but she smiled sweetly and greeted her.

“You too,” Lyria’s smile was warm as she shook Aelin’s extended hand. “How long has this been going on?” Her tone was inquisitive, but not unkind.

They had planned out their story, as not to get it wrong. They planned to tell Lyria how Aelin had moved in almost two months ago, as was the truth.

The lie came with the part where they had realised their mutual attraction, and with the blessings of the others in the loft, had begun to date almost a month ago.

“About a month now.” The smile Rowan gave her as he answered had her breath catch in her throat.

Rowan needed to smile more if he looked like that when he did. Eyes sparkling, and lips pulling back to show rows of straight, white teeth. It softened his usually harsh expression.

“I’m happy for you, Rowan,” Lyria’s voice was sweet and Aelin could tell she was sincere. Whatever she had expected from Rowan’s ex after the stories she had heard about their numerous break-ups from Aedion and Fenrys, this wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” Rowan said, his breath brushing Aelin’s hair and raising the hairs down the line of her neck.

“And you guys look so good together, don’t they Rolfe?” Lyria pressed her hands to her heart turning to her boyfriend who nodded loyally.

She turned to Rowan, trying to look as in love as possible, and pressed herself into his chest. She wasn’t faking the blush that rushed to her cheeks at the thought that she and Rowan looked good together.

“Thanks,” Rowan said, not looking away from Aelin. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and Aelin couldn’t help but lean into it.

“It was really great seeing you, we’ll have to speak soon.” Lyria smiled as she and her boyfriend left, Aelin and Rowan giving their own goodbyes. She immediately felt Rowan relax, his hand drifting from her waist leaving her side cold.

“How was that?”

“Honestly?” He let out a small sigh, “Not too bad.”

“Good, I’m glad. I’m sure rubbing your fantastic new girlfriend in her face helped.” She smirked at him, and he laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders and leading her back to the table the rest of their friends were sat at.

-----

The rest of the wedding was fun, she danced with Lysandra for what felt like hours. The pair laughing at the fact they had probably drank hundreds of dollars’ worth of drinks at a wedding for a couple they hadn’t met before. They had been introduced to Essar by Aedion who had been friendly and inviting, thanking them for coming.

She had danced with her cousin and Fenrys too, even shared a dance with Lorcan when Fenrys had crept off to play his hand with a bridesmaid.

She had been nervous to share a dance with Rowan, even though that was a large reason for her attendance at the event, after the conversation Lysandra had attempted to drag out of her in the ladies toilet.

“You and Rowan are looking awfully cosy,” her friend had teased.

Aelin shushed her, concerned that Lyria could have been hiding in a cubicle, but she knew it was ridiculous.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you and Aedion,” Lysandra had been looking pretty comfortable tucked under her cousin’s arm and holding his hand as they shared a dance.

She had managed to dismiss her friend, with the promise of discussing later, but had left the toilets and pulled Rowan straight up to dance.

She turned away from Lysandra’s not-so-subtle gesturing where she leaned against the bar with Aedion to rest her head on Rowan’s chest. They would talk about that later.

Her hands were locked around his neck, fingers interlinked as they swayed together, brushing the back of his shirt collar. He’d removed his jacket earlier, and she couldn’t help but prefer him a little ruffled.

She knew how this had to look to Lyria, knew they looked like every other couple on the dancefloor, and shuffled a little closer to Rowan. His hand on her lower back slid further around her side as he adjusted his grip to hold her tighter against his body. His other hand stayed resting by her shoulder, toying lightly with a lock of hair that had fallen out of Lysandra’s careful styling in the hours they’d been there.

He wasn’t a bad dancer, not that what they were doing exactly qualified as dancing, but his steps from side to side followed the rhythm of the old song playing in the background.

When I'm in your arms, nothing seems to matter

Aelin shouldn’t have felt as relaxed as she did, in the arms of Aedion’s college roommate turned Aelin’s roommate and fake-date for the evening. Especially considering she had noticed Rowan watching Lyria as she danced with her new boyfriend. His navy blue suit perfectly coordinated with Lyria’s dress.

It wasn’t lost on Aelin that her own dress, courtesy of Lysandra, matched the deep green of Rowan’s tie. A shade much darker, and not quite as lovely as the bright green of his eyes.

Lyria’s eyes seemed to flash over to the pair of them, and Aelin quickly pulled her gaze back to Rowan to find him looking down at her, a slight hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He played his part well. She easily could have believed his gaze was loving, that he was holding her this way because there was no other way he would hold her. She swallowed against the unwelcome thought.

My whole world could shatter, I don't care

“Your acting skills are better than I expected, I have to say,” he teased, his words snapping her out of the daze she had fallen into.

He was far more relaxed now than he had been earlier, she wondered if he was relieved that Lyria seemed to have bought their ruse. She stepped on his toe and he winced, still laughing slightly.

“My acting is almost as good as my dancing.” She grinned as she spun out of his arms and twirled back in. His smile was bright as he pulled her tightly in to rest against him, now even closer than they were before.

“Truly impressive”, he drawled sarcastically. She had no other response than to grin up at him, towering over her despite the heels she wore.

Wouldn't you agree, baby you and me got a groovy kind of love

It was his next sentence that stopped her slightly.

“Thanks for doing this, Aelin,” he said into her hair. “I didn’t want her pitying me.”

His eyes were back on Lyria, and Aelin dropped her hands from his neck to his chest, leaning back and away from him gently.

“It’s no problem,” She managed, “What are friends and new roommates for, right?”

She scanned the room, looking for an out that wouldn’t seem sketchy to Lyria. That’s who they were here to convince, Aelin wasn’t sure where her mind was headed but she needed to settle back into her fake-girlfriend role quickly. Emphasis on fake and quickly.

She spotted Lorcan sat at their table, whiskey in hand, and as the song finished and transitioned into something more upbeat she tugged herself out of the circle of Rowan’s arms and lead him by the hand over to where Lorcan was sat. She didn’t check to see if Lyria was watching.

“I’m not trying to convince my ex of anything Galathynius so don’t be expecting that of me.”

Lorcan nodded his head towards the dancefloor where Aedion and Lysandra were dancing to the new song. Lysandra’s movements much smoother than Aedion’s.

Aelin didn’t miss the smile threatening to break through onto the lips of her best friend as she watched a drunk Aedion flail uncontrollably.

“Someone would have needed to date you first for that to happen, Salvaterre,” she bit back mockingly.

She and Rowan were both ready to take a seat when Fenrys appeared over Rowan’s shoulder, having apparently lucked out with the bridesmaid.

“Her loss,” he had shrugged.

“That looks like fun,” He said, grabbing Aelin’s hand as he led her over to join Aedion and Lysandra. His dancing even worse than Aedion’s, despite their comparable levels of intoxication.

Not bothering to hold back her smile as she danced with her new roommate, Aelin relaxed into the song not bothering with any particular steps. Seconds passed until they were joined, albeit reluctantly, by Rowan and a stiff Lorcan.

Her limbs were loose, and so was her smile. She didn’t care how they looked to Lyria now, she wasn’t sure it ever really mattered to her.

-----

When they arrived back at the loft Fenrys and Lorcan hauled a now-babbling Aedion to his room, having bid Lysandra goodbye at the venue. She had promised to text Aelin when she was home safely, and that they would debrief the next day. Aelin made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water, kicking her shoes off and not bothering to check where they landed.

The cool water cleared her head slightly, and she tapped some of the beads of condensation off the glass along her forehead, trying to sober up before heading to bed. She wasn’t drunk, but even going to bed mildly tipsy always made her feel unwell.

She turned when she heard the nearby cupboard door open as Rowan grabbed a glass for himself. She must have missed him come into the kitchen, distracted thinking about the night.

He’d kept his jacket off, and his tie was gone now too, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She followed the motion as he turned the tap on, filled his own glass and started to drink.

She wasn’t supposed to be looking at Rowan like that. Wasn’t supposed to notice how the rumpled look was working for him or how the rolling of his sleeves highlighted his muscular forearms; they lived together.

She shouldn’t have let herself be so affected by what they had done tonight, they had managed to escape without sharing a kiss, the furthest they got was pressing their lips to each other’s cheeks. Only a tiny part of her was disappointed.

She looked up from his arms to catch him looking at her, eyebrows raised. She shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t ask, and cleared her throat but his question beat her to it.

“How long do you give it for Aedion to actually make a move on Lysandra?” He asked with a conspirator’s grin.

“Don’t,” She sighed, passing a hand over her forehead. “He would never. She’s my best friend, and especially not now that I live here.”

He shrugged at her; he clearly didn’t agree with her assessment.

“He might. He’ll probably hope you forgive him if it fucks anything up though.”

The look he gave her didn’t seem like a joke anymore, but then he shrugged again and turned to put his glass in the sink.

“Night, Aelin.”

“Night.” She whispered back as he left the kitchen. She stayed stood, leaning against the worktop waiting to hear his bedroom door close.

Shit, she thought to herself. Probably not for the last time.

This was Rowan, her roommate. Her new friend.

She bent over the counter, pressing her face into the cool surface. Maybe she could pass this off as drunken pondering.

Rowan being friendly and hot was something she needed to ignore. Maybe this would pass, maybe it was only because she was recently single and now surrounded by guys. Honestly it was bound to happen.

But she needed to not mess this up, which looking at Rowan like she was tonight might very well do. He wasn’t looking at her the same way. Probably.

She whirled, leaving her own glass on the side, and marched into her bedroom, the one opposite Rowan’s. But she wasn’t thinking about that, she needed this loft to work out.

-----

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

As always if I’ve missed anyone please let me know!!

#rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #aedion ashryver #lysandra #aedion x lysandra #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fic #rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #fake dating

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

THE OBEY ME BOYS AS RPG BOSSES: NEO-OSAKA

LEVEL 1-7 (YOU ARE HERE)

LEVEL 8-10

FINAL BOSS

ENDINGS

You are one of many modified humans in Neo-Osaka. A relic of your brief time in the criminal underbelly. Your adopted little brother, Luke, has been kidnapped by a criminal syndicate known only as The Devil Triad for unknown reasons. Simeon, his upperclassman, is the sole witness of his kidnapping. Armed with your trusty katana, the healing microbots in your blood, and the information Simeon has given you, you venture back into the underworld of Neo-Osaka to save your brother.

Word Count: 4,511

TW: Blood, Violence, Gore, Mention of Drug Use

LEVEL ONE -- BELPHEGOR, THE SLEEPING BULL

In the underbelly of Neo-Osaka, it is only natural that one would want to lose themselves for a little while. You pass by a number of pharmacies that act as black markets, street vendors that hawk anti-intoxicants, and children that run between the crowds. An exchange of secrets and yen, and a pair of shoji-playing women direct you to a shuttered pharmacy down the road. No one’s operated that store in years, they say, but there are always masked men that hang behind the lot. Masks in the shape of a devil.

Night falls. It doesn’t take long for you to subdue a masked man and rifle through his pockets. A hand-held radio tells you all that you need to know: the goods will be exchanged near the butcher’s shop, the password is sleeping bull, and that one is supposed to be there, so don’t fuck this up. The goods are headed towards the base of operations of The Devil Triad.

The underlings are easy enough to deal with. You take them out one by one in their own territory, leaving them alive for only sa long as necessary, and steal one of their masks and uniforms along the way. While it appears that none of the underlings have any information as to exactly where the goods are going – much less where your little brother is – you have more faith in what the lower boss should know. He goes by the Sleeping Bull, you gather.

For one named Sleeping Bull, however, he’s much faster than you had expected.

You can’t tell whether the shadows beneath his eyes are painted or tattooed there. If they’re real, then the Sleeping Bull's got one hell of a sleep schedule. He watches you through half-lidded eyes as he yawns, adjusts the oversized cleaver in his hands, and taps his foot in impatience. Even in the dark you can tell that the Sleeping Bull is planning the best way to butcher you, judging by the way he eyes the wound on your abdomen. Apparently the ruckus you’ve caused during your infiltration has interrupted his nap.

Your offense is a grave one, it seems.

“Do you think you could die a little faster?” he says through yet another yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”

LEVEL TWO -- BEELZEBUB, COOK OF THE HUNGRY BEETLE

The combination of cured meat and seasoning in the ramen is absolutely incredible, as is the addition of a perfectly poached egg. And it’s a chicken egg, of all things! A fresh chicken egg with a runny yolk, set whites, and a hint of soy sauce. You can’t remember the last time you were able to afford such a luxury, much less find it. The pork cutlet is perfectly fried as well. Each crispy bite balances out the nature of the curry it’s been served with. The rice is fluffy, delicate, and nowhere near overcooked. You find yourself nearly moaning with delight with each bite you take.

The cook – you haven’t quite caught his name – only smiles at you over the counter, encouraging you to have more. You did save his beetle-hound, after all. It’s the least he can do.

It’s not like he has any other customers at this time of day, anyway, so you’re free to take your time. While you do find yourself staring at him from time to time, finding his dyed orange hair and face oddly familiar, the thoughts are quickly dismissed by the fresh plate of gyoza that he places in front of you. The cook joins you a few minutes after, takes heaping plates of food for himself, and you ignore the nagging sense of paranoia.

It is only when you are hit with a sudden, overwhelming wave of nausea that you realize something is wrong.

You are barely able to stop yourself from collapsing onto the floor. A white-knuckled hand grips the table as your vision swirls, your stomach turning in on itself. An empty glass shatters onto the wooden floor of the restaurant. The cook only smiles pleasantly at you as you glare at him, demanding to know what he’s done to you. Why has he poisoned you? What would he even gain from doing that?

The cook only laughs. Don’t be silly – of course he hasn’t poisoned you! Only someone unimaginative and boring would do that, and he is neither of those things. The only reason why you’re still alive right now is because you went out of your way to save his beetle-dog. The cook hopes that your last meal was an enjoyable one. You only stare at him in disbelief as he explains that he only wanted to test a new ingredient, nothing more. You just so happened to be the lucky test subject. The first of many to try his new dishes.

The cook – Beelzebub, he introduces himself – asks if you enjoyed eating so many beetle eggs. A gift from The Devil Triad for his service. They’re genetically modified to a rather impressive degree, and they should be hatching right now in your stomach. The larvae are quite famous for their taste for human flesh.

Pain strikes your abdomen, forcing you to double over, and you use the sheath of your katana to keep your body upright. Beelzebub regards it with interest for a moment. Eyes it with curiosity. And then he is pulling a rounded metal container from his pocket, flourishing it before you.

“Let’s play a game,” he offers. “If I kill you, the larvae get to have you as their first meal of the day. If you kill me, you get to have these pills. They’re guaranteed to kill the larvae in no time – if you win, that is.”

You watch in horror as Beelzebub places the container into his mouth, swallows, and shoots you that same pleasant smile. You can already feel the sensation of something crackling and wriggling inside your belly.

LEVEL THREE -- ASMODEUS, KEEPER OF THE PINK SCORPION

You’re sure that the perfume acts as both an aphrodisiac and depressant. It would certainly make sense why all of the employees here have donned some sort of face mask. Masked women and men gyrate against golden poles, scorpion-faced bartenders invite patrons to try a various assortment of poisons, and many more employees work to keep the diffusers filled with perfume. A melange of insensate and intoxicated patrons are scattered throughout the space. Your limbs only grow heavier and heavier as you wander through The Pink Scorpion. The clamor of the crowd becomes distorted. The dim lighting, endless walls, and pink motifs of its animal mascot begin to blend with one another in your vision, and you are nearly rendered unconscious by the perfume.

Thankfully, you have just enough anti-intoxicant patches in your pocket to keep yourself from becoming too inebriated. A slip into the bathroom allows you to replace the patch on your tongue, and your head clears.

And so it is with a mostly unclouded mind that you are approached by a slender, pretty man. He’s one of their best workers, he claims, and it would only be fair for The Pink Scorpion to offer service of the highest quality to its new patrons. You are a new face, after all. Despite your obvious discomfort at the proposition, you had found yourself agreeing. It wouldn’t do any good to act out of line – especially not in a place like this. You’re too noticeable. The Devil Triad has its fingers in every operation here, you’re not sure if you can take on every employee and come out unscathed, and the man before you looks like very pleasant company. Besides, it’s possible that he knows information about The Devil Triad.

He leads you by the hand through pink-tinged halls, up wavering flights of steps, and into a private room. A clap of his hands, and you two are served steaming cups of tea. A single sip nearly burns off the anti-intoxicant patch on your tongue.

Time passes in a strange haze. The man twirls a strand of his blonde hair as he offers you yet another cup of tea, adjusts his bastardization of a kimono to be even more revealing, and shoots you a flirty wink. You dump the drugged tea into a nearby plant when he turns away.

The conversation is light and pleasant. You aren’t exactly lying when you remark that The Pink Scorpion is one of the most highbrow, exquisite establishments you’ve ever seen, despite being a brothel, and the man claps his hands in delight. The Pink Scorpion is his pride and joy, you see. Truly it is the jewel of Neo-Osaka’s underworld. He would hate for a patron to leave with an empty heart or otherwise unsatisfied ...

Just as much as he would hate for an intruder to interrupt their operations.

You roll back from the kotatsu just in time. The wood splinters as the blade of the kusarigama obliterates the table, sending shards flying, and you gasp in pain when a particularly sharp piece of wood strikes you in the shoulder. The anti-intoxicant patch on your tongue can only do so much it seems, judging by the weightiness of your limbs. You wrench the shard out of your shoulder and regard the man through a pink-tinged haze, the edges of your vision starting to blur once more.

The man introduces himself as Asmodeus. Asmodeus, Keeper of The Pink Scorpion. A quick undoing of his sash reveals a number of poison vials beneath his kimono, each one a violent, neon shade of pink. The shoji doors slam shut, and you find yourself coughing as the diffuser in the room begins spewing even more perfume into the space. Asmodeus, as it would seem, is completely immune to its effects.

“You’re pretty cute, you know,” Asmodeus says, shaking his head in disappointment. He readies his kusarigama. “It’s a shame I have to kill you.”

LEVEL FOUR -- SATAN, THE ARCHIVIST

Bookshelves line the walls, books line the shelves, and texts take up nearly every single increment of space possible in the massive library. Not that you’re sure if it can even be considered a library, considering the condition of the place. Most of the books seem to be piled up on one another in a nonsensical fashion, creating mountains against the shelves, and an array of ladders is strewn throughout the place. While you’re not sure where they lead, why they’ve been placed there, or if they’re even functional at all, you do know that someone must be using them. There isn’t enough dust in the library to suggest that it’s been abandoned. Not yet, anyway.

It’s difficult to believe that a place like this exists in the underbelly of Neo-Osaka. It’s even more difficult to believe that the fourth strongest of The Devil Triad spends his time here.

A number of librarians, archivists, and other employees are nestled in corners of the library, hunched over various spreads of literature and manuals. Given that you don’t possess the brand of The Devil Triad, however, convincing one of them to talk to you is nearly impossible. While the library is considered neutral territory, it appears that the triads still have considerable influence over the area and its inhabitants. You spend most of your time being glared at, turned away, and generally ignored – which you should have expected, really.

Thankfully, you manage to catch the attention of a blonde, bookish man. He smiles at you over his rather messy desk, pushes his silver-rimmed spectacles up his nose, and shoves all of his paperwork aside upon hearing the reason of your request. He’d be delighted to help someone in need, he tells you, disregarding the work strewn on the desk before. It isn’t every day that someone travels to the underworld of Neo-Osaka for such a valiant reason.

You follow the man down winding corridors, listening to him prattle at length on one topic or another. He’s more of a librarian than an archivist, he says. He likes his tea with three sugars. Dismemberment and decapitation are some of his most enjoyable methods of murder. The cafe down the street has amazing spinach pies that it serves on the weekends, although he could do without all the extra cream. Staying inside all day doesn’t lend itself to good health, after all.

The bookish man leads you to a massive archive beneath the library and begins searching through the folders. While most of the records are completely useless – in his opinion, that is – there are still a few that he considers worth keeping. The record on the wiles and weaknesses of modified organisms, for example. It is only when you mention off-hand your hatred for The Devil Triad that the bookish man pauses over a pile of folders. He removes his glasses carefully, tucks them somewhere beneath the papers, and smiles at you.

The pain is there before you can even register the impact.

Your body crashes through a number of rickety shelves in the archives, its path only stopped by a concrete pillar. The microbots in your blood work to repair your cracked ribs as soon as possible, mending the injuries as you force yourself to stand, and you blink away the dust to see the bookish man walking towards you.

His expression speaks only of wrath.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he growls, his face already half-formed into that of a devil. The green blaze and exposed pitch-black teeth click together as he speaks, the flesh burning away, and you watch with horror as he tears off more of his pseudo-skin. The inorganic strands of his hands flex and rearrange themselves into claws. “I’m impressed you managed to take out the others, but I promise you won’t achieve the same result here. They call me Satan the Archivist -- but I prefer being called Satan the Librarian. I’m more of a librarian than an archivist, really.”

He’s a cybernetic organism, you realize. There’s no way a human would have been able to survive so many body modifications.

“NOW LISTEN AND LISTEN WELL, HUMAN!” he roars, his voice distorting with the metamorphosis. YOUR INSOLENCE IN THE FACE OF THE DEVIL TRIAD ENDS HERE! YOUR NEXT AND LAST OPPONENT IS ME!”

LEVEL FIVE – LEVIATHAN, THE DOCKMASTER

Your lungs burn. Seawater fills your nostrils and throat as you are helplessly dragged into the black sea, your screams disappearing underneath the surface of the water. You struggle desperately, giving the leviathan-like monster a few choice kicks with the heel of your boot, but it’s no use. Its teeth have latched too deep into the flesh of your thigh. While your microbots can work fast enough to repair the wound, they’ll be of no use to you if you drown. Your eyes sting as you gaze upon the moon through the dark water, its image distancing itself further and further away. This may very well be the last time you see it.

And then it is gone. A lurch nearly knocks you unconscious.

Admittedly, you had been a little too confident. The dockmaster had been alone, strangely, and you had foolishly thought that it would be the perfect opportunity to corner one of The Devil Triad’s members. The devil-shaped brand on his neck had given him away. The only witness of his planned interrogation and murder would be the moon above, you had concluded. It would be too easy for you to take him out. A short distance closer, and you would have been able to subdue him. A moment earlier, and you would have been able drag him away from the docks, force him into one of the storage containers, and torture him until he told you everything you needed to know.

But how the hell were you supposed to expect a massive, monstrous sea serpent to bite into your leg? How the hell were you supposed to expect your night to end with you being dragged screaming into the sea?

A wave of nausea strikes you. Your body crashes through the surface of the water and is deposited roughly onto something solid. A smooth, solid stone. The salt still burns your eyes and nose. You collapse against the stone as you hack up seawater, your lungs grateful for the air. It takes a moment for you to realize that you have miraculously held onto the sheath of your katana.

It takes another moment to notice that you have been thrown into a sea cave.

The surface of the water breaks once more. The dockmaster emerges from the black water and steps onto the smooth stone before you. A flick of his hand, and a portion of seawater rises to attend to him. You watch as the sea forms itself into several pole arms, each one sharper than the last. The dockmaster peruses his options for a moment – and then he takes one of them into his hands, brandishes it, and regards you with irritation.

“Surprised?” he asks. “You’re not the only one who has microbots.”

Moonlight spills into the cave from above. The dockmaster steps into its embrace, still holding his weapon before him, and allows the light to catch onto his form.

Thousands of microbots have been embedded into the dockmaster’s skin, much like scales. The result of what must have been an extremely painful and risky operation. His eyes are double-lidded, allowing him to easily blink away the seawater. His hands – no, all four of his limbs have been modified beyond belief. You’re not sure if they’re even really his. You can’t imagine what could have made him stupid enough to force his body through so many procedures.

Then again, you think to yourself, it’s possible that he did it out of desperation. Only the strong survive in the underbelly of Neo-Osaka.

It is rare for one to be born with psychokinesis. It is even rarer for one to be born with psychokinesis that is strong enough to use in combat. While many undergo horrific, painful procedures in an attempt to enhance their abilities or even give one psychokinesis, the operations typically lead to the death of the subject. The ones that are lucky to survive are often crippled for life or rendered a vegetable.

This man must have had a hell of a reason to undergo such a risky operation.

“I’m not really sure why you’ve been killing us, but that isn’t really my business. An enemy of The Devil Triad is an enemy of mine.” The dockmaster levels his weapon at you. “I’ll feed whatever’s left of your body to Lotan once I’m done with you.”

LEVEL SIX – MAMMON, HEAD OF THE TREASURY

Despite the carnage – and there is plenty of that, considering the goons you’ve slaughtered on your way in – you can’t help but admire your surroundings. The walls are plastered with gold brocade, each golden strand woven skillfully into the material, and the endless corridors are furnished with priceless works of art. You almost feel guilty for tarnishing them with blood. Windows composed of stained glass stretch to lofty ceilings. Carved statues of crows greet you at every turn, their marble beaks and wings poised in warning. You pass by countless mahogany doors, each emblazoned with the insignia of The Devil Triad, and kick down just as many to interrogate the inhabitants within.

Much to your disappointment, however, it seems that even the threat of death isn’t enough to make them speak.

You pause in front of a particularly massive portrait . The frame of the portrait seems to have been cast from pure gold and embedded with precious stones, which is shocking enough – but it is the painted image that truly captures your attention. The man depicted within is surrounded with pelts of exotic animals. His fingers bear multiple rings on each digit, his ears bear piercings in the shape of crows and ravens, and the material of his suit suggests that it has been made from augment-weave. The man’s hair is so bleached that it appears white. His smile portrays a damning cockiness.

It is the very image of decadence and greed.

You travel into the highest reaches of the treasury. The guards are no match for you, of course. You behead one of them before they can even speak. One well-placed kick to the most exorbitant, elaborate door you’ve ever seen, and you stroll into a massive office.

A man – the very same man you had seen in the painting, you recognize – sits at the desk, swirling brandy in a glass. Mammon, the head of The Devil Triad’s treasury. He regards you with interest as you pass the threshold. Despite your bloody, battered state, you level your katana at him and demand to know the location of The Devil Triad’s main operations. They’ve taken the little brother you’ve cared for all your life, and you intend to get him back.

The treasurer sighs. “Hasty, aren’t ya?” he remarks, taking a sip out of his glass. “Least you can do is let me finish. Vintage stuff like this is pretty hard to come by in Neo-Osaka, ya know.”

Your katana knocks the glass from his hands. It shatters against the polished floor. He shouldn’t fuck with you, you recommend. You’ve fought too hard and suffered too much to be played with now. If he would be so kind as to tell you what you want to know, then you might let him --

A shot rings out. Your forearm burns as the bullet tears through it, searing through a bit of your clothing, and you are just barely able to dodge the second shot. You look up to see a very, very pissed off treasurer before you, one of his fancy shoes propped up onto the desk. His augment-weave suit rumples with the movement.

Except he isn’t looking at you. The treasurer, you realize, is staring at a stain from the brandy on his augment-weave suit. A stain that is entirely your fault. When he whirls around to look at you again, his expression only speaks of ire and hatred. Apparently the slaughtering of his underlings means nothing compared to his tailored suit.

“Thought you could pull a fast one on me, didn’t ya?” he barks. His multiple sets of rings click together as he reaches under the table. “Well, ya got another thing coming!”

Every crow statue in the massive office orients itself towards you, their beaks opening to reveal firearms within. Countless lights make themselves known against your body. The treasurer scowls as he grabs a golden plasma rifle from beneath his desk, powers it up, and hefts it over his shoulder. Aims it right at your head. The glare he shoots you nearly burns through his orange sunglasses.

“Come on, then!” the treasurer snarls. “I’ll show ya the power money can buy!”

LEVEL SEVEN – LUCIFER, THE RIGHT-HAND MAN

Something is wrong here. You’re all too aware of the emptiness of the compound. The corridors are unlit. No shadows linger behind the shoji doors and walls. There is only an eerie silence. You pass by gardens of stone and running water, arched bridges, and well-tended flowerbeds. You pass by dark alcoves, monochromatic passageways, and fragrant incense. Your eyes flicker to and fro as you explore the compound, expecting some enemy to come rushing at you from the darkness, but your efforts are wasted. You are alone.

For a while, that is.

A man in traditional garb kneels in the middle of a massive, otherwise empty washitsu. A sword sits at his side. Moonlight spills into the space as you open the door and pass the threshold. The man doesn’t flinch when you address him, nor does he bother to respond when you press him for information. The sound of your unsheathing katana doesn’t seem to faze him either, which infuriates you, and then you are pressing the tip of your weapon to the nape of his neck. You demand to know where your brother is.

The movement is too quick for your eyes to catch. You curse as you stagger backwards, clutching your abdomen in pain. The image of him before you blurs, despite the sufficient amount of light in the room, and your body sways unsteadily.

And then you realize exactly what the man has done to you.

Despite the brevity of the man’s attack, his blade has somehow made its way through a majority of your torso, disemboweling you. You watch in horror as your clothing blooms with the excessive blood. As your organs threaten to leave the cavity of your abdomen. As hands fail to keep most of your intestines in the right place. The man only looks at you with disdain as you fall to your knees, gasping in pain. The sensation burns like a fire through your veins, white-hot and excruciating, and for a few moments you see nothing but patches of shadow. For a few moments you waver in and out of consciousness.

But you won’t die. Not here, and certainly not now.

You slam your blade into the ground and force yourself back onto your feet. The microbots in your blood work to knit your flesh back together, reattaching your organs and skin back into the right places. With one trembling arm, you level your katana at him once more. A challenge.

“So it’s true,” the man muses, flicking his blade. Your blood splatters against the tatami. “I didn’t quite believe the rumors. Congratulations on surviving my first attack.”

You tell him quite thoroughly just how much of a fucking bastard he is.

Much to your surprise, however, the man bows towards you. He introduces himself as Lucifer, the right-hand man of The Devil Triad’s boss, and politely informs you that he has been sent to eliminate you. You bested the others because they were weak and relied on modifications, he explains with a disdainful tone. You bested the others because they were overconfident in their altered physiology. The others saw your modification as common and therefore useless, unlike theirs, and so you had used that to your advantage. It was only the factor of their underestimation that led to their defeat.

He, on the other hand, needs no such things. Altered physiology is nothing to the training and discipline that only a pure human can master.

Lucifer readies his blade. “I look forward to witnessing your skill.”

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years

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Moonshine, shotguns, buried cash: Bruce Campbell on 'The Evil Dead' in East Tennessee.

There are plenty of structurally sound homes scattered throughout East Tennessee's woods for tourists to enjoy, yet some prefer to visit the ruins of a Morristown cabin. Of course, it's the only cabin in the state once surrounded by demonizing trees and where zombies could be found locked in the cellar. A handful of circumstances led a Michigan film crew to East Tennessee in the late '70s to film the low-budget movie "The Evil Dead." More than 40 years later, the film is till very much alive in horror-enthusiast circles, with a special virtual screening scheduled for Jan. 23. The screening will include behind-the-scenes commentary from producer and actor Bruce Campbell, who recently spoke with Knox News about his time in East Tennessee and what's next for the "Evil Dead" franchise.

Check out our conversation with Campbell and visit bit.ly/WatchwithBruce to purchase tickets, starting at $25.

How'd you end up in East Tennessee?

The crew planned to shoot the film in Michigan, but as delays got longer and the weather got colder, the thought of shooting outdoors in the North sounded less appealing.

"There were plenty of isolated cabins in Michigan that would have done the trick, but we went south," Campbell told Knox News.

The crew connected with folks from Tennessee's film commission, who then connected them with a local to drive them around.

"And we checked out half a dozen different possible places and finally found this creepy-ass place outside of Morristown," Campbell said.

He visited the cabin a few years back, although there's not much left of it.

"But it's private property, you know — 'Stay the hell off,'" Campbell said. "The usual deal (in) Tennessee: Shoot first, ask questions later. I never encourage people to go see it because part of the placed burned down in the '80s, but part of the fireplace still exists."

That hasn't stopped people from showing up at conventions with bricks to show Campbell, as the site has become a tourist destination of sorts.

Was the cabin as scary as it looks?

Fans of "The Evil Dead" might be surprised to learn the cabin was more scary than it appeared on screen.

"It had no power," Campbell said. "It had cow s--- on the floor. We had to knock doors and ceilings out and stuff. There was a lot of work to do. The locals showed up after a thunderstorm and said, 'Hey, have you seen Clara?'"

The story goes that people were once killed in the cabin during a storm, but Clara ran off.

Clara was rumored to come back to the cabin during storms and would have been an old lady at the time of filming "The Evil Dead."

"And so we were waited to see with bated breath if anyone caught out of the corner of their eyes some old woman crawling through the underbrush whose name happened to be Clara," Campbell said.

What was your experience in East TN?

Coming to East Tennessee in 1979 was a "fascinating cultural experience," Campbell said.

"It was all new," he said. "In 1979 you knew Tennessee was not Michigan. ... It changed in Kentucky, and we drove down."

Being that Campbell was a producer, he went to a bank to take out $10,000 in cash that he recalls smelling like dirt. He asked the woman at the bank if he was imagining the smell.

"Oh yeah, people still bury it in their back yard," he recalls her saying.

The crew tried their first moonshine in Tennessee, which they acquired along with marijuana from a local.

"We learned a lot about moonshine," Campbell said. "Too much. Too much."

Why did you decide on horror?

Campbell's early "Super 8" movies were slapstick style — "very 'Jackass'-like," he said.

But that changed after "The Evil Dead" director Sam Raimi, Campbell's high school friend, went off to college.

"He was sort of studying humanities or something and studied like the Sumerian book of the dead," Campbell said. "And that kind of caught his attention."

They knew they wanted to get into the movie industry after high school; they just didn't know what kind of movie to make.

"We sort of thought horror would be pretty safe," he said. "It's cheap, you don't have to have name actors, you can use regular street clothes and cars. Nothing had to be glitzy or fancy. If we did a comedy, you'd have to have John Candy or somebody. But, in this case, you were off the hook. Horror was very forgiving."

Raimi was interested in the subject matter, Campbell said. Once "The Evil Dead" story was selected, he was all in.

"We also thought no holds barred," Campbell said. "This movie is potentially unrated. Let's not pull any punches."

What were some low-budget tricks?

Being that the film was low budget, Campbell said, there were some tricks the crew used to make shots work.

"Every hour of every day on that shoot we were faking it," he said.

The moonshine they couldn't drink went onto the fire just before cameras rolled to make the flames roar.

"So we learned how to do that real cheaply," he said. "We learned to just use a real shotgun with real ammunition. That was just the easiest way to do it. ... The shadow passes over the window, you turn and you blow the window out with the shotgun just standing right there — no safety glasses, no earmuffs, no nothing.

"So simpler times, but stupider times. Hell yeah."

How do you illustrate fear on camera?

Illustrating fear on camera is just like illustrating any other emotion: You fake it, Campbell said.

He remembers someone at a Q&A criticizing his "Evil Dead" performance for being over-the-top.

"Sir, excuse me," Campbell recalls saying. "Can you verify sitting in that chair right now how you would react if your (girlfriend's) eyes turned white and she flew up into the air and got possessed and tried to rip your throat out? Would you react like Clint Eastwood? I would scream like a girl."

Campbell said his performances are "protected" by the fact no one knows how they actually would react. And while many modern films require even more faking, due to computer technology replacing sets, "The Evil Dead" had an advantage.

"You don't see anything anymore," Campbell said. "At least with the first 'Evil Dead,' you're in a real cabin in the middle of nowhere in the Deep South in 1979. I mean, it was weird as --- already.

"So, the nice little edge that 'Evil Dead' gets is it's a little docu-horror once you get deeper into the shoot and we all get a little crazier."

Why have you stuck with the franchise?

One of the reasons Campbell continues to be a part of the franchise is his love for his Ash character.

"He has no skills," he said. "In this case, the guy who saves the world from evil multiple times is — by the time he gets to the TV show, he's doing mescaline, he's drinking his ass off, he smokes reefer constantly. This is my kind of hero."

What will the screening be like?

The virtual watch party and live commentary will be different than what some fans are used to. Campbell will have the ability to stop and start the movie to share his thoughts.

"My problem with commentary always in the past is you see something that triggers it — a stunt or a punch in the face — and you tell about what happened," he said. "But then, you tell that story and you look back and you missed three other stories you could have told if that film hadn't just rolled along."

What's it like to watch yourself?

When asked what it's like to watch a young version of himself on screen, Campbell explained how being an actor is a double-edged sword. On one hand, every bad photo taken of Campbell is out there for the world to see.

"But then your best work is documented," he said. "That's what's awesome. Because a lot of guys go, 'I remember back in the day the chicks thought I was hot.' And most people are like, 'Yeah, yeah — sure pal.' At least I can suggest a couple of movies that I go, 'Well, this is me when I could do s---.'"

What's next for 'Evil Dead'?

Campbell said he's planning to shoot the next "Evil Dead" movie in New Zealand later this year. The film will be set in a modern-day urban setting.

While he couldn't share much about the film, he did emphasize that "it's out of the woods."

"That's the best thing to say," he said.

Campbell also has a film called "Black Friday," in which he plays a manager at a toy store invaded by aliens on Black Friday. Campbell said he's interested in doing a drive-in tour and that it would make "a whole lot of sense" to show 'The Evil Dead' somewhere near Knoxville.

"Maybe I'll see you there in East Tennessee with this new movie," he said.

What are the challenges of COVID-19?

Campbell filmed during the COVID-19 pandemic in December, even though he had no clue what to expect.

"The whole crew looks like Darth Vader," Campbell said. "In proximity, you have to go beyond the mask. You have to put the shield too. The good news is Tom Cruise would shout at us, of course, if we had any problems with COVID."

In all seriousness, he said. the industry has been doing a good job taking precautions making sure work can be completed safely.

"Everything's more complicated, but it can still be done," he said.

#Bruce Campbell #The Evil Dead #Evil Dead

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Saturday 26 May 1838

12 ¼

fine morning F61 ½° at 8 ½ am A- went to the cathedral about 8 or after to sketch the interior and returned at 9 35 – I sat writing till 10 – then breakfast – changed our room – from the small one to the next adjoining a large very good room and breakfasting and moving our things till 12 – our garçon Paul Voisin a nice civil good countenanced unmarried aetatis 31 man from Lyons – does not like here – would be glad to be in a private house again – would be glad to go with us – lived 15 years with la marquise de Montague – was then in the army – then not getting a good place at Lyons came to Paris and from there here – in bed at 12 or 2 and up at 4 – so hard a place, nobody could stay long – he makes 800fr. a year – but would rather have less in a different place – had 350 fr. a year with the marquise de M- and livery – she lived in the r. de la université, but is not now in Paris – lives in the country – A- and I out at 12 35 – took a commissionaire to shew us the way, and then sent him home – Mr. Mumm or somebody, a very civil young man, protestant it seemed, and speaking English very fairly – a German shewed us over the cellars, and afterwards shewed us into a large good salon, and gave us champagne and biscuits – the wine Mousseux and very fair but not so good as Moets’ of Epernay in 1833. should I have as good of Moet at 3/. a bottle? ordered a dozen of his 1ere qualité at 4/50 per bottle to be sent off on Monday and would be in Paris on Tuesday or Wednesday to my address rue St. Victor n° 27 à Paris – thought we might get this dozen over to England for Lady Stuart – en petite cadeau – about an hour at the cellars (at Mr. Mumms’) underground and above – 3 stories of cellars to the depth of 36 to 40 ft. ventilated by grates communicating from the bottom cellar to the top – each story divided into separate vaults perhaps the loftiest 7 or 8ft. high in the centre – perhaps 4 or 5 yards wide and 20+ long – in the lowest story 3 men corking – one filling up the bottles – another putting in the cork, and driving it down with a machine (has only had it about 15 months) on the principle of a corn or button-stamping machine, and the 3rd man tying down the corks, (the tightness gained by a small steel thing round which the string is turned and held fast while the other end is pulled tight) – It is not long since everybody left off gaudon (rosin) and covered the corks with lead-paper – a great improvement

Monday 28 May 1838. no good wine in champagne says our landlord of the Ecu at Epernay since the year 1834.

asked for champagne tranquille – cannot have it now – not till next year – not ripe enough now – that of 1834 will not be ripe till next year – taken with the double-incline clearing racks the bottles ranged in an angle = about 25°? require turning twice a day for 2 or 3 weeks till all the sediment has sunk down to the cork – then the cork taken out (a difficult operation saw it done) and with the cork out gushes the sediment in the froth that escapes and the bottle being refilled is immediately re-corked – vintage in October – wine remains in cash till April May or June – about 6 months – Mr. Mumm has no vineyards of his own – buys the grapes – shewed us his great ton = 19,000 bottles = 70 such casks as we saw lying about – sends wine to America in boxes containing 12 bottles and 50 ditto has a house in London, Francfort and Cologne – Inquired respecting the ventilation of cellars – he said wine should have good pure air – Madeira should be kept warm and may do without air, but good air cannot do it any harm if the temperature be attended to – the breakage of champagne = 50p.c. the time of year now coming on – best to order champagne for a years’ consumption – should not be kept too long – he owned that the Bordeaux wines (Claret) for the English market were mixed with hermitage and brandy – on leaving Mr. Mumms’ at 1 55 sauntered in the little Jardin des Plantes – nothing particular in it – 2 or 3 little serres, not much in them – then to the Cours the very nice shaded promenades – then Champs Elysées of Rheims – very pretty cool and pleasant (hot and very fine sun today) sat there writing in pencil in my rough note book all the above of today till now 2 ¾ - and then to the cemetery close by – i.e. close by the Porte de Mars leading to Flanders (the gate by which we entered yesterday) and the ‘Mission’ i.e. croix de la mission erected in 1825, and now turned to a monument to the memory of the brave who died fighting for the liberty of France (viz. the revolutions of the 3 days of July 1830) – sometime in the cemetery spite of boiling sun – among the tombeaux and epitaphs one of the latter by a father to the memory of his daughter, Marie Antoniette Sophie l’Inglois decêdée Thursday 5 December 1822 dans sa 21me année – after 10 foregoing lines ends thus

‘ô mon chere enfant, attends en paix

ce père malheureux ! attends-le sous cette terre

Qui d’après un homme religieux et sensible,

‘n’est que la cendre des morts pétrie avec les larmes

de vivans’ pretty idea

not aware at this moment that the ancien porte de Mars (arc de triomphe of the Romans) was so near

from the cemetery thro’ the streets and marché to the palais archiépiscopale

the archbishop M. le cardinal de Couci set off to Paris a day or 2 before the outburst of the revolution of July 1830, and has never been here since – at Goritz with the ex-royal family – the bishop of Numidie does the duties of the archbishop – the archbishop much regretted – a very good man – did a great deal of good –the palais worth seeing the grande salle surrounded by the pictures of the king crowned here from Clavis downwards very handsome – pity that damp is spoiling some of the pictures e.g. Louis XVI. at the end of the salle – Charles X. taken away – the picture still in the palais but his place in the salle vacant, and several fleurs de lis here and there defaced – (as also the fleurs de lis on the shield of Louis 15 in the Place royale – how puerile!) – the grande salle 130x36 pieds and height = about 36 pieds up to the square – ceiling domed – large poutres (beams) across the room partly gilt with 2 rings in each beam towards the side of the room for suspending 2 chandeliers – 4 windows on each side the great entrance door by flight of steps from without – 4 doors on the opposite side of the room – the great fire-place at the end of the room and over it St. Remy crowning Clovis – shewn into what Charles x intended turning into the chapel – the painted glass windows put in – but all stopt by the revolution – this place was the palais de justice after the revolution of 1789 and 3 stories of prisonniers were in this very spot – the duke of Orelans was lately at our hotel (the Lyon d’or) but did not see the Palace – no! said I, he is still a Bourbon, and the sight could not be agreeable – from here went home at 4 ½ for A- to have wine and biscuit and then out again at 4 52 and off to the church of St. Remy – a 20 minutes walk and there at 5 ¼ - under repair – expected to be done in 2 years from this time – very curious old church – the whole of the nave boarded off – had been new roofed and now full of workmen – 2 stories of double aisle round the apsis and choir and a narrow gallery above the upper story immediately under the painted windows – do not remember to have seen this sort of 2 storied double-aisle – went up to the upper story – same dimensions apparently even as high as the story below – the vitreaux – (painted glass) – very ancient – date not known – supposed to be as old as the church – evidently very ancient – all the ceilings of aisles and choir stone-work plastered and painted in imitation of brick-work – the new vaulting (new roof of the nave) done in wood – the old stone roof too heavy on the walls – the 2 stories of double aisle run all round the nave too – see as we return, that the new roof is not quite so steep as the old one – as seen from the old walls of the town the eves are all in one line but the ridge of the old roof of the choir is about 3ft. higher than the ridge of the new roof of the nave – just peeped into the nave after having seen the high altar and chasse containing the relies of St. Remy – the chasse of solid silver before the revolution of 1789 – now of cuivre argenté – the relies exposed to the faithful

SH:7/ML/E/21/0110

for 9 days in October every year – the figures round the high altar not finished sculptured at the back because stood originally against a wall – done under the orders of a cardinal of Lorraine 300 or 400 years ago – interesting as representing in marble statues the 6 ecclesiastical and 6 lay paises de France and their officers who assisted at the sacres (coronations) of the kings of France – looking towards the altar

the left

‘Duke de Bourgogne’ holding the crown

D. de Normandie – a standard

D. de Aquitaine – a standard

Comte ‘de champagne’ – a standard

C. de Flandre – the sword

C. de Toulouse – the spurs

the right

archduke de Rheims holding sa croix

Ev. duke de Laon – a crosier et l’ampoule

Ev. d. de Langres – a crosier et containing the oil and sceptre

Ev. comte de Beauvais – a crosier

Ev. c. de Chalons – a crosier and the ring

Ev. c. de Noyon – a crosier et la selle the kings’s saddle

immediately at the back of the altar in the space between the last Evêque and last court is a St. Remy seated in his archiepiscopal robes and mitre teaching Clovis kneeling at his feel and a Diacre or assistant holding the cosier and an open book – Left the church (much interested) at 6 20 – sauntered back along the boulevard very lately planted with young elms – cart road in the middle and 2 allées (promenades) (old rampart) the Vesle river running close along its foot on the other side the old wall – on our right towards the town, great deal of garden ground – pépinières and sale vegetable gardens – delighted with our walk back – nowhere such good views of the exterior of the cathedral – too short – too lumping as a whole – wants the lantern tower the lengthiness of York minster, and its freedom from flying buttresses at the east end which look like steps to graduate the high roof gently down to the ground – the effect of this is bad – as if the building could not support its height at that end – never travel without a view of York minster – take it all in all, has it an equal in the world? when very near our hotel at 7 the light so beautiful on the cathedral turned into a courtyard for a better view – the gentleman of the house civilly asked us in and the wife shewed us in the garden – she said the effect would be still better in about an hour – she regretted the great numeros of pigeons jackdaws, crows etc that inhabited the exterior of the building – to us these birds give life to the scene and improve the picturesque – she said the crows assembled on the wire all along the ridge of the roof so as sometimes to form an almost continuous line from end to end, and all regularly flew away to les champs at 9pm – as good as a clock for 9pm we inquired about Mr. Mumm as to the street in which he lived – she did not know the name – supposed we had seen the cellars of Mr. Muller or Mr. Roeder (a German we said he spoke English well and was a protestant) – asked who was really the most renommé négociant en vins in Reims – Madame Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin- I said the town was full of dyers – yes! but only 6 or 7 great dyers in the town – It turned out her husband was a dyer and also a wine merchant – she said we ought to see les filatures en laine (woollen spinning mills) – it seems they have power looms here – she says trade has been very bad, but is now reviving or revived and pretty goof again – Had ordered dinner at 7 – not in till 7 ½ - dinner immediately but the lateness an excuse for a bad dinner – no épinards – nothing left – I sent for one mutton cutlet for I had literally nothing but cold fish not eating the bit of beef or the little redone overdone poulet or asparagus – sat over dinner and dessert till 10 – then wrote till 11 – very fine day – F67° at 11 pm

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 24)

25 part AU written for @cssns. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone. So as you can probably imagine, this chapter is going to be A LOT It’s double the length of a normal chapter because the midpoint was too high stress for me to leave you all on. It’s going to be high emotions and very unstable. That being said, I totally understand if some of you just want to skip it all together. Keep in mind if you do, you will be missing the final show down with George and a lot of final puzzle pieces many of you have been trying to piece together. I promise you I will leave the chapter in a stable place AND I have an extremely fluffy chapter planned for the final installment of this fic. That being said, I hope you’ll all forgive me for the angst, and happy reading!

“So what exactly do you think George has in store for us?”

After a few hours of being holed up in the car together, headed north to face her father’s Uncle, the question from Killian was direct and precise. But there was a reason it had taken hours for anyone to ask. The truth was something strange and unnerving. Without having every detail, they all knew that this was a dangerous man with an unstable mind. George Nolan’s reputation preceded him and his craven desire to do harm was undeniable. Still there was so much they didn’t understand. The only one with first-hand knowledge was her Dad, and every time she looked to him for answers, he appeared grim and stony. To see her father’s light dim, to see his kindness cool, was completely foreign to Emma, and it made her hands tremble slightly with anxious anticipation.

“It’s not going to be easy to get to him when we arrive at this ranch,” Emma’s father said, continuing to discuss the task before them just as he had for the last four plus hours. “My Uncle has never fought in any human war, but his life has been one long series of battles. The stuff he’ll have lined up will be straight from the textbooks.”

“They’ve got textbooks on shifter hunting then?” Liam asked with a tone of feigned amusement that was largely laced in sarcasm. “Well look at that. Learn something new every day.”

“Kidding aside, surely George is more sophisticated than that. He must have some sorts of surprises in store,” Killian offered.

“Oh plenty,” David agreed. “I know many of his habits, his tendencies and quirks, but it’s been thirty years since I left home, and there’s no doubt he’ll have more up his sleeve by now.”

Emma continued to listen to the others discuss, but eventually their voices started to fade. The words became less recognizable, and more a continued thrum of energy in the back of her mind. This mental distance was a defense mechanism, a means of shielding herself until the last possible moment. If she allowed her mind to linger in the what-ifs she’d go crazy. Instead, she leaned her head against the window, her temple feeling the coolness of the glass as her eyes stayed trained out, taking in their surroundings.

As the others shifted their conversation from trap types and weaponry to debate about what the best routes in and out of this park reserve might be, Emma thought back to a time before all of this chaotic uncertainty. Her eyes cast out towards the northern woods, with mammoth pine trees filling in the forests all around them. The world was green and bright. The feel of summer was thick still, and the world, though sluggish from the heat, was very much alive. The further from home they drove, the more altered the land looked. Flat coastal spaces ranged from rolling hills to jagged cliffs. Terrain was denser with brush and canopies. Heck, they’d literally left the country and were now in a totally new place, but Emma didn’t think of that, or even really see the sights before her. Instead she recalled what things used to be like, before she met her soulmate, and before everything went completely off the rails.

Emma’s life in Storybrooke was quiet and subdued for so many years. She had her work, and her friends, and her family. Every day was different, but it was also just the same. The spice of her life came from being a vet, where she might encounter varying pets and animals with a whole host of ailments and injuries, but the ebb and flow of life was rather monotonous. Nothing really strayed from ordinary, and after everything that they’d gone through when Neal was sick, Emma was grateful for that. She lived in a little pond with the fish she’d always known, happy that the big and scary waves of their past seemed to be behind them. Things were small and seemingly unimportant in their little corner of the world, but as safe as she’d felt, and as untouchable as being in Storybrooke once used to seem, it wasn’t all that she truly wanted. Where she had consistency and companionship, Emma was missing passion. She was missing that all-consuming love that comes when meeting one’s perfect match, and in more ways than one, she was missing key insights into who she really was. Pieces of her had been, for lack of a better word, hibernating, and now they were awakened, never to be suppressed or forgotten again.

But so far, these beautiful pieces had come with a tainted set of conditions. She met Killian, igniting a spark that had fanned into unquenchable flames. She fell in love with him, opened her heart to him, and started to believe that a life with real love was something she was meant to be a part of, but then she realized he had secrets and a past still left to face. She learned the truth about shifters, and her family’s place in that world. It was confusing but amazing all at once, yet with that incredible truth came a good amount of fear. There was so much left unknown, and things that could hurt them down the line. Bonding together had made Emma and Killian so much more secure in themselves and in each other. She was meant to be Killian’s fated mate, and he was meant to be hers, and Emma would never ever regret that. But saying yes to each other and taking that step brought the threat of Liam and whatever darkness may consume him. Of course, Killian’s brother was no longer a danger to them, but only a few weeks ago they’d felt differently. Before they saw Liam and understood his intentions and his destined ties to Elsa, he was looming menace that Killian had run from for years. His sickness had eroded critical human parts of Liam Jones, and though Elsa had cured him, nothing could take back the panic, the angst, and the worry they’d all expended in the days and weeks leading up to his return.

When they realized Liam wasn’t truly the enemy, there was celebration and reason for joy. Killian had his brother back, and Elsa too was blessed enough to have a mate. But in a matter of days Emma was forced to face down the risks of fully embracing who she was. The tying together of Elsa and Liam was a gift, but it also thrust Emma into more action than she knew what to do with. In a move that completely defied her past human understanding, Elsa used magic to help Emma merge her souls on some kind of spiritual, other-worldly journey. She’d met Killian’s dead mother in another unknown plane of existence, embraced her inner wolf, all while dying for just a few moments. That was crazy, and obviously something Emma should have had more time to prepare for and come to terms with, but she survived, and after the dust settled from such a stressful moment, she thought things were truly okay. They’d made it through, they’d braved their trials. This was surely enough to merit a good old fashioned happily ever after, but no. Things were nowhere near through. Her long-lost, time-ignored grandmother returned, freed from a magical coma that had robbed her of an entire lifetime with her children and grandchildren. Her brother was approached by a mad man and his safety was thrown into jeopardy. Her town was attacked by a genetically modified monster shifter. And if all that weren’t bad enough, they had not one, but two genuinely evil men hell bent on destroying them. Bad intentions surrounded Emma and the people that she loved, aimed at snuffing out her happiness and their lives, and for all of this she was yet again knocking on the door of danger and bracing for another spat with life and death.

I just want this all to be over. I’ll do whatever it takes, as long as we can go back to something even remotely like normal.

The thought whispered in her mind, but it spoke her deepest truth. All she wanted was for this to be finished. Emma wanted to rid them all of any monsters that were lurking in one final stand, and then she wanted to get to living. She wanted to get married, even though she and Killian were forever bonded already. She wanted a special day just about them and their love and their future. She might not have the determination and unyielding vision of her mother when it came to planning this wedding, but Emma craved a feeling, the sheer happiness that must come when she and Killian would say ‘I do’ for real this time. At the same time, Emma wanted to make her and Killian’s new house a home, and to prepare for the baby who she would hold close very soon. She wanted lazy mornings and sunset walks. She wanted beach days and trail hikes and running in the woods. She wanted days where she and Killian did absolutely nothing except spend time together, and she wanted to know peace again in a way she hadn’t had in what felt like far too long.

“I love you, Emma.”

The whispered words that came from beside her made Emma turn to her mate, and the look of calm and fidelity in his gaze helped Emma breathe easier. She hadn’t realized her agitation was carrying over from her mind, but as Killian pressed a soft kiss to her lips, she felt warmed through. The shadows she was grappling with and the what-ifs that would ultimately do nothing but cause more stress retreated again. For a moment it was just the two of them, and she smiled at him, raising her hand to cup his cheek as she looked into his eyes. God did she love this man. He was so right for her, so good to her. She couldn’t imagine anyone else she’d ever want by her side for a moment like this, and though she hated that they had to be here, she was grateful for their bond now more than ever. In all honesty she was thankful for everything they’d been through, huge and daunting and exhausting as it was. For ultimately they were stronger for their trials, and they had used each obstacle and hardship as a chance to grow together instead of fall apart.

“You let the light in,” she said, her words still soft and spoken only for them. She watched as his eyes lit up with both enjoyment and surprise, and it made her heart clutch in her chest that even after everything he might not know how much he meant to her. “You make me feel like this will be okay, even when hope is scarce. I don’t know how I’d handle any of this without you.”

“You’d find a way,” Killian answered immediately, pulling her closer into his embrace. “But there’s no need. I’m not going anywhere, love. Not now, not ever.”

Emma promised the same back to him, and she allowed that promise to fill her with faith as the final stretch of the drive came and went. Soon enough they were passing into the territory of the mountain lions that had contacted her Uncle, and only a slight ways on they came to the sprawling lands of the long abandoned ranch where George and the shifters were expected to be.

“Taking the car any further will alert nearby shifters or your Uncle of our presence,” Killian said to her father. “We might already have been noticed, but reports from the other clans said this area had largely been avoided by the sick shifters.”

“How far out are we from the cabin still?” Anna asked.

“A little more than a mile. There’s a road that would take us all the way there…”

“But the chances George has lined that with explosives or traps is almost guaranteed,” Emma finished. Killian nodded and her father did the same.

“As it is, we need to all be on high alert. This area might be largely vacant because traps have already been laid here and the shifters can sense it.”

“I don’t think that’s why actually,” Anna said, looking to the tree line. Emma mirrored her movement, but there was nothing there, at least nothing she could see.

“Do you feel something?” Liam asked.

“I’m not sure, but you see that path? The grass is browning there, but everything else is perfectly green.”

“What would do that?” Emma asked, but Anna was already moving. Gently she reached her hand out, a swirl of her magic touching the dying blades and when it did a tint of red blipped into existence before puttering out.

“Gold.”

“He’s here too?” Liam questioned but Anna shook her head.

“Doubtful. This magic is fading, and see the way the blades are bent, they’re heading out not in.”

“But he was here,” David concluded. Anna nodded.

“Definitely. So it would make sense that no one has sensed any shifters. Gold has likely infused his magic in their sickness. Realistically he included a fail-safe to keep any of them from attacking him. They’re probably compelled to avoid him unless he summons them.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Killian asked and Anna shrugged.

“Only one way to find out I guess.”

With that they all moved through the forest, careful to stay near Gold’s chosen route without actually setting foot on it. They monitored the area around them for pitfalls and unforeseen complications, but aside from some old and rusted out traps of times gone by, the area was clean. They moved closer and closer to where the cabin was said to be located, but ultimately decided it would be better to take down as many shifters as they could before going directly to George.

“The nearest clan said there were fresh kills from yesterday seen here, here and here.” Emma watched as her father circled three places on the map. They were congregated in clusters around the property, all of them by the nearby river’s edge. “Nearly an entire herd of deer slaughtered up by this bend.”

“A whole herd?”

“These shifters killed mostly for sport, not food.”

Emma’s stomach curdled at the thought. She still felt adamantly that killing as her wolf and claiming an animal to eat was a bit beyond her. Sure, she could technically do it, but it was extremely uncommon. Liam and Killian felt the same way, citing that the only shifters they’d ever known to take advantage of that particular power were their father and some of his closest supporters. As such, the two of them never partook, and only ever killed a wild animal while in their wolf form if the animal was a threat to others.

“That’s where we need to start,” Liam said and they all agreed, leaving the relative safety of Gold’s carved out trail and heading for the nearby waterway.

In another situation, these woods would be beautiful, a place of reprieve perhaps, and an area filled with plentiful wildlife and natural bounty. But now an eerie quiet settled on this land. There were no bird songs through the trees, no rustling of squirrels or smaller wildlife to be heard. In a matter of days, the presence of these shifters had eroded any sense of peace or serenity that may once have existed here, and that unnatural decay left Emma’s nerves even more on edge. Only a subtle wind through the trees and the distant gurgle of running water filled the space around them, and even their footsteps were nearly undetectable, as all of them were taking great pains to stay quiet and unheard.

After a few minutes of steady movement, Killian raised his hand, motioning for all of them to stop as he took in their surroundings. “There’s a hostile shifter, fifty paces out,” Killian said, his head nodding through a canopy of trees. Emma was astonished. She hadn’t heard or sensed anything at all, but then she shifted slightly closer to Killian and she smelled it.

“Mountain lion?” Emma asked, as the ungodly scent filled her nose and left her with a need to gag. It was hard to place the exact shifter when the sickness loomed so large, but from her basic knowledge of shifter scents, she thought it was some kind of big cat.

“No. Jaguar maybe.”

“It could be a panther,” David said as he readied his dart gun, loading it with the intended tranquilizer. “George’s idea of vacation involves hunting in other parts of the world. He had a particular fascination with the amazon. Always said panthers were wily and the hardest to kill. He might have trapped one for his army.”

There was no time to really soak that in, as the element of surprise would soon be lost to them. Instead they fanned out, moving to better circle the beast without alarming it to their presence. Only when everyone was in place having created a semi-circle around the river did it occur to Emma that they had one real potential obstacle – panthers could climb a hell of a lot better than any of them, and if this big cat got in a tree with enough coverage to escape her father’s scope, they’d be in big trouble.

At that exact moment, luck went against them and the wind suddenly shifted, brushing against her skin and headed straight for the clearing at the water’s edge where the shifter lurked. Knowing time was up, she moved quickly, making enough noise that the others would know to move too and coming face to face with a giant black beast a few seconds later.

The growl of the animal was feral and loud, a snarl scratched out in a blatant attempt to intimidate. Emma’s instinct was to shift to her wolf form, but that wasn’t the plan. Liam and Killian were the ones who would be shifting, and Emma, Anna, and her father would try their best to hit the jaguar with enough sedative to put him under. Emma attempted to do just that, aiming her dart gun at the jaguar’s neck, but the animal was too fast, lunging away and charging at Emma.

With lightening speed, a fully black wolf leapt at the jaguar, taking it off guard and grounding it with excessive force. Emma knew this was Killian, and watched as he and Liam both took on the panther. But they didn’t try to kill their foe. Instead, as was the plan, they attempted to corale the big cat to a more open space, in an easy line of sight for her father to hit. They were nearly there when the jaguar changed direction, ambling for a giant tree trunk in an attempt to get away.

“Oh no you don’t!” Anna said, her hands flying outwards as she dropped her dart gun and used her magic, managing to make the tree actually shake, tossing branches down below to swat the big cat away. The animal roared again, hurt to some degree from its fall, but mostly agitated. It now saw Anna and hissed at her, ignoring Liam and Killian and moving straight for her. Emma’s heart caught in her throat and protectiveness flooded her system. She was a split second from shifting and sprinting in her friend’s direction to save her, but then the jaguar let out a pained cry and she saw that he’d been hit. Her Dad had landed the blow, and now the drug was overwhelming the shifter’s system.

“Perfect shot,” Anna said, sounding almost excited at what had just happened, as if her life was in no real danger. Emma just gawked at her friend until her Dad explained.

“Anna knew what the plan was. She was never in any real danger. I’d never let that happen.”

Emma knew her father was sincere, since Anna and Elsa were essentially honorary Nolans. Still, she wished they’d conveyed that to her somehow instead of nearly giving her a heart attack.

“Well that was easy enough. One down, three more to go.”

Tracking the other shifters ended up being a much easier proposition since the noise from this skirmish had sounded through the woods. One by one they came out of hiding, two wolves were first, big, but they lacked cohesiveness in their attack, and after a bit of wrangling Emma managed to hit one while her father got the other. Soon after that the bears came, first a giant black bear and just when he was put down another that was brown, but not as massive as Anna’s grizzly from Storybrooke. These two were a bit more capable than the wolves, but they didn’t manage any lasting damage on Liam or Killian. But just when they were trying to catch their breath back in their human form, a cackling shriek of a final frenzied foe sounded through the forest.

“What the hell was that?” Anna asked, looking towards the tree line for whatever had made that awful sound.

“Wolverine,” Emma’s father and Killian said at the same time.

“Like the weasel things?” Anna asked, thinking as Emma did that this must surely be easy.

“Yeah, but wolverine shifters are five times the normal size,” Liam said bulking up his stance before turning to them. “Be on your guard, this one’s gonna be nasty.”

They watched Liam and Killian shift back again as a giant brown burst of energy scrambled through the brush. With gnashing teeth and a rabid expression, the wolverine was terrifying, and also enormous. Emma lost herself for a second, stunned at the sight of it, but when the beast moved to swipe at Killian she gathered herself back.

“Get him to the river,” David instructed, yelling out the command so all of them could hear it. Emma realized right away that this was going to be a very different fight. Their foe was too fast and it had no instinct for self-preservation. All it did was lash out, aggressively trying to maim Killian and Liam to get what it wanted. With movements like that, she had no chance of hitting her target, so she shifted to wolf form to try and help that way. It was touch and go in a few spots, and more than once the beast almost managed to get a nip at her golden coat, but in a moment where she was one on one with the animal her father yelled for her to duck. She did so without question, and as the best lunged for her, she watched the dart hit him square in the chest, knocking him back and pulling another hellish scream from the animal.

“Nasty buggers, wolverines,” Killian said when they’d all determined the beast was subdued. “Even the healthy ones are horrors.”

“Could hardly tell that he was sick,” Liam joked and Emma let out a barked laugh, shaking her head.

“No way. They can’t be that bad,” she said looking to her father who only shrugged.

“They’re packless for a reason. Put too many together, and well, you just saw what can happen.”

Emma was amazed at that, and thankful that they’d managed to put him down for the time being. All of these shifters would be down for the count for at least a day. If Anna’s bear was knocked out for that long in the test, they’d surely be down longer, what with the difference in size and metabolic rate. As such they’d have time to gather them all together or have the nearby packs lock them down to a secured space. But in the meantime they’re greatest enemy was still before them.

“Did you notice the blood on him?” Liam said, drawing their attention back to the wolverine. “Right paw, encased on the claws.”

“Well someone had to have killed all those deer, right?” Anna asked but Liam shook his head.

“It’s human blood. I caught a whiff of it when he tried to strike me.”

“Human?” Emma asked, worried that these shifters had managed to harm an innocent hiker or something of the like.

“It’s got to be George. The packs were adamant that there are no humans in these parts and they checked with local rangers. There’s a warning out for hikers and campers for a twenty-mile radius and the packs have been circling from a distance for days. No one’s out here.”

“If that beast got a piece of him, then your Uncle’s in bad shape,” Killian said and Emma watched her father’s expression, wondering if anything like remorse would appear. It never did.

“Good. I’m not too proud to admit that we need the advantage. If George is at full health, he’ll be that much harder to stop.”

Heading towards the cabin once more, Emma considered what it would take to stop such a man. No one had said the words aloud, but they all must know that George couldn’t be allowed to leave this cabin. There would be no imprisoning him. He had to die and that was a dark cloud looming over them all. None of them would want to take a life, for Emma it was something she didn’t even think she could do, but in this moment she had to be ready to compromise herself. If it meant protecting the people she loved, she might have to take a life, and though that life would be an evil one, it would still hurt her. But despite that, she would still make that choice. Whatever the fall out, she would see her loved ones protected, no matter what.

“It won’t come to that, Emma,” Killian said, taking her hand as they moved through the woods. “I won’t let your hands be bloodied like that.”

“No we won’t. The person to handle this will be me,” her father said, and Emma looked to him, knowing that burden was something he would struggle with but that he was ready to take on. “I always knew this day might come. He’s my responsibility.”

No one argued with her father, instead allowing the last bit of quiet to consume their journey. They remained alert, moving towards the cabin, finally approaching it from the side. Emma was struck by how the quiet continued, but the air smelled now of smoke and burning wood, and when the dilapidated ranch came into view, there was a hazy gray smog coming from the chimney.

“Someone’s in there,” Anna said with conviction, her hand moving across the air in a wave, her magic feeling out for signs of life. “And they’re in there alone.”

Quietly they circled around the property, until they reached the front door. From the outside it was clearly barricaded closed, but traces of blood adorned the faded wood going up the steps. Fingerprints in scarlet red clung to the doorway, another sign that George was injured.

“We can’t take his weakness for granted. Even hurt, he could have traps in place.”

“So what do we do?”

“Leave it to me,” Anna said, bringing both hands before her and tilting her head in concentration. She held herself tight for a moment and then pushed her arms out with a violent force. As she did a strong gust moved in, visible in its intensity, shattering the windows and pushing in the door. A split-second later arrows shot from each direction, and Emma felt herself pushed behind a wall of muscle. Killian was huddled in front of her, and Liam had gone for Anna, but Anna pushed him away.

“Wait!” she said her hands still suspended. Emma waited for the sound of impact, but nothing came, and when she peaked around Killian she saw at least a dozen arrows suspended in the air, all of them stopped by magic.

“Anna,” Emma whispered, her feeling of awe over whelming her and Anna let loose a smile.

“You can say it, Emma, I’m a bad ass.”

“We can all say it the moment this is over,” Liam agreed, similarly impressed by Elsa’s sister’s show of magical control. But he was right. This wasn’t over.

“Do you think there’s more?” Killian asked, knocking down one of the arrows as he headed towards the door.

“It’s possible,” her Dad admitted.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Anna said taking the lead before whipping back to head off Liam’s impending rebuttal. “And before you say anything, we both know I can handle this. Plus Elsa will kill me if anything happens to you.”

They moved up the stairs, through the doorway of the house, all of them on alert, but no more surprises came. The place was bare, but clearly lived in. Dust remained, but there were well worn paths where people had been coming in and out. The kitchen had been used, and so had a bedroom, but they didn’t actually find George until they reached the back of the house. Only when they’d entered the great room, done in the style of a long-forgotten hunters lodge, did her Great Uncle appear.

His back was turned to all of them, though he must have heard the shattering of windows and them moving through the house. He stood facing the fire, unmoving for a while. His left arm hung down, but his right clutched at his side, pressing over a makeshift bandage. Emma could smell the wound from here and see the red beneath the white cloth. His wound was deep, and he had lost a lot of blood, but still he remained stoic and unflinching and uninterested in them all together. Only when he was ready did he pivot, looking back to them all and offering no emotion as he did.

“It’s been a long time, David,” he said, his voice more even and regular than a man with a wound like that should be.

Seeing his face now, Emma noticed that there were some similarities between her father and this man. Their size was similar, and Emma wondered if George had started shrinking in his older age or if he’d willed that nuisance away from sheer grit. Their faces held a similar shape, though there were marked differences, but their eyes were arguably the closest trait they shared. Blue and intense, Emma recognized the color, but all comparison stopped there. For her father was a person filled with life and kindness. It radiated from him, the friendliness, the want to do good. He was a good man, but George… his eyes were hollow and dulled. If eyes were a window to the soul, this man’s was lacking, hardened, and in some ways unknowable.

“I must admit I always saw this reunion very differently when I pictured it,” George continued. His free hand moving to a glass upon the mantel filled with what Emma believed was whiskey. He took a sip, seemed to revel in it and then put the glass aside again, looking back at her father once more and treating the rest of them like they were totally invisible.

“Why you wanted one at all, I’ll never know.”

“Oh but you do, David. The day you ran you ensured that this moment would come. When you betrayed your family legacy for the sake of that fool lion, you wrote this into fate’s design.”

Emma found it difficult to look away from George, knowing better than to take her eyes off a man this malicious, but she needed a better understanding of their surroundings. The room was unlike the rest of the house which was sparse for the most part. This room had clutter, knickknacks hanging everywhere, and though nothing looked overtly threatening, she knew more traps could be anywhere. As if she’d summoned one, a steal trap descended from a rafter above and only Anna’s speedy reflexes and magical ability kept it from getting a part of Liam’s head. The sound of snapping metal against shattering wood filled the space, but when it faded out there was only the sound of the crackles in the fire and Anna’s sharpened breathing.

“Oh joy, another witch,” George said, again looking cold and nonplussed though one of his attack mechanisms had just failed. He didn’t even blink at the wasted piece of equipment, instead reaching for a bottle on the table a few feet away. He poured himself another drink, and they all just watched, transfixed in a way by this clearly dying man. It dawned on Emma that this was their chance to take him out, but then she remembered that they needed answers first. If they were going to crack the code of this serum and cure this artificial alpha sickness, they needed to know more about it.

“Why this way? These sick shifters seem like an unnecessary burden. If you knew where I was you could have just come for me. It would have been a hell of a lot easier.”

“Perhaps,” George acquiesced. “But the trouble with training you in my image as I did, was you learned how to cover your tracks. I had no idea where you’d gone, and by the time I discovered your whereabouts it occurred to me – I could do more than just take you out and destroy your family. I could destroy all of them with one perfected remedy.”

When he said ‘them’ he looked to Liam and then Killian, having figured out their shifter status from the start. It made Emma’s skin crawl to think that this man had wanted to destroy so many people. Because ultimately that’s what shifters were. They were people too. But George clearly didn’t believe that.

“I thought many times over the years that your aid would be most helpful in this venture. You always took to the science so quickly, perhaps you could have been of some use,” George said thoughtfully, looking at her father in a way that told Emma that in some sick twisted way he had some kind of regard for him. George was filled with vitriol, but underneath it there was something else. Respect maybe? “Alas, the Nolan line is old and distinguished, and the stain of your choices could not stand. I could never allow it.”

“It must eat you alive to see what I’ve become,” her father said, standing strong in the face of his Uncle’s condemnation. “To know how many shifters I’ve healed, how many I’ve saved from men just like you. I spent each day doing anything I could to unmake your mess. For every life you ended I would prolong five, ten, or more. I figured I might not be able to stop you, I’d never risk my family to do so, but I could try to make some amends for the shame of what you’ve done.”

“The only shame belongs to your traitor mother,” George snapped out, his words sharp as the lashings of a whip. “You live because of her wicked sins. She bastardized the very fabric of our history. The lineage of our people was destroyed for her disgusting infatuation with filth.”

No one dared speak in the face of those hateful words. Emma merely looked to her father, who stood there unmoving. He didn’t tense, didn’t react. He waited there, almost mirroring his Uncle, unwilling to give anything up by revealing his anger and emotion. Emma heard something, like a wire being pulled and then watched as her father took out his gun and shot two portions of the wall on opposite sides of the room. When he did a bevy of arrows snapped, but were shot to the floor instead of out into the room at chest level as they would have without interference. Emma looked around the room to see if anything else gave away surprise attack, but she saw nothing. Killian however did, and he grabbed a stone paper weight from the pile of mismatched and chucked it at the back wall. Only when the stone thudded to the ground did Emma see the small fuse that had been lit and was now extinguished thanks to the hit of the rock.

“You killed my father,” David said, ignoring the added excitement of the would be surprise attacks, and when she could finally turn her attention from the unrest around them, Emma watched her father and felt how much grief that fact brought him. “You killed your sister’s true love, forced her to run, and to leave her two sons behind. Wasn’t that revenge enough?””

“Maybe it would have been, if his death meant anything to me, but truth be told he was just so… forgettable,” George said, his malice lacing every syllable even as they rang out with control and practiced authority. “I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. He was nothing. Obsolete. Just another in a long line of shifter trash that needed disposing of.”

“When did you know?”

“That you were of mixed blood? I only discovered that recently. You see I too believed your brother’s illness was just that, and I didn’t think to question Ruth’s death when you were born. I saw it as a gift – two new warriors for the cause that I would raise for greatness. The magic that shielded your true nature was well woven, and it had to be, for if I’d known what you two were there would have been no need for sickness, I’d have finished you myself. But no. It took years to discover the truth. Only when Gold showed me Ruth’s sleeping body in his treasure trove did I discover just how deep her treachery ran.”

“You knew she was alive,” Emma’s father said, anger now beginning to rise as his fist tightened on the weapon in his hand.

“Oh yes. Long before she woke, I knew exactly where she was. Gold offered her to me if we made a little deal. I refused. She had no worth to me. I consider her lucky I didn’t kill her then and there.”

“You are a monster, you know that?” Emma asked, not willing to listen to this anymore.

“Ah, and there she is, the final downfall of the Nolan line. Our dearest Emma,” he said, spitting out the words and glaring at her, as if she was nothing but inconvenience to him. “You had a chance to be worth saving. Half breed as you are, you had Nolan blood and you were still human, unlike your cursed brother. But you couldn’t resist the filth either, could you? No, you had to go and choose to mate with one of those mongrels just like my wretched sister.”

Killian growled low in his throat as George looked his way and let out a choked laugh. It was sinister, and directed, but he quickly dismissed Killian again, looking back to Emma. “And then you let that witch remove your block. You tainted yourself. Your brother was already marked for death, I couldn’t let the Nolan line live on as shifter scum. But you – you I would have spared. You’d have been the legacy. The last hope of the Nolan line.”

“Never,” Emma swore, meaning it with all her might. “I would never have turned my back on my family, and I would never believe all this nonsense you hold dear.”

“Oh, it’s not nonsense, Emma. Shifters are despicable, a plague upon this earth, and there is no remedy for them except removal. You need only look to your mongrel’s father for proof of what I speak.”

“You knew Brennan?” Killian asked, the shock palpable in his and Emma’s mental bond, but his poker face holding firm, giving very little away.

“Did I know Brennan Jones? The single most conceited alpha on the continent? The one who devoured other packs for power and for sport? Yes, I knew the monster. Hell, I owed the beast a debt. Without him none of this would have been possible. In the end, he was the key to everything.”

“You’re lying,” Liam said, disgusted and disturbed. “Our father hated hunters and he’d never help one.”

“The bite hardly makes for a stable mind, but you know that don’t you?” George said with a sick and twisted attempt at a smile. He clearly knew of Liam’s prior ailment, and he was more than willing to use that against him. “Deep down you realize that if I told your father he could have power he’d have given me anything I dared to ask for. All it took was the promise that I would replicate the serum for his pack while making them still submissive to him. He wanted an army, the strongest pack the world had ever known. As if I ever would have let it get that far. Fucking dog. No, I take it back. A dog would be smarter.”

“And so Gold, he was just unimportant?” Anna asked, carefully dragging the conversation away from Killian and Liam’s father for the time being, and to another glaring gap in the fabric of this story. “You want us to believe you did this all on your own?”

“No, I will admit I needed his magic,” George said, as his face darkened for the first time since they arrived, giving away his extreme resentment. “The venom I extracted from actual alpha sickness wouldn’t spread without a curse to bind it all together. But Gold is not to be trusted. He made a mistake, and when the attack with the grizzly failed, he turned on me, leaving me here to die.”

“Why would he get involved? What did he have to gain?” Emma asked and George stared blankly at her.

“You know, I never bothered to ask what he wanted with you and the three witches. Truth be told, I never really cared. But I imagine it won’t be pleasant for any of you. And he assured me you’d never manage to reproduce with that animal, so I didn’t give a damn.”

“Did he promise you that?” Emma quipped, her fury rising in her chest. “Was that part of the deal?”

“Not explicitly, but if things had gone as they should, they would be dead,” he motioned to Liam, Killian and her father, “And you two would be Gold’s.”

“But it didn’t go to plan.”

“No. I could never have anticipated that of all the worthless grizzlies in the world this one would be tied to a witch.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Anna demanded, her hands coming up, ready to attack.

“Oh is he yours? I’m sorry,” he said sneering. “Sorry you too are tainted. Such a shame. But perhaps Gold will manage in the end. He’s a patient man, and really, what’s a few years matter? I waited nearly thirty for my revenge. It’s too bad I’ll only have a sliver of it.”

With lightening quick precision, George drew a knife from his hip and threw it towards Liam who dodged it just barely. At the same time more traps came from the wall and the ceiling. It was chaos, with arrows and steel traps and more, and all of it consumed Anna and Killian and her father’s attention. Emma though stayed still, not knowing how to react. She felt herself needing to respond, but then she realized that everyone else was focused on the other things and were missing what was right in front of them. Indeed George was more skilled than they were anticipating. And, having forsaken his hold on his wounded body, he grabbed a pistol from his waist and aimed it at her father.

“No!”

Without hesitation Emma jumped to push her Dad out of the way, successfully managing to force him from the trajectory of the bullet, but then she felt the blow of impact into her shoulder. There was no slowing down of time. This was immediate and instinctive, and the pain of the hot metal piercing through her skin set in just as swiftly. She flinched at the force of it, falling towards the ground as Liam lunged for the gun, disarming George, and Killian grabbed her, holding her close.

“Emma!” he cried, panic clear in his gaze as George’s laughter filled the room. Liam meanwhile, pinned the old man down and let out a ferocious growl. Through the pain of her injury Emma saw the fear in George’s eyes, but her body was chilled, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“What did you lace it with?!” Her father screamed and Emma looked down to where she’d been hurt, seeing the black inky lines that used to be her veins. Oh God she was dying. She was going to die.

“Nothing you can save her from,” George said, his voice labored as he lay pinned beneath Liam. “Gold procured it for me. It’s potent and powerful, and cannot be survived.”

The realization that this could really be it settled on her, and Emma felt herself slipping away. This was really the end. She was too far gone. There was no stopping this poison, this toxin designed to extinguish her father once and for all. The pain that flooded her system began to subside and instead she felt cold and numb. This was shock – the last bit of adrenaline before she’d be gone and she looked at Killian, desperate to say goodbye and say she was sorry, but unable to speak.

“Emma, no, you’ve got to hold on! We’ll fix this! We’ll save you!”

“Killian.”

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice and face etched in the pain of what was coming.

Afraid to close her eyes, Emma looked upon the man she loved and she felt such unimaginable grief. She wanted to hold on for him, she wanted his pleas to be right. But she was falling under, the current of this poison too high. This was really it. She moved her hand, reaching for Killian and then she felt it, a flutter from her abdomen. Her hand changed course, and moved towards her unborn baby, tears streaming down her face. She’d failed her child. She’d failed Killian. She…

In an instant, warmth flooded from the space where her hand lay through the rest of her being. The feel of it forced Emma’s eyes to close, but when the warmth grew she opened them again, wanting to understand why she felt this way. Her eyes blinked open and the brightness in the room had totally changed. She was surrounded in a beautiful haze, and she wondered if the light she saw through her tears could be real. It had to be an illusion, right? One last crazy vision before death finally came, but Anna’s gasp filled her ears, and Killian’s whispered words, tortured and yet hopeful filled her ears.

“The baby.”

His hand came over hers, and the light grew stronger. Emma blinked away her tears and watched as an iridescent magic not so unlike Anna or Elsa’s moved over her skin. Swiftly it traced the tracks of the onyx-colored poison, soothing every line within her. Emma felt sensation again, as the magic traced over her, filling her with energy, and with hope she’d thoroughly lost. The cold she was feeling was eradicated, and when the magical light finally reached her initial wound the darkness that marred her once smooth skin ebbed away. The blackness was removed, and most of her pain went with it. The bullet hole was still there, and she was bleeding, but she was alive, and though she couldn’t truly, scientifically know for certain, she felt in her heart that she was going to be okay. She was going to live.

“That’s not possible. You should be dead! You should be… wait, did you say baby? You can’t be pregnant!” George screamed but Emma didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

“She saved me,” Emma whispered, feeling the sensation that somehow her unborn child had stepped in. She had no rationale reason for it, especially given how early on it was in her pregnancy, but it was suddenly very clear. Their child would be more than a hybrid of a shifter and a human – she had magic in her, for whatever reason, and she had used it, even before her birth, to save Emma.

“You can’t be pregnant! Gold said -,”

“Gold is never going to beat us!” Anna yelled. “You’ve failed, and now you’ll die for nothing.”

“Oh not nothing. I still have my weapons. Mated or not, there is no cure for your wretched shifter, I’ve left no trace. It’s all gone and cannot be recreated. So you see, the secret dies with me.”

The pain on Anna’s face looked just as piercing as what Emma herself felt moments ago, but it culminated even more when Emma’s father stepped forward, raising his gun to deliver a final blow. She cried out for him to stop, but it was too late. The deed was done. Her Uncle was dead, and his secret died with him.

“Why would you do that?!” Anna screamed, and Emma looked to her father for answers. He had ruined her friend’s only chance, but he only nodded to the fire.

“I know George better than anyone, and I am willing to bet my life that he burned the secret away. It’s shifter custom..”

Killian sniffed the air and gave a slight nod. “There’s more than wood in that blaze. Paper – both old and new and a bit of leather.”

“I know that there are spells that can unburn what was destroyed,” Emma’s father explained, seeking to calm Anna and show her he was not forsaking her new mate for an easy kill. “I’ve heard about them while healing other packs. They’re not common, but possible. Call Ruby. She’ll know.”

They did just that, and through the grace of something larger than themselves, Ruby found a spell in great haste. With shaky hands and a wavering voice, Anna recited the incantation Ruby read to her, and low and behold the fire sputtered to a stop and from the flames scraps of paper formed, with scribblings of formulas and multiple solutions. A leather bound book also took shape, and there, within the pages were a scribbling of formulas and well-kept notes.

“This is it,” her father said, looking relieved that his hunch was proven right. “This is what Neal needs to find a remedy.”

“Oh thank God,” Anna said, nearly falling to her knees, but ultimately being caught by Liam. It was finally over, and in the end they had everything they’d set out for.

“We did it,” Emma said, looking up to Killian, taking in his expression of relief and some lingering pain. She could feel through their link that the trauma of thinking she would die yet again had rattled him. He was at wit’s end, and she clung to him, trying to prove to him that she was okay, and that they had both made it through.

“I’m telling you right now, Emma, there will be none of this, ever again.” His voice was stern and his eyes made a silent promise that if she ever even thought of fighting such a battle in the future he would chain her to his side and make it so she couldn’t leave. “We are going home. We are getting married. We are meeting our miracle child when the time finally comes, and we are living happily ever after. There will be no more fighting. There will be no more close calls. We’re done with this.”

“Okay, we’re done,” she promised, resting her forehead against his and soaking in the feeling of their mission being complete. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Emma. Far too much to ever walk this world without you.”

“Emma?”

The voice of her father pulled Emma from her and Killian’s embrace, and she could see in his eyes the pain of all of this. He’d almost lost her too, and he’d just taken a life. Her father, the man who was always a pillar of strength for her whenever he could be, was hurting and she moved towards him, hugging him close.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” her dad whispered, hugging her as tight as he could, with his hand cradling the back of her head like he always had, ever since she was a little girl.

“I’m glad I did. If he’d hit you, you’d be…” She trailed off as she pulled back to look at him, unable to face that he would have absolutely died.

“I know,” he agreed, leaving words that hurt to much to say unsaid. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Before she could so much as step away from her father, she found herself jostled into Anna’s waiting arms and her friend gave her a vice grip of a hug. Emma squeaked a sound of surprise out, and Killian moved toward her protectively, but she shook her head, knowing Anna needed this. A second later Anna jumped, remembering Emma’s injury.

“Oh crap, I hurt you!” she exclaimed, but looking at Emma’s wound, they could both see it was already looking much better. “I can’t believe it. The baby healed you. She must be a witch, right? But it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Maybe not,” Emma said, her hand coming back to rest on her stomach. “But somehow it is.”

“And every one of us grateful for that.” Liam said, with a warmth in his eyes and a nod of his head that told Emma Killian’s brother was glad for her speedy recovery. “But might I suggest we wrap things up and get back home? We might have slain a few beasts today, but there’s much more that still needs to be done.”

“Aye, brother, you’re right,” Killian agreed, taking Emma’s hand in his and bringing her close as he looked deep in her eyes. “Let’s go home, love.”

Emma couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than to go home and to be done with all of this, and with a swiftness she was grateful for, they managed to contain things as best they could. With the help of the nearby packs, each of the sedated shifters was returned to a cage here on the property. None of them took any pleasure in containing these animals, least of all Anna, who also needed a little magic to really keep things secure, but they knew it was for the best. Sick as they were, there was no telling what these shifters would do, and in the interest of protecting the nearby shifter clans, and any humans who may wander into this area in the future, they left these animals temporarily caged and under the watchful eye of the pack who originally called on Lance.

Driving home after that, Emma was surprised at how quickly the time went by, but that was largely thanks to the sleep she fell into once she was back in the safety of the car and nestled in Killian’s arms. Magical revival from her child or not, Emma was exhausted, and the wound she’d incurred did ache and aggrieve her. Knowing that this pain still lingered, Killian held her close, kissing her anywhere he could and whispering that it would all be all right. She trusted him in this, and slowly gave into the comfort of his presence, falling into a slumber filled with flashes of dreams. Some were blips of the fighting they’d just faced, but there were more that came later that were so much more beautiful and remarkable. Emma would never be able to explain them out loud, but these flashes were of her future, of that she was sure. She saw in them a life that was happy and bright. She saw Killian, her love, standing with her, never far from grasp. She saw her family and her friends also with her and not a one of them saddened or stressed out. And then she saw the children, glimpses of a beautiful baby girl with dark hair like her father and eyes that matched Emma’s to a tee. There were more behind her, but it all came so quickly. These flashes seemed to surround her while also staying just out of reach, but as Emma woke up, she couldn’t help smiling, and the first thought that came to mind was Hope.

“I think we’ve got a name all ready for this little girl,” Killian whispered to Emma as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. She smiled, snuggling into him further and knowing her mate had read her mind, quite literally.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Emma admitted, thinking back on her dreams and knowing in her heart that her child would be a blend of magic and love and endless possibility. “But at the same time, I can.”

“Is that so?” Killian asked, seemingly surprised by her latter admission.

“Yes. On the one hand I love her so much already. I always have, and I always will,” she said, and Killian hummed out a sound of agreement with that. “But on the other, we still have so much to do. We have to get ready.”

“In more ways than one.” Killian teased and Emma felt her cheeks grow warm as she smiled and nodded her understanding. He wasn’t just talking about furnishing their place or baby proofing their new home. Emma could see, hopefully, more than a few weeks spent relaxing, recuperating, and spending every waking moment that they could enjoying each other and strengthening the bond they’d found together.

“Speaking of getting ready, we’re nearly home, and we’re about to have a lot of explaining to do,” Anna said and Emma jumped, not realizing the whole car was listening in on their talking. “Oh sorry, were we supposed to pretend we couldn’t hear you?”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Liam replied, his voice gruff but his eyes sparkling with amusement at Emma and Killian.

“Anna’s right though. It’s best to get our stories straight now,” David said. “Better to frame some of this as, let’s say ‘kindly’ as we can.”

Emma knew her father was thinking of her mother and her reaction to everything. She appreciated that her Dad wanted to spare her Mom any more pain, but she also knew, even if he said this that it would never come to pass. Her parents never held secrets from each other, and this time would be no different.

“No need to bother. Chances are Ruby’s seen most of it anyway. She’s probably told half the tale already.”

Killian’s guess was soon validated, and as soon as they arrived, they were greeted with huge hugs and a million more questions. They might know most of what had happened, but there was so much more they wanted verified and expanded. Ruby had her visions that were helpful, but there were blank spots and things that couldn’t be explained. People wanted details of the shifters, of the fighting, and of George. They wanted to know what they’d learned of Gold and this plan and the evil that was done to enact it. But more than anything they wanted to know how Emma had lived. Emma explained as best she could, and the others stood by her description. One moment she was dying and the next she was cured. There was only one answer to the question, but no real explanation. No one understood how or why, but still it was true. Emma was saved and that was a miracle. Maybe someday they’d understand it, but for now they were just as grateful as could be.

Every query was ultimately answered, despite the exhaustion they were all feeling, and Emma felt it was better to get this done now rather than later. If they put it all out there, then maybe they could put it all behind them. Eventually they broke apart for the night, and by that time it was nearly sunrise of the next day. Just as Liam had said there was still a lot of work to be done and over the next few days they hit the ground running. Her father and Neal made a possible cure in a matter of days, and Emma did all that she could to help them. It was a long, laborious process, but it was made totally and completely worth it when she watched the moment that her best friend truly met her one true soulmate. Seeing that it worked, they made enough to get up north, and her Uncle Lance and Aunt Gwen brought the rest to other packs, making sure every sickened shifter was treated, and reporting back that they all were now freed, and were all on their way back to the homes they’d been forced away from.

In the meantime, Elsa and Ruby and Ruth worked long long days to try and track Gold. Using everything they could ,they sought to better understand the malicious mind of this maddened man. Anything they could learn could be a clue, but Emma knew this was just the start of their long journey. Her Great Uncle’s snide remarks rang true to Emma – Gold would remain hidden for as long as he could, but if they were all patient, surely someday they would find him, and stop him before any more grief could come their way. To this point Emma still didn’t understand his endgame. He wanted Anna, Elsa, Ruby, and Emma could easily understand that. Three strong witches must surely be a threat, but wanting her for her status as a hybrid… it didn’t make sense to Emma. The only thing she could think was that maybe it wasn’t her that Gold was after. Perhaps it was her baby, who would be a hybrid too, and in even more ways than Emma. But the others remained convinced that Gold could not know. He’d sworn to George Emma couldn’t get pregnant, and for now, that secret was protecting them all. And ultimately, despite the danger Gold still posed, Emma knew in her heart that she would never let anyone hurt her child. One life threatening instance was more than enough – and she knew, down to her bones, that there would never come another time when her baby was at risk from these terrible men.

And yet, in the midst of all of this work and all of this progress, Emma found a way to make good on her promise to Killian. She helped the others as best she could, but she also took time for herself and time for her love. They made their house a home, and found many new moments of peace and tranquil calm. They planned for their wedding, and for their family, and for their future. But more than anything they lived every day to the fullest, knowing that they’d never allow anything or anyone to take this away from them again. For love, in the end, was a powerful thing, and fate was a power even stronger than that. And as for Emma and Killian, fate had decided that they were meant to be, and that they were indeed meant to live a wonderful, glorious, happily ever after.

Post-Note: Hey everyone! So I know there’s still so much that I didn’t get to go into detail on. I wanted to do so much in this chapter, like see Neal make a cure and watch Anna meet Kristoff and all that cuteness. But it just wasn’t meant to be. Instead, I am working on the first epilogue of the story (which will include Emma and Killian’s wedding) and I am on track to post it next weekend. As I’ve previously mentioned, I will also be writing a follow up story to this one, that’s not just from Emma and Killian’s POV but the POV of the other central characters as well. In that story I will be including the Anna/Kristoff meeting and probably more of the process of healing Kristoff, so if you can wait you will someday get a snapshot into that. After that there will eventually also be a second epilogue of this story, where you get to see how everyone is doing in the future, and how life has shaped up for CS and the others. Anyway, thanks so much for riding through this with me. I know it was a really heavy chapter, and so much happened, but I hope that you enjoyed and that you trust me to make everything right with a cute and fluffy wedding chapter next time. Thanks so much to all of you for reading, and as always I can’t wait to hear what you think!

Tag list: @jennjenn615, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ultraluckycatnd, @resident-of-storybrooke, @artistic-writer, @snowbellewells, @snarkycaptainswan4, @allofdafandoms-blog

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scorchviox · 4 years

Text

Your Touch [ShigarakixOC]: Chapter 8

Chapter Index

Weeks passed and so did news of the vanished sidekicks. No one dwelled on the news long and soon their faces would flash through the paper every other week on the back page of the Have You Seen Me? advertisement. Like their sister, they had become old news due to their father’s low ranking as a Pro Hero. It was quite hilarious to the brunette that at the very least she got a news cover and they barely managed to get on the last page of the local newspaper. Such an occurrence almost made her believe she had acquired good karma throughout her short-lived life.

The brunette currently sat inside an old run-down local restaurant. Her fingertips drummed against the glass that contained her drink as she looked around anxiously looking at her phone. The black screen stared back at her with zero notifications ash she played with her drink. Shigaraki had long asked her to grab some food while he ran, what he called, an errand. It had been over an hour since he had left her side and she began to grow worried with every extra passing minute. As much as she knew how reliable his quirk was, Shigaraki wasn’t the most agile nor was he in peak physical condition. There was no doubt that if they were both to arm wrestle they’d be at a draw.

She stared intently at the cellphone as she lifted her glass and took a sip through the straw, then it pinged. The teenager almost jumped out of her seat as she stared bug-eyed at the screen. A simple message read “Sit at the table in front of you.” Souseiki got up with her belongings and did as she was told. Patiently, she continued to wait for another text or a call, but all that came was the ring of a bell as the front door opened. “What’d you order?” Shigaraki waltzed in and sat in front of her.

“Where were you?” She asked with worry laced in her words. She had grown to adore the man within the few days she had been with him and Kurogiri, but with that adoration came worry. This worry rose from fear of him doing something out in the open, but she wasn’t aware of how tactful he actually was.

The blue-haired man shrugged and reached over for the item wrapped in foil. “Getting rid of trash,” he mumbled as he unwrapped his food and took a bite. He seemed to grimace as he swallowed the food, “This is shit,” Shigaraki commented as he took another huge bite. Regardless of the disdain in his voice Shigaraki shoveled the burger down and stood up. Souseiki follows him out the door but was quickly pulled by the arm. “Walk by the street,” Shigaraki said as he glanced down the street beside the restaurant. There near the building was a pile of ash. It use to be some teenager who decided to double-cross All For One once they received an extra quirk. Such disrespect and lack of loyalty always irked the teenager. Why would anyone even try to do wrong by someone who has done nothing but good for them? He glanced over to Souseiki whose face dawned a passive expression.

Since the passing of her two brothers, there was a slight pep in her step. The brunette gladly tagged along when he went out and even when she wasn’t invited. Her self invitations weren’t always welcomed, but he rarely voiced his dislike. When he would tell her to stop following like a lost child she’d still follow but at a distance as if he wouldn’t notice. “Did you need anything else?” She asked while she raised an eyebrow. “We got mostly food the other day or did you run an errand for him?” From the times she had tagged along Souseiki quickly figured out that Shigaraki was that faceless man’s rat. He ran errands for him on a near-daily basis. “What is he to you anyway?” Finally came her burning question.

Shigaraki eyed her before giving a shrug. “In a way just a mentor. He showed me that I could do what I want and it wasn’t a sin,” he said.

Souseiki clicked her tongue and replied, “Like killing people. Pretty sure that’s considered a sin but to each their own.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard through the grapevine that not honoring you parents is a sin as well,”

The brunette huffed as she tilted her nose up to the skies, “Yeah? What about you? I don’t see you honoring yours,” she snapped back.

His dry hands dug into the pocket of his sweater and brought out that dismembered hand he loves wearing on his face. “This one belongs to my father. The rest are from other family members including my mother,” the words came out so nonchalant that it took Souseiki back. She eyed the hand until he hid it away once again. “I honor them.”

A silence took over the two until the reached the bar. Kurogiri was nowhere to be seen as Shigaraki took a seat at the bar and Souseiki on the couch.

She had made herself comfortable and pulled her legs up to her chest as she stared at the teenager’s back. Ever since he finished those thoughts the image of him wearing those hands plagued her mind. She wanted to ask, but she’s been building up her courage ever since she plopped herself on that plush seat. He must have wanted to talk, right? People don’t go around their entire teen years not mentioning their parents or the lack of their presence. He couldn’t be fairing well. Souseiki swallowed thickly and parted her lips, “Shigaraki,” she whispered out to him. His body was hunched over the bar staring at his phone. “Are you okay?” The words slipped before she could even think of something decent to say to him.

As he heard the words, Shigaraki sat in his spot without moving. He thought over his options, which weren’t much. He could say nothing and stay there or say nothing and walk to his room. “I’m thirsty,” or he could say that.

Souseiki jumped out of her seat and around Kurogiri’s bar to fetch a drink. She quickly handed it to him, “I know dead parents are a touchy subject, but what happened?”

“You’re great with words,” he replied sarcastically before taking a big gulp. Shigaraki set down the glass and watched the liquid swish one way and the other. Was he really going to give her the tragic beginning of his quirk? “I killed them. Their hands were what remained. No one cared for such an ugly shit like me no matter who I approached. He then found me and took me in. That’s it,” he mumbled before taking another gulp and handing her the empty glass. When an answer didn’t come fast enough, he looked up expecting to see a horrified expression but was met with a look of pity. “It-“ he blinked and balled his hands into fists, “It was an accident believe it or not.”

Warm, small hands clasped his own in a tight grip. His red eyes snapped in her direction and were met with the same pity, “I’m sorry,” she said in a soft voice, “If I knew you I would have helped.” Souseiki smiled at him as she gave his hands a squeeze. “These hands wouldn’t know death.”

Those brown eyes stared into his without wavering. “You’re ridiculous,” he said standing up to leave. “It already happened.” He walked into his room and shut the door behind him. Shigaraki sat in his computer chair and stared down at his hands that slowly began to lose her warmth. Maybe if he knew her sooner things wouldn’t have been so bad.

#Shigaraki #shigaraki fic #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki manga #shigaraki fanart #mha shigaraki #shigarakixoc #bnha shigaraki #bnha fanart #boku no hero academia #boku no hero oc #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #league of villains #kurogiri #all for one #tenko shimura

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perfeggso · 4 years

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week I pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 1.7k (will progressively get way longer)

Yuta was easily recognizable. He was of about average stature, but that was the first and last thing about him that could be described as “average.” Yuta reckoned that anyone living or working in the areas in and around Ueno Park and Akihabara could describe him to the police if they felt like it, but they all knew better, didn’t they? He had a striking face, which others often remarked could have landed him in an idol group in another life. He kept his hair in an undercut which swept over his head suggesting ever so faintly the shape of a mullet, but he would never call it that. Mullets were for Mötley Crüe, not for men of taste. Although he kept the bottom of the haircut in its original black, the long part was died white – an aesthetic choice that Yuta not only liked but which also made him feel nearly invincible in its destruction of his anonymity.

Yuta was freshly 24, a prodigy of sorts in his own world of the Inagawa-kai family, where he had been promoted to Shategashira lieutenant last year and was now the commander of a small gaijin and zainichi unit operating in Shitamachi. There was gossip that his position was due only to his relationship with Oyabun Hirai Goro’s daughter, but he knew better than that which was all that mattered.

It was late October and a crisp evening as Yuta weaved his way down Chūō Avenue. He drew plenty of looks: of fearful recognition but also of admiration from certain young women. Not one for subtlety, he wore a double-breasted dark blue snakeskin suit and a jumble of rings and piercings. A scar transversing his right eyebrow and the tendrils of tattoos reaching out from his sleeves and collar confirmed his connection to the underworld for anyone who saw him, but that was alright if it gave Yuta some space to walk in the crowd.

He took a right into an arcade where Mark was sitting absently behind a yellow desk and flipping through the pages of the latest Young Magazine installment of Akira . When he saw Yuta, he immediately straightened to attention.

“Good evening Shategashira!”

“At ease,” Yuta said casually, “how’s business today?”

Mark went back to slouching over his comic and shrugged as Yuta surveyed the room.

“Average,” hazarded Mark, “I’ve been hearing the machines in back pretty consistently my whole shift and Jungwoo’s still somewhere fixing shit and trying to get people to buy computers.”

Yuta rapped his knuckles against the desk. “Having any luck?”

Mark shrugged again. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Yuta withdrew from the desk with a performative huff and straightened his jacket. Sometimes he wondered if he should be less familiar with his subordinates, but he couldn’t imagine acting strict like some other lieutenants; he liked most of his men too much to be anything but personable. So as usual, Mark’s cautious sass went unacknowledged.

Yuta made his way to the back of the low-ceilinged white room. The walls were lined with cubbies full of manga, tech and porn magazines, and cassettes; string lights; mirrors; Nintendo arcade games; and in the center of the space, you could peruse tables of PC’s in various states of disuse alongside Mazinger Z figurines. Jungwoo had stationed himself in the middle of the clutter, fiddling with the hard drive of an ’82 Apple.

“Jungwoo!”

“Shategashira!”

“At ease.”

“This just came today!” remarked Jungwoo, referring to the computer. “The computing power on this thing is off the charts! A shame I have to fuck with it.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” said Yuta, not giving a damn about the technical side of this business since he couldn’t begin to understand it. “How many have you sold?”

“Seven today,” said Jungwoo, sinking into a chair with his whole weight and pushing at his cuticles with the end of a screwdriver, “so that’s 225,000 yen, give or take. I can get the books if you want.”

Yuta smiled, catlike. “No, that’s alright. Good work. Although I’m confident you can do better still.”

Jungwoo stood again sharply. “I assure you I can, Shategashira !”

“Good.”

In reality this was not a bad amount of revenue for the day so far. The Inagawa-kai paid the property and business taxes on the building to shore up favor with the local government but didn’t technically own it. The real owners covered all other expenses and utilities, meaning the Inagawa people ultimately could keep more of their profits than the average business owners, and this setup wouldn’t change because the landlords knew the local precinct had Inagawa’s back and that Yuta – or if not him, someone else – would not hesitate to pull a katana on them if they suddenly took issue with the arrangement.

No, thought Yuta, this is good. Jungwoo was selling near his quota, and with the viruses he had installed, many of the unsuspecting customers would eventually be bringing their devices back for costly repairs.

Yuta looked at the unassuming door behind Jungwoo.

“Johnny in there?” he asked.

Jungwoo nodded curtly in response and Yuta passed him to open the door, stepping into the windowless back room. Smoke hit Yuta instantly, warming his lungs along with the stinging scent of hard liquor. The room may have been devoid of natural light, but it did have plenty of colorful artificial illumination: a wall of well-populated pachinko machines making brassy noises so loud Yuta could have sworn they were coming from inside his skull. Each machine was a hypnotizing box of glowing neon, flashing lightbulbs, and shiny silver balls clacking in a perverse rhythm with the players’ chorus of disappointed groans and victorious whoops. The men at the pachinko machines were all around middle age, smoking their heads off and depressing the shit out of Yuta.

Yuta swept his gaze over the rest of the room; the weathered purple booths on the other wall, the checkerboard tile on the floor, the mildewy walls; until he landed on Johnny. He was in the bar in the back, under a dusty glass chandelier, smoking with a young woman seemingly attached to the front of his mahogany suit.

Johnny didn’t notice Yuta until he was a few paces away, and Yuta sensed a flicker of disappointment on Johnny’s face when he did look up, although Yuta couldn’t reproach him for that and he did well to hide it.

“Ah, Shategashira ,” Johnny greeted languidly, and Yuta acknowledged him back with a nod of his head. Johnny was a few months older than Yuta, so he could afford to be more casual with his superior. The only reason Johnny didn’t have Yuta’s position was that he indulged too much in life’s vices and wanted to keep it that way.

“Can we speak somewhere a bit quieter?” Yuta asked, and Johnny nodded, whispering something to his companion before leading Yuta out the back doorway into an alley. Yuta breathed the crisp autumn air in once outside, a relief from the stuffiness of the pachinko bar. Yuta reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, smoking to match Johnny and giving Johnny time to get situated next to him against the wall. Yuta had to look up to speak since Johnny was a good bit taller than him and when he did, Johnny’s face was sharper than usual in the shadows of twilight. Yuta took a long drag of his cigarette.

“So,” said Johnny, “you know when yet?”

“A month and a half from today,” said Yuta, “gives us enough time to finish preparing, I think.”

Johnny nodded, grinding the burnt-out end of his cigarette into the brick behind him. “Good. Can you relay the details? What do I need to do?”

“You and I and the other Sokaiya members will be going into the Mitsubishi executive offices with the goal of getting 130,000,000 yen and the right to ship arms and drugs to our Triad allies in Hong Kong disguised alongside the company’s car and electronics exports.”

“Goro’s getting ambitious, huh?” Johnny figured aloud.

“Yes,” Yuta answered, “in return we’re offering our own men as indefinite security details for commerce in the South China Sea and for members of the executive board, personally.”

“Mercenaries and bodyguards, I see.”

“You could call it that.” Yuta took another drag of his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth in a meandering cloud. Once it dissipated, he said, “but as to your role, you’re in charge of gathering information on Sato Kenichi. He runs Mitsubishi’s finances and although we’ve found ample evidence to use against the CEO and I’m still working on some leads for the VP – Miyazaki is his name – we need dirt on as many of the higher ups as possible. They can’t refuse us or we’re dead.”

Johnny nodded, lighting himself another cigarette. “Sato Kenichi. Understood. Any leads on the guy?”

“Yes, I have them here.” Yuta pulled a small sealed folder out of the interior of his jacket and handed it to Johnny, who slipped it into one of his inner pockets without opening it.

“Thank you, Shategashira .”

“Just do a good job,” said Yuta, adding, “please.” Then he dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “We have almost enough stock to make the shareholder’s meeting so that shouldn’t be a problem. Also, the Triads are sending a group of emissaries to advise us on their priorities and join us at the meeting. They should be here in a few weeks or so. That is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet the princess for our joint birthday dinner. We decided to combine this year.”

Yuta and Johnny pushed themselves off the wall and exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

“Tell her I said omedetou ,” said Johnny, backing away to return to his post at the dingy Pachinko bar, pulling the packet on Sato Kenichi out of his pocket and passing it between his hands. “I can’t wait to see what this Sato-san gets up to in his spare time. These executive types are all extortionists and perverts. And they call us the criminals.”

Yuta chuckled to himself. It was ironic, wasn’t it? He saluted Johnny and turned on his heel with a “work hard, please,” and that was that. The sun was setting, hot pink. He’d be late to meet Momo if he didn’t hurry, but this was important business after all. A month and a half. What could possibly go wrong in such a short time?

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estel-of-irysi · 4 years

Text

Heistwives Toybox Final List

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583962

Hey folks! Since I’m closing requests for the toybox series, I thought I’d give a final list of the prompts I am fulfilling (and what’s already up). Also, do people want me to re-order the fics in chronological order once the series is complete? I will include a list in this post of what that would look like.

Thanks so much to everyone who submitted ideas! I had so much fun with this, and never fear, I have more Loubbie stuff in the works. I’m going back to multi-chapter stuff, though, so there may be a break in posting. As always, feel free to reach out if you want a PDF of all the headcanon fics up to this point in chronological order.

As usual, these are a bit NSFW, but without further ado:

Catalyst - posted 12/28/19 - strap/pre-canon/first time

Something Old, Something New - posted 1/4/20 - Lou’s strap-on and harness/handcuffs

Watch, Listen, Wait - posted 1/11/20 - Strap-on!Debbie/watching porn

Luminous Beings - posted 1/18/20 - costumes/top!Debbie, and “that Cate Blanchett bondage photo shoot”

Ice Cream and Surprises - posted 1/25/20 - rabbit dildo/vibe and anal/post-prison/not first time

Games, Distractions, and Other Matters - posted 2/1/20 - remote control vibrator

Thirty Questions - posted 2/8/20 - double-ended dildo

Lipstick Deductions - posted 2/15/20 - post-canon/Deb-Lou-Tam/Strap-ons/DP!Debbie

Monochrome - posted 2/22/20 - spanking/handcuffs/edging, and tribbing

Waltz - posted 3/7/20 - OTP+1/dildos/both holes DP/Bottom!Debbie, and a bullet vibe

Near and Far - posted 3/14/20 - video sex while Debbie is scouting a location, and a glass dildo

Banana Yellow - posted 3/21/20 - first time anal/missionary/Top!Lou

The First Day - posted 3/28/20 - bed restraints/gag, and Jealous!Lou after hearing that Debbie slept with other women, and safeword use

Unpacking the Past - posted 4/4/20 - Debbie’s dildo collection/squirting dildo, and Top!Lou/strapless share vibe

Champagne and Perfume - posted 4/11/20 - Top!Debbie/mini scissoring vibe, and Top!Debbie/Anal vibe

That Night - to be posted 4/18/20 - bullet vibe, and Lou trying to get Debbie to squirt

Dancing through Life - to be posted 4/25/20 - pole dancing, wand vibe, 69, and recording each other masturbating and then having sex

The Ocean and the Sea - to be posted 5/2/20 - Lou masturbating Debbie while she’s getting a tattoo

On the Run - to be posted 5/9/20 - Lou’s bike as a toy when they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere

Silk - to be posted 5/16/20 - Lou asking Debbie to tie her up/Dom!Debbie/post-beach scene, and Lou saying “your lips are so soft, I could kiss them all day”

TBD (work in progress) - to be posted 5/23/20 - squirting dildo unloads in Debbie’s mouth/Lou sits on her face/Debbie bends Lou over the bed with another dildo

If I were to put them in chronological order, they would look like this:

Catalyst - Winter 1999

Thirty Questions - Spring 1999

Banana Yellow - Spring 2002

Waltz - Autumn 2004

Monochrome - Winter 2005

Something Old, Something New - Spring 2018

Silk - Spring 2018

That Night -Spring 2018

Unpacking the Past - Summer 2018

The First Day - Summer 2018

Dancing through Life - Summer 2018

Games Distractions, and Other Matters - Autumn 2018

TBD (work in progress) - Winter 2019

The Ocean and the Sea - Winter 2019

Champagne and Perfume - Spring 2019

Watch, Listen, Wait - Spring 2019

Near and Far - Spring 2019

Ice Cream and Surprises - Summer 2019

On the Run - Summer 2019

Lipstick Deductions -Autumn 2019

Luminous Beings - Autumn 2019

So, should I reorder?

Anyway, thanks again for your contributions, everyone, and for all of the wonderful feedback. :) <3

#lou miller #debbie ocean #debbie x lou #lou x debbie #loubbie #heistwives #heist wives #heistwives toybox #heist wives toybox #heistwives headcanon #ocean's eight #ocean's 8 #o8 #ao3 #hope_savaria

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cals-eyebrows · 5 years

Text

In Between Days [L.H.] College!Luke Multi-Shot: Part 2

In Between Days [L.H.] College!Luke Multi-Shot

by cals-eyebrows

Part: 2 of 3 --> Part 1 Note: Part 2 of 2. However, I am planning an epilogue :) It was originally just a one-shot but I was already nearing 8 pages and I didn’t want to cut anything down. So, here’s the second part! Thanks for reading, I appreciate all your love :) Title Credit: In Between Days by The Cure

Warnings: a lil fluff, a lil smut, a lot of fun - rating is M!!!

Part 2

In order to keep up appearances, Luke and Emily decided each couple should just meet at the restaurant. So, Luke showed up to Emily’s apartment, and he was already 3 minutes late. Emily couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed and amused at the same time.

She found herself being more amused than annoyed when she saw Luke’s dimples when the door swung open, revealing the tall gentleman. He wore black jeans with shiny white boots with black stars on them, a black wife-beater and a leather jacket. Luke’s dirty blonde hair curled around his nape, just below his earlobes. His bright blue eyes were especially shining tonight.

Instead of apologizing or otherwise taking responsibility for being late, Luke just continued to grin as Emily walked out the front door that he was holding open, making sure he saw that she was rolling her eyes into a different dimension.

“Let’s just go, Hemmings,” Emily deadpanned.

“Of course, m’lady!” Luke snickered, and they began walking to the small café that Emily and Luke had proposed as the double-date spot.

They walked side-by-side, both staying silent. Emily couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable or if Luke was, or if they both could just be together without any extra forced conversation. While they kept a swift pace, Emily’s thoughts drifted.

When Emily lied to Mickey about “dating” Luke and that they wanted to get Calum in on the action, Mickey couldn’t believe it. But Mickey was so happy and excited to hang out with Cal and she was equally excited about Emily and Luke.

Mickey had said quite a few times that she hadn’t realized that Emily and Luke had a thing… or even were attracted to each other. Emily just smiled and told her friend that she and Luke had happened out of nowhere.

Emily remembers saying to her, Funny how these things happen resulting in Mickey reaching over to squeeze Emily’s hand – an unspoken agreement and support.

Remembering this, Emily felt a rush of guilt flow through her. She didn’t want to think about the future or having to pretend to break up with Luke or how Mickey would react.

Suddenly, as if Luke had felt her emotive reflections, he held out a hand, which Emily quickly grabbed, as if it were a lifeline.

Luke felt her tiny hand in his and turned to look down at her: “Just for looks,” he mumbled. He thought it strange that she didn’t reply.

*-*-*-*

When they reached the restaurant, Calum and Mickey were waiting for them by the door.

Calum was standing in Mickey’s shadow, looking a little bewildered. “Hey,” he said and gave a small wave. Next to Luke, Emily smiled. There was a period of time where the four college students had small greetings and small-talk before deciding they were hungry.

They agreed on a booth, so Luke led the team to a comfy looking one in the corner. He felt Calum following closely behind him, who was wearing black pants and a white striped button-down shirt. His black curls fell slightly over his forehead, rings adorning his hands.

“Okay,” Luke said as he slid down into the booth next to Emily, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. “Let’s get this party started.”

As dinner went on, Luke was two beers in, clearly enjoying himself. Instead of keeping himself more contained as usual, Luke got louder and giggled in a higher pitch. Mickey and Calum were amused, but mostly kept their attention on each other. Emily, equally as tipsy, was making huge gestures as she told stories in order to keep Luke laughing.

“And THEN,” Emily basically yelled, “I’m running away, as fast as I can!!” At this, Emily pumped her arms as if she were running with a wild look on her face. “Like, I couldn’t believe it! They called the cops on us!”

Luke lost it laughing, “Oh, my god. I never would have thought you had it in you, Anderson.”

Emily smirked, taking a big gulp of her beer, “Oh Hemmings, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

At this, Luke raised an eyebrow, smirking back. He didn’t say anything, just lifting his beer to his mouth with one hand, the other coming from resting on the back of the booth around her shoulders.

“Well, we’re going to get out of here,” Calum broke into Emily and Luke’s banter, and when Luke made a motion as if he were getting ready to get up, Calum mumbled, “Probably just me and Mickey, though.” With this, he gave a small smile.

Mickey blushed and looked down, “That’s okay, right Emily?” Emily’s and Mickey’s eyes finally met.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Emily told Mickey.

The couples began to go their own ways and while Calum and Mickey were looking, Luke grabbed Emily’s hand. Mickey and Emily’s eyes met, and Mickey wiggled her eyes suggestively at her best friend.

Luke noticed and squeezed Emily’s hand.

The pair of friends said their goodbyes to each other, Calum and Mickey were getting dessert and then going back to Mickey’s apartment.

Once they were out of view, around the corner, Luke let go of her hand. Emily fought the urge to reach out for his as soon as he let go.

“That easy, huh?” Luke smiled, finishing off his beer with a glint in his eye. He began to lead the small girl away from the café, walking in the direction of Emily’s apartment.

“I suppose,” Emily grumbled, feeling buzzed. She was quickly beginning to sink down into the kind of sadness only alcohol brought on. She didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t want to stop seeing Luke.

Sure, their paths crossed occasionally before and probably would from now on more than ever, since Mickey and Calum seemed to hit it off so well. But Emily and Luke would probably never regularly see each other, or hang out, ever again.

Emily felt like a piece of fun, of sunshine, would go away when Luke left. Luke, walking briskly next to her, was thinking along the same lines.

They continued the walk back to Emily’s apartment in silence. They were about a couple blocks away from Emily’s when Luke noticed she was falling behind a bit.

Being as Luke was at least a foot taller than her, he slowed his stride and reached his hand out behind him. Emily, noticing this invitation, hastened to grab his hand and allow him to practically drag her back to hers.

Still, they said nothing.

Once they reached Emily’s front stoop, Luke moved aside in the small space to allow Emily to unlock her front door. Emily fumbled with her keys as she felt Luke’s front graze her back, they were standing so close. Both college students were so aware of this fact.

“Do you… want to come in? I have ten-dollar champagne.”

“The nice stuff, huh?” Luke joked and Emily couldn’t help but giggle.

“I’m on a college budget, Hemmings,” Emily chided playfully. She successfully unlocked her door, “Stay out here, it’s a nice night. We can drink from the fine china and enjoy the weather.”

Luke moved aside to a corner of the porch, where there was a small outdoor dining set, a small circle table with two matching metal chairs. Emily watched as he sunk down in one of the chairs, dwarfing the small chair.

Luke settled in the chair, feeling the soft, evening breeze rustle through his curls. He took a minute to reflect: Calum was clearly having the time of his life with Mickey. It was a fun night, maybe a little awkward at the very least. But fun. Luke couldn’t wait to hear from his friend.

He looked up when he heard some glasses softly clinking together. Emily emerged from the apartment, holding a bottle of champagne and two glass flutes. She wasn’t totally wrong, it must have been her fine china.

They sipped their champagne and made some conversation, but nothing really forced. Emily asked him about his dream job (a performer – a big jump from his actual major, kinesiology); and how he got along with his siblings.

In a few hours, they were both drunk. The bottle sat on the small table between them, empty; their glasses just as empty.

“Tell me about what happened with Erica,” Emily broke into a settled silence between them. Her eyes were glazed over, her words slurring softly. Her voice was barely a whisper, knowing she was chancing an awkward exchange between them.

She had known Luke and Erica were a thing and known how passionate they were in public together. And she had also heard about the toxic break-up, the public fights, the drunken nights that usually ended in some jealous rage.

Luke stilled for a millisecond. He looked at Emily directly then; resting his chin on his palm. “It was a roller-coaster, honestly. We broke up initially because I found out she cheated on me. Then, she practically begged for me back. And then when we got together for the second time, I cheated on her,” Luke looked away from Emily, ashamed. She hadn’t reacted terribly, but her eyes did widen.

“It was really irresponsible, but I felt like I wanted her to know how that felt,” Luke looked back to Emily, who was nodding slightly, showing she understood his explanation. “We broke up again and then hooked up a little bit after that, and then, we just both stopped. We haven’t spoken since.”

“Wow,” Emily commented. Luke didn’t sense any judgement, just Emily’s genuine reaction. “I couldn’t imagine not being able to quit someone. Like, I’ve dated here and there, but it’s always been light and even when it did end, it was amiable and fine, you know? I’ve never been so… passionate about someone. So desperate. I’m glad about that, like I don’t need the drama, but I’m also sure it’s a one-of-a-kind feeling.”

Luke nodded, feeling as though she had hit the nail on the head. “It’s… um, yeah. It’s something.”

Luke’s voice cracked and he was embarrassed to feel tears welling. “It’s, um, I’m fine now but it has been weirdly lonely. Like, my friendships are really amazing, and I love the guys, but it’s been really hard. Everyone just tip-toes around me now.”

Emily, upon hearing Luke get emotional, simply reacted. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was empathy, but she felt herself stand and go to Luke. She crawled onto his lap, sitting across his legs and Luke held her around her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him rest his head in the crook of her neck.

“It will be okay, Luke,” she told him, not feeling confident about her consoling skills. She felt him nod and squeeze her waist in what she thought was appreciation. They stayed tangled together for a few moments of silence.

For most of the silence between them, it didn’t feel forced or awkward. It just… was. They were together, in the present, and that’s all that seemed to matter.

Luke felt his insides warm at the thought of how close she was to him. She smelled good, like perfume and alcohol and the hint of sweat. It was all good though.

Luke turned his face upwards just a bit, and leaned in. Emily kissed him back, positioning her body as they kissed to straddle him. That immediately changed the mood. It started out as innocent, as comforting, and now Luke felt his pants get a bit tighter.

Emily straddled Luke, and his hands now moved from around her sides to up her arms, cupping her face, back down to her ass. Luke thought, God she’s so tiny as he continued to feel her up.

Finally, Luke moved to stand, and brought Emily with him. He hooked his arms underneath the back of her thighs. As she was lifted, Emily hooked her ankles around his waist, her legs barely able to meet successfully.

Their kiss broke, simply because Emily was worried he’d run them into the wall. They made their way into the apartment, mostly unscathed, still connected.

As soon as they reached Emily’s bedroom, Luke tossed her playfully onto the bed. As she lay before him, lips slightly chapped and out of breath, Luke took her in. She looked… beautiful. And she felt even better.

Emily watched as Luke paused, towering over her. His hair was tussled, and his lips red. He looked beautiful. Finally, he leaned down over her, pulling at her t-shirt. Emily lifted her arms, allowing the fabric to come off. She sat in her lacy bralette, shivering. She moved to cross her arms over her chest when two large hands grabbed her wrists and moved them aside.

“Let me see you,” Luke said, his voice husky.

Emily huffed slightly and allowed him to gaze at her, her nipples at a point from the cold night air coming through open windows.

Luke finally reached around her and undid the clasp to her bralette, the flimsy piece of cloth falling off her easily. Emily tilted her head up at Luke, staring him down.

Luke’s breath caught at her nakedness from the chest up. He leaned down, hovering over her small form. He pressed his erection into her stomach so she could feel what she did to him, “You look beautiful, oh, my god!” He exclaimed, lowering himself down to kiss her exposed breasts.

He kissed his way down to where her neck met her collarbone area and suckled there, “Mm,” She moaned at this sensation, “No hickies!” But she could feel his smile against her skin and knew it was already too late.

Emily could barely keep her eyes open, the pleasure was so great, and she felt even more exposed and somewhat embarrassed the more their eyes met. Luke’s reactions to her nakedness was unexpected as he truly seemed to appreciate how she looked.

Luke’ hands were moving around, giving her breasts a squeeze, feeling their weight in his hands, then to her hair, and back down to her jean’s waistband.

She lifted her hips off the mattress so when Luke undid her jeans zipper, he could slide her jeans off as well.

Soon, Emily was completely naked, and Luke still clothed. As soon as her panties were tossed aside, Luke stood over her, appraising his partner once again. Emily noticed the vein in his forehead and neck was pulsing with want, his pants looking uncomfortably tight with his erection pitching a tent. She reached up and undid his pants, carefully lowering them over him.

Luke slid a finger inside of her wet entrance, feeling her heat and warmth which accepted him nicely. Emily moaned at this, his finger finding its rhythm, getting wetter and wetter with each thrust. Soon, Luke added another finger, Emily writhing underneath him. It had been awhile since she had been with anyone, and her body was reacting as if her life depended on Luke’s touch.

Luke removed his fingers, “I think you’re ready for me, do you want me?”

Emily simply moaned, not able to create any words.

“No,” Luke scolded. “Tell me you want me; do you want me?” He was rolling the condom onto his penis.

Emily opened her eyes, desperately writhing her body down closer to his penis, hovering slightly over her. His tip was just barely touching her entrance, it was all too much! “Please, Luke, please I want you so bad!”

Luke hardly needed telling twice. He covered her body with his own, spreading her legs slightly as he did so. “You’re beautiful, baby, and you’re all mine,” he growled slightly in her ear as he entered her.

Emily moaned at the tightening of his entrance and ran her fingers over his chest. He thrust in and out of her, at first, going slow as she loosened to accept him.

As the thrusts had gotten easier and easier, Luke sped up while Emily lifted her hips to meet him each time. Emily tightened her legs around his waist.

Emily was feeling the bubble in her stomach swell with each thrust, getting closer and closer – she released, her orgasm sending shudders to her toes. Soon, Luke thrust finally into Emily as he somewhat collapsed onto her, his arms hardly able to hold him up.

Emily pushed his curls back, lightly saturated with sweat as he laid down next to her. “Oh, baby,” He sighed, tossing the condom into the trash next to her bed. “Wow.”

Emily laughed slightly, nodding quietly in agreement. She rolled towards him, putting her hand on his chest, and giving his neck a quick peck. “I know,” She turned around so he could spoon her, and soon afterward, fell asleep soundly.

Being held close with her back to his chest was almost as euphoric as the sex, she thought, I feel safe. Behind her, Luke buried his face into her hair. He didn’t want to let her go, not for her to leave the bed, not for her to leave across town, and certainly not further than that. He had to keep her, he vowed to himself.

#luke hemmings #5sos #calum hood #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings smut #smut #fanfiction #writing #michael clifford #ashton irwin #5sos imagines #5sos writing #fic #lrh #fluff #5 seconds of summer #5sos blurbs

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morphituu · 5 years

Text

Milagro

Chapter 12: “Paradise Lost”

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

Silent sobs shook her shoulders, blood stained tears running down her cheeks as she gazed on in defeat. A ragged breath in only caused more coughing, and Makhel turned away, holding his head.

“How did it come to this?” she choked out, jaw hung, blood dripping.

The rain was coming down in waves, crackling loudly against the pavement Tikka ran across. It chased away the usual night goers but kept homebodies shades open, soaking in the cooler breezes until the clinging heat inevitably returned.

She transitioned into a swift walk once under the overhang of the old building, the steps of her boots echoing down the long chamber she trekked before coming into a separate yard that lined the length of the numerous classes going on well into the late night.

Her wet hair was pulled off her shoulders, turning her attention to Fero who’d atlast caught up to her.

“Took you long enough,” she snapped, wiping her misty cheeks.

“You were still mostly clothed when they knocked,” he leaned in to simper, pulling his shirt from his jeans.

“Next time you’ll undress me faster then,” she cracked, catching his masked smile.

“Tikka!”

Their playful banter was interrupted by a frantic elf, her eyes peeled from frenzy and hands swinging at her sides as she sped towards the couple.

“He’s in the main hall- I couldn’t, I didn’t wanna try to take it from him, he’s just sitting there and there’s broken glass all over your office-” she rushed, barely breathing between her words.

“Penelo calm down,” Fero cringed, his annoyance with the young girls easily aggravated nature showing.

“You should be like me! He’s an Orc!” she hissed.

Tikka stopped, thick brows arched in doubt. “Are you sure?”

“You think I could mistake an Orc?” Penelo accused.

Silence drifted by for a few beats. “He didn’t explode?” Fero questioned, and the younger girl shook her head.

“There has to be a mistake,” Fero chewed his inner lip, but Penelo remained adamant, shaking her head dismissively.

“Well let’s go see for ourselves then,” Tikka exhaled, finishing the short walk to the hall in a less rushed manner, fixing her wet clothing that was almost as bad as the drowning humidity around them.

The teachers on grounds that night had managed to keep the break-in under wraps, more importantly the threat this individual may have posed if he in fact was in possession of one of Shield of Lights wands. Judging by Tikka’s apprentice, who although was an easily rattled individual and definitely was not a fool in any aspects of the word- this was serious. She’d been present to see the ultimate decision splattered across walls when a power crazed individual swore by heaven and earth they were a Bright, so if she said there was an Orc holding the wand, Tikka believed her.

Two of the more burly Brights of the compound were stood by the hall, chatting softly in attempts to not raise any suspicions of students walking by, but Tikka being there past hours in general was enough to raise curiosity.

“How long has he been in there?” she asked in hushed tones, carefully cracking the door open.

She could make out only his form slouched in a chair, a gentle humming swimming throughout the wide room from the light gleaming at his center. Tikka exhaled.

“He’s definitely got it,” she mumbled, and Fero groaned into his hands, turning away. “How’d you get him in there?”

“We found him there. He left a trail, I think he must’ve been cut on the glass,”

Tikka debated the pros and cons of her next plan of action, the most glaring con being Fero’s reluctance to let her in there, but the choices were slim to none, and setting free a fresh Bright unfamiliar with such power could prove deadly.

She looked to her vexed lover, and her placid expression said it all.

“No,” he barked.

“You think we should just leave him there until he gets tired of sitting around and leave with it?” she mocked, stirring his annoyance further.

“I think we should grab another wand and erase his memory,”

“You know the rules,”

“That doesn’t apply-”

“They always apply, Fero,” she snapped, her tone final. Fear lined his hardened glare, and before turning back to the double doors, she caressed his cheek gently, her eyes softening when he leaned the slightest into her touch.

Even if she’d opened the door slowly, she expected him to spin towards her, pointing the screaming wand at her. From across the hall she could still see him trembling, his face hidden behind the luminescence. She made sure the doors clicked behind her before raising her hands in compliance.

“Olá,” she tried softly. “Qual o sue nome?”

Still nothing. She dropped her hands, leaning to try and catch sight of his face.

“Você consegue me entender?”

“I don’t speak Portuguese!” he blurted, and Tikka’s attention was brought to the drops of water coming off of his clothing and gliding back up to hover above him.

She let out a silent breath, better understanding who stood before her.

“That’s fine, mine isn’t very good,” she admitted, cracking a small smile. “My name is Tikka,”

He was looking around, slowly edging his way backwards with nowhere to go.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked, stepping towards him.

“Don’t come near me!” he sobbed, and her heart met confusion.

“Hey,” she called, gently. “What’s wrong? You have the wand in your hand, friend, you’re in control. I just want to talk,”

That seemed to calm some of the unrest in the mysterious intruder, and slowly, the wand lowered, enough to illuminate the face of a very young Orc with burning eyes, his markings upon his skin like splashed paint. Although it was at his waist now and still pointed at her, she could breathe some relief that the water coming off of him wasn’t ricocheting away, a clear sign that the raw power radiating from him wasn’t as ferocious.

A deep, quaking fear was behind his glassy eyes, given away in the nervous side to side steps he took as he too looked her over.

Tikka swallowed her apprehension in the presence of a magnificently powerful individual and continued towards him, silently relieved he didn’t thrust the wand at her in defense. Even if he knew no spells, he’d surely inflict damage with the energy moving through him alone.

At last before him, it was clear that if he hadn’t been in possession of the wand, there was nothing to fear in the Orc.

He wouldn’t look her in the eye and instead glanced around nervously, his line of sight returning to the floor after every tentative glimpse. A stiff breeze could’ve knocked this poor boy over.

“What’s your name?” she asked again, wanting nothing more than to calm his rabbit heart she could almost hear.

His jaw shifted, his shoulders pulling in just the slightest.

“Makhel. Makhel Portela,” he recited softly, this time keeping her gaze.

“Makhel,” she recited, dipping her head. “Why did you come here tonight?” she went on to ask, pulling a chair around herself to sit before him. He was still wary, choosing to lean back against the table instead.

“I just wanted out of the rain. I didn’t know…” he trailed off quietly, looking down at the wand.

“It’s very brave of you to have grabbed that,”

He was staring down at it, the water drops coming off of his nose and chin evaporating before it reached the singing object in his hand. “I’m a Bright?”

“You are,” she smiled, but didn’t earn one in return. “Where’s your home?”

His hand dropped, rolling the wand in his fingers, pulling his lips in to nibble. “I don’t have one,”

“Your parents?” she pressed, and he scoffed.

“My mom left when I was 6 and my dad died when I was 10,” he explained silently.

“Left?”

When he looked up to stare out the tall windows lining the hall, she was sure she could see the glimmer of tears brimming his brilliant golden eyes and his chin trembling. “She always told me she didn’t want another son. That I was useless, ugly,”

Tikka fought the wince, averting her eyes until he was done wiping his face. “And your father?”

He scoffed again, rubbing his forehead. “When he wasn’t pimping me out he was high,”

Her stomach dropped. Even if he’d had a home to return to, it seemed there wasn’t anything worthy there.

“How old are you Makhel?” she asked, scooting her chair closer.

“17,”

She was relieved; just old enough.

“I can teach you to handle that. I can teach you how to take care of yourself. If you enroll here, you’ll have a home and food,” Tikka went on to offer, and was thrilled to see him so enthralled with what she had said. “I don’t think I could allow you to wander back onto those streets,”

He looked out the window, a nervous swallow following his sour expression upon gazing at the heavy rain still plaguing the night.

“You’re more than welcome to stay, but I’ll need that back,” she finally touched on, extending her upturned palm.

Her body was tensed and ready to bolt even before his hesitation showed, but she remained motionless and with the placid grin on her face while waiting for him to finish staring down at it. At last he placed it in her hand, but she didn’t draw it towards herself until he’d moved away at his own pace, leaning back against the table.

With another comforting smile, she curled her fingers around the enchanted wood only to point it upwards, her whispered words casting across the hall, turning the low lights on all around them.

He looked around nervously, pushing his drenched hood back. Now she could see the young one before her, the deep coloration of his olive toned markings that grew darker around his eyes.

He must be tired, she thought. “Have you eaten?”

“Not in a couple days,” he responded, scenting the air around him purposely.

“Let’s go then,” she exhaled, standing. He retracted his head a little bit, further unmoving. “Did you want to sleep in here tonight?”

His lips pursed, shaking his head.

“Come then. And that needs to be looked at.” Tikka smiled, pointing to the blood she now saw dripping down his worn pant leg.

Makhel was hesitant to follow, but eventually he did, slowly that was, his hands toying nervously at the hem of his torn shirt before clasping at his stomach once she’d opened the doors to the others standing outside.

He turned back, looking at her almost unbearable. There was a silent pleading shown in every aspect about himself, one Rania recognized the night he’d come to her, splattered in blood, quietly begging her to leave with him.

So what was he asking of her now, when he’d already sealed her fate?

Had it not been for the less than welcoming nature of the other Bright’s that thought an Orc to be a flaw on their ‘flawless race’, Makhel might’ve thought the Shield of Light base to be nothing less than perfect.

Three square meals a day and his own room, with his own bed and new clothes was more than anything he’d ever had all at once, not to mention the small sketchbook he’d been able to snatch from one of his elective classes. He’d dealt with scraps of newspapers and old receipts the better part of his life once he’d discovered the escape from reality drawing offered, but now he filled the blank pages until there was nothing left of them, savoring every drag of his pencil across a page, feeling excitement bubble in his chest with every blank one reached.

Hidden beneath the shade of a peach tree at the center courts, this was his favorite place to unwind after a long day of classes and sparring. Schooling had never been a consistent part of his life, and he found himself struggling to keep up, moreso in math than anything else, but he could hold some of his weight in sparring. Growing up on the streets taught him some skills, it seemed. Though his lip stung from a fresh cut after an elbow had made its way into that mornings lesson, it was easy to push it aside. He had far too much to be thankful for in these past few months than to dwell on a small wound like that.

And if it meant he was learning to hold his own against the far more experienced Brights, he’d take the lesson if it meant gaining a lifetime of security.

Though the others visibly lashed harsher blows towards him during their self defense classes, he’d been reassured by Tikka that soon he’d be at their level.

You have an Orcs brute strength, don’t be afraid to use that, she’d assured.

Makhel frowned.

He didn’t want to lash out as they did. He didn’t even want to be friends with any of the bright eyed elves surrounding him. He just wanted to coexist in peace.

With a long sigh, he situated better against the base of the tree, his eyes following a few others that sneered at him as he passed.

A low chuff and flash of his tusks only rolled their eyes, thankful they moved on without harassing him.

His gaze fell back to the nearly filled page sprawling with faces and arms, something he always returned to when his mind went a little blank. Maybe one day he’d finally force himself to master drawing eyes, but for now, he found comfort in slyly observing the group of girls across the yard, or more notably how their hands gripped books or their fingers drew designs in the air as they gossiped.

Across the yard, emerging from a long corridor came Tikka and another teacher with a new student in tow, but where Makhel usually didn’t find that of any interest, the silky black waves of this student was… different.

He was used to seeing the platinum blondes of Elves, and even when the occasional unlike one with hair that matched the general population came in, their hair was always pin straight and slicked back.

So when he spotted the newcomer’s parents trailing behind, he closed his sketchbook upon seeing an Orc mother glancing at the surrounding skeptically, and even odder was the towering Elf beside her, his long black hair pulled into a loose braid.

Just the sight of him was fierce, vastly divergent from the usual prim and proper appearance of most Elves. Lined with thick muscle and bronze skin that contrasted sharply against bright green eyes, it was clear this man wasn’t entirely Elf, and neither was his daughter once she came into view.

And that’s what made Makhel’s heart thunder.

He’d heard rumors of halflings and hybrids, but they were never positive.

They bring curses and plagues, or mother’s never make it through the birth- they suck the life from them.

Yet here he was, questioning how something so pretty could be at the forefront of such awful tales.

She was painted in the same hues of green as her mother, but her father’s sable tone was most prominent as well as the silky tresses, and stunning hazel eyes that met his when she caught him staring in complete awe.

Her short tusks amongst her soft smile sent his mind reeling, and he quickly averted his eyes when she leaned in towards her mother to slyly point in his direction.

He didn’t see it, but there was clear relief that washed over her parents once they spotted another Orc, even if he was a little slack jawed staring at their daughter.

As they rounded the pathway surrounding the courtyard, Makhel only dared another glance when they were close, meeting the hybrids eyes once again.

This time she flashed a much more dazzling smile, her gaze keeping his, even turning him in his seat so he could follow those pretty eyes as he dared his own nervous grin.

Far too quickly for his liking, she’d disappeared into the next corridor, leaving him astounded and hiding a loose grin from the others still walking about.

It could’ve been the girls almond eyes that pushed him to, or maybe he just didn’t want to forget the way she looked at him, but he filled the rest of his page with shadowed eyes, some squinted in a smile… awfully, that was.

He really needed more practice.

↠

A long day of classes was finally coming to an end with the sun dipping below the sea, and Makhel was wandering back to his room with a swiped pão de queijo hooked in his tusks, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he groaned.

I still have to finish that paper. Ugh. He should’ve swiped more buns; he’d need the energy.

“Makhel!”

He jumped, swiftly tearing the bun from his tusks to hide behind his back once he recognized Tikka’s voice but was unaware of the shred of bread still hooked against his lip until she pointed to her own lip, prompting him to quickly wipe his face in humiliation.

“I already saw the bun,” she cracked, but Makhel’s guilty smile melted into a flush when he spotted the hybrid behind her, observing the painted walls beside them.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but she waved it off.

“How’re you doing? How’s classes?” she asked with genuine interest, and he weighed his hands in response, glancing at the girl. “Nym says you picked up defensive spells quicker than anyone else,”

“I think that’s only because I don’t get distracted talking to others like everyone else,” he worked out, but Tikka knew that to be false. She’d sat in on many of his classes to witness the pure gift he had at wielding a wand, continuously amazed at how effortlessly he conjured spells and worked magic, even when his head was in the clouds, most likely thinking of his next meal.

“Well keep it up. But I actually stopped you,” she stepped aside, bringing the girl forward who pulled her eyes from the mural beside them. “Because I figured you two should know one another seeing as I’m appointing you as her guide until she’s settled. Makhel, this is Rania. Rania, aqui é Makhel,”

Immediately he locked up, nearly dropping the books in hand when Rania extended hers with a soft giggle.

“Se você tiver mais perguntas, pode perguntar agora,” Tikka spoke to her before patting his arm.

“She’s still learning English so go slow,”

“Uh-“ he stuttered, eyes as wide as moons.

“Goodnight Makhel.” She smiled, and was off, her heels clicking down the corridor.

His nervousness spiked, and he glanced at Tikka’s departure before turning back to Rania, smiling nervously.

“Uhh, Rania, right?” he asked, and she nodded. “Did she show you your room already?”

Her thin brows furrowed, full lips pursing. “Como?”

Oh fuck. “Um, English? Do you know any English?”

“Ah! Ehh, um- l-little?” she winced, bringing her thumb and index together.

“A little bit?” he grinned, and she nodded again, repeating, “Little bit,” slowly.

“Okay, um,” he tried to dig into the deepest recesses of his mind to bring forth what little Portuguese he knew from his parents when they’d screamed at him and what was taught in Languages, but to be honest, he’d never been one to listen. “Um… you have- seu quarto?” he pieced together, cringing at his own words.

“Ah sim! Ela me mostrou o quarto dezesseis, eu acredito?” she explained, closing an eye in thought. He thought it was painfully cute the way her flat nose scrunched up like that.

“Dezesseis… sixteen? Room sixteen? I’m 14- um, quarto catorze,”

“Ah, is close,” she smiled, and he did in return.

There was a moment he was stuck there, drinking in every detail of her round face and cloud like patterning, the way her vibrant eyes caught every sparkle of dim light around them. He’d never seen such short tusks on anyone before, but god it was fucking precious on her.

And against his better judgement and any decency, he scented her silently, fighting the flutter of his eyes when warm cinnamon flooded him. Elves always smelled sickly sweet, but she was just… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he also didn’t want to stop inhaling her.

He’d scented girls at passing before, simply detailing where they might’ve been or if they at all had any interest towards a skinny homeless Orc, but upon scenting her, he found his body reacting in ways-

“Makhel?”

He blinked back into reality. “Hm?” he mumbled, crossing his arms before his waist in hopes his books covered an uninvited guest.

She pointed to the bun in his hand. “D… din-neer?” she tried, her nose crinkling again.

“Din-neer… dinner? Did you get dinner? Food?” he held it up, and she shook her head. “The cafeteria should still be open if you wanna go?”

“Dinner,” she repeated slowly, then perked up. “Jantar?”

“Yes, jantar!” he piped, unable to stop the wide smile when she beamed at him.

It was with many bumps that they made it to the cafeteria and engaged in small conversations as they ate over the leftover buns and drinks, struggling past the language barrier but coming out on top with smiles and laughter. Upon showing her locator card, it revealed they shared quite a number of classes together. Perhaps he was reading her wrong, but he could’ve sworn he smelled the anxiousness roll off of her once he got the point across that he could help her through her first week at her new home, promising he’d stay by her at lunch, too.

When he showed her his spot beneath the peach tree, she retold how she spotted him staring, effectively setting a deep flush across his cheeks, but a kind hand on his shoulder and words he couldn’t understand settled his rapid heart. It was the warmth in her eyes, the way she smiled at him with such honesty.

He wanted to bask in her brilliance even more by the time he’d walked her to her room, very nervous and clumsy goodnights following. By the time her door closed, he was still smiling to himself as he made his way to his own dorm, considering that maybe picking up an extra hour of his language courses would better fill his day instead of napping in the shade of a rooftop.

“You promised you’d protect me,”she wept, struggling to remain upright. If he’d not been far, she could’ve fallen into his arms, ready to take her last breath pressed against his body; the only place she’d wanted to be.

His face twisted; she was right. He’d swore countless times he’d keep her safe even if it cost him his own life.

And there she was, decaying before him by the power of his own hand.

He’d landed his own swing into her ribs, but it was his mistake dealing it lightly.

He knew how capable and damn sturdy she was- there was no need to go easy on her, and now he was paying for it.

Her kicks were known for being lightning fast and strong as a bulls, and one blowing into his jaw left him seeing stars as he flopped onto his back, the wind effectively punched from him.

He coughed, wheezed even, taking a moment to relearn how to bring his hand to his ringing jaw after his brain was spun. “Ow,” he grunted.

Rania’s fan of hair shaded him when she leaned to look down at him, her smile only half apologetic.

“All right?” she asked, her tongue rolling.

“There’s three of you,” he grumbled, grabbing her hand when offered. Her laugh was harmonic as she hoisted his lean body up, even touching his jaw gently where a bump was starting to swell.

“You wore those damn boots again,” he half smiled.

“Learn better blocking so my boots aren’t an ee-shoo,” she grinned.

“Issue,” he repeated, earning a smack on his arm.

“But you’re okay?” she asked softer, head tilting, her pretty lips quirked as he nodded slowly and moving a strand of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. His inner lip was bleeding; he could taste it, but he couldn’t pull away, not when her lithe hand started to play with his shirt.

“Enough flirting,” Fero boomed unapologetically loud over the entire class nestled in one of the back yards, setting an angry blush across Makhel’s cheeks. “Anymore and I’ll transfer one of you,”

“You’ve been saying that for months, Dragavei- just do it so we don’t have 2 of them in class,” an Elf remarked, meeting Rania’s narrowed eyes, but the stocky Bright only had glimmering smiles and a cringeworthy wink for her. His neatly slicked hair was ruined when Fero landed a hard smack against the back of his skull, directing him towards the running track.

“10 laps for not minding your own business,” Fero barked, pushing the other two boys sharing silent teases that were not so sly as to brush past their teacher.

Makhel had shielded Rania with his shoulder, baring his teeth hatefully as the Elves jogged by.

“Don’t you two start,” Fero rolled his eyes.

“We did nothing!” Rania fought back, pushing down Makhel’s hand when he tried to hold her waist.

“You wanna run laps with your friends?’ Fero turned impatiently.

“No, we don’t,” Makhel answered, pulling her stubborn frame back. A quiet chuff was all she threw in his direction, barely fazing their teacher who had turned back to the rest of the class.

“C’mon,” Makhel coaxed, turning her by the shoulders so she was facing him with a deep scowl. “Show me how to kick like that so I can kick your ass.” He smiled, bouncing back and forth on his toes. She tried to suppress it, but the scoff made its way up along with her grin, watching him wiggle like a noodle before her.

“It’s best to just ignore them,” Makhel said around a mouthful of food, looking up at her strong frown and unamused eyes. “They like the attention,”

“It’s all backwards. They do nothing about harassment,” she bit back, angrily pushing her tray away. He watched, grabbing her peach that rolled across the rooftop towards him. He looked to her again from his spot beside her, laid on his side and propped up on his elbow, far more relaxed then the way she hugged her own legs and rested her chin on her knee, pouting at the setting sun.

“Trying to go blind?” he cracked, nudging her arm.

With a long sigh she rested her cheek against her knee, her eyes dropping to him.

He recognized that look. In the months they’d spent their classes and free time together, he knew it was an indication of something that weighed heavily on her heart; a hardship she couldn’t fight off.

Makhel sat up in the same fashion in which she did, leaning over to bump her shoulder. “Flowers are supposed to bloom when the sun goes down,” he spoke softly, pulling the smallest of smiles from her.

“Fale comigo,” he sought, waiting patiently as she obviously flipped it around in her head a few times.

“I’m sick of it,” she started. “They’ve only gotten worse and nothing is done,”

“They’re cowards, all they have is words,” he reassured, but she looked unsatisfied.

“What if one day they are not?” she asked, and Makhel felt his heart clench at the sight of deep worry swimming in her eyes. He knew exactly about the deep seated fear she was expressing.

“You know I’m always here, Rania. I won’t let anything happen to you,”

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” she sighed, but he shook his head, inching closer.

“I promise,” he grabbed her hand, their knees dropping as he held them tightly. “I’ll protect you. They can’t hurt you if I’m here, and yes I can be everywhere,” he insisted before she protested, both of them chuckling.

“You can’t even beat me at spurring,” she simpered, but he tugged on a lock of hair.

“Sparring. Teach me and I’ll be indestructible,” he battled, cocking a hairless brow, puffing his chest.

“You already are. You do spells better than the teachers,” she recognized, but he waved her off. “I’m serious- you have a gift,”

“It’s just ‘cause my Latin is better than yours,” he beamed, and a hard shove against his shoulder sent him over, barely blocking the other loose hits to his side as he laughed.

“When we’ve graduated and you’re the one to earn a spot in Shield of Light, take us somewhere we’re not spat at. Far away from all these Elves,” she groaned, leaning against him when he’d sat upright.

“I like it here, actually. How can you leave that view?” he pointed beyond, marveling at the shimmering sea before them they had the ideal view of.

“I want to see the big canyon,”

“Grand Canyon,” he chuckled.

“I want another big, cold Root Beer,” she sighed, and Makhel eyed her curiously. “My father brought one home once years ago. Amor ao primeiro gosto,”

“We can find that here. I can make it happen,” Makhel promised, but now she eyed him curiously.

“Making such bold promises? You’ll be around for so long?”

It took him a moment to realize she’d asked him something. The way the sun caught those hazel eyes lit them up; soft, mossy green and warm milk chocolate leaving him speechless where he sat, truly experiencing a moment.

Her smile dissolved the longer he stared, her pulse reaching her ears.

She knew he was feeling the heat gather in his chest just as she was, and they both could taste the reaction firing across one another's skin as the distance closed.

Rania had often speculated over Makhel’s level of experience with girls. He was awkward most of the time, hesitant to make any moves when she’d shoot him clear signals, and those moves took weeks upon weeks to carry out. Even grabbing his hand playfully as they’d walk the quiet towns streets made him clumsy.

So when their lips met, finally, after months of resisting the urge to sit in his lap and take charge, it was clear he had no idea what he was doing. Their tusks bumped uncomfortably, but he couldn’t gauge where to turn or push.

A soft giggle jittered him to lean away, but she held his face to better position them, finally able to get a decent kiss in.

He was eager, obviously willing to learn when he let her take the lead, following her steps. Soon she had her tongue softly tempting his, her arms around his neck, his hands pulling her by the thighs closer and chuffing lovingly between soft pecks.

Goosebumps followed his hands ghosting up her arms, landing on her cheeks when he parted to look at her, her pretty eyes heavy and wanton, not to mention the stirring of her body he could taste.

His breath caught when she pulled the loose shirt up, revealing that lean body, her midnight locks falling around her chest. His hands shook, but he still pulled her in when she sat over his lap, their bare chests touching. In the dark of his room, not even the dim glow of a street light coming in from the high window present, he used his touch to picture what he’d shamefully imagined was under her baggy clothes.

No wonder she was so good at fighting- she was like steel beneath his hands, but her skin was silk. He felt like dirt beneath her wandering fingers as she found the scars riddling him, the pits where knives had been forced through his tough skin or puckered spots from his mother’s cigarette burns. Yet she caressed him with featherlight brushes, her splayed fingers gliding over his shoulder blades and following up to hold his face, peppering his lips with sweet smooches.

Her whimper when he gripped her tightly stirred a groan from him, his breath flaring and urge to bury himself in her skyrocketing.

The soft scrape of her tusks along the neck shook him from the dreamlike state he was floating in.

Vivid recollections of rough mouths pinning him and harder hands holding his body down against a dirty mattress flooded his vision.

“Stop!” he cried, gripping her arms.

She retracted, blinking, trying to understand what she’d done wrong as she watched him struggle to catch his breath; she could feel him shaking.

“I’m sorry-”

“Not, not there,” he wavered, his palms falling to her hips. “I’m sorry ju-... just not-” he struggled, but the softest of touch across his shoulder brought his sorrowful face up, Rania’s lips fluttering across his cheeks as she held him, apologizing softly between the kisses.

She knew not the deepest miseries that occupied his heart, and never asked despite his withdrawls from the world around them some days, or the bite marks covering his neck and arms. But if there were parts of him he wasn’t comfortable sharing, she wouldn’t push him. She’d just love every other part of him even more.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” she whispered, leaning on her hand while the other disappeared between them.

His mind flurried.

He’d never done this willingly .

He shook his head, staring intensely down at-

He took a great inhale when she engulfed him, a satisfied moan escaping her lips as she watched his eyes roll back and head drop, surprised at just how well fitting he was inside her once she bottomed out.

The hand that had guided him slid up his chest just as he’d looked back up at her, moaning when she rocked slowly. Her hair was a fan of darkness around them, but her eyes pierced through it, her full lips parted in soft breaths as she took the lead. He gripped her hips, even assisting her as the seconds passed; clearly he was enjoying this.

She hoped he would. By the time she sat straight to better roll over him, he was helping her in soft tugs and pushes, his mouth hung open in gasping moans.

The shame and embarrassment coupled with that absolutely astounding climax was sending his heart soaring the plummeting again and again.

Makhel sighed, his fingers tangled in her hair and chin bumping her forehead when she looked up.

“Don’t be upset,” she reassured softly, kissing his collarbone.

He shook his head.

“We’ll keep trying,” she whispered, sitting up on her elbow. He eyed her then, his lip curling up the longer she grinned.

“You’re so confident,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes when she kissed him.

“In you I am,”

He worried his lip, a frown forming. “I came-”

“Everyone’s-” she put her finger against his lips, “First time is bumpy,”

Her fingers drummed playfully against his chin, gently slapped away and brought tighter against his chest so he could press a tusky kiss to her forehead. Their free hands drifted to one another, fingers toying and the pads of her index finger drawing designs over his palm.

There had been times they lay in his bed like this, simply talking, without any emotions shared despite both knowing how their bodies were reacting, but he could never bear to break the serenity. Makhel thought it would always just be, ‘you’re my best friend’. Never did he think it would move past pushing her hair from her cheeks when they’d stay up late together in the library, minds scrambled from endless reading and stress of finishing an assignment they could’ve finished hours before if they hadn’t been listening to music.

His throat ran dry, his fingers in her hair fidgeting.

“Eu amável,” his voice cracked, quickly clearing his throat.

When she sat up on an elbow, her brows furrowed but a crooked smirk spread across her face. “Que?”

He held his breath, face rapt in concentration. “I said that wrong,”

She nodded, giggling when he rolled away to hide his face in the pillow, growling and grumbling loudly as she shifted to lay over him, kissing his shoulder.

“Eu também te amo,” she whispered softly beside his ear, lips pursing into a grin when he at last looked back at her. She nibbled his shoulder gently the longer he gazed at her, eventually wiggling onto his back again.

“Sim?” Makhel intoned.

She nodded, her hair falling from behind her pointed ear. “You know that,”

“Did you?” he asked, hands sliding up her arms when she slid over his body.

“I did,” a sweet kiss, and he was already falling under. “Took you long enough,”

“Oh shut up.” He mumbled, comfortably pulling her back into his chest, her face pressed under his chin.

Breaths flared from him, and the longer he stared at the ivory taking over the brilliant carob of her skin, the more the weight he’d before shrugged off started to pile on again.

He’d been restless, hysterical, at one moment calm and the next screaming when he thought back to the way her face twisted in confusion when he’d first fired at her, infecting her with the slow moving spell.

Stop looking at her.

He rose the wand as he stepped angrily towards her.

“Makhel!” He’d heard Tikka shriek, but his eyes were only on Rania, his love eternal decaying before him. She was void of life, and enchantment, but he still thought she was the most astounding thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

In the minutes that had passed, Makhel hadn’t met Tikka’s eyes once. He was cool and calm, and she could go as far as to say he even looked a little pleased with himself. Every so often the smallest hint of a grin would peak out from behind his curved tusks, and Tikka would feel that small reminder come back up. Something she’d pushed down, and blamed on his poor, violent upbringing.

But even if, was that any excuse?

She fidgeted in her seat. “Tell me from your side,”

He looked completely satisfied with himself when he too adjusted in his seat, clasping his hands in his lap. “They’ve always harassed Rania, and none of you have ever done anything about it,”

“Who?”

Now he looked annoyed, his head cocking derisively. “The three- Alinar, Hagen… Shyrrik,” he spat the last name, the one who’d received the majority of the attack. “They wouldn’t keep their hands off of her,”

Tikka’s brows knit together. “How so?”

“What’s it matter, they shouldn’t have been touching her at all,” his voice rose. “She told them to stop and he couldn’t keep to himself so I did what should have been done months ago!”

“Casting a spell-”

“What were you going to do? She’s been here 4 times and nothing has been done!”

“We’ve talked to-”

“And nothing has changed!” he stood, his chair tipping back. “You let it slip by and it’s only gotten worse!”

“Makhel enough!” Tikka boomed, standing quickly.

He was a fuming mess, the static energy pulsing off of him and sending sharp prickles across her skin. Tikka was again reminded of the power before her, and the potential coursing through him, more reactant than a match in gasoline. His confidence in his own abilities grew as the days passed, and today was just a glimpse into the magic that was growing; what he was learning to harness and direct.

“You almost killed him,” she reiterated slowly, but he only had a roll of his eyes to offer in return. “Makhel,”

“I hear you, but I don’t care. They should be gone but you let them off with a slap on the wrist. Now they know I’m not afraid to-”

“ Enough ,”

His nose crinkled, his eyes shadowed under his heavy brows, but Tikka was almost thankful she couldn’t see the raw ire stirring in them. It made her feel like a target; if she made the wrong move or said the wrong thing, it left her fearful she wouldn’t even be able to fight off her own student if he snapped.

She pushed that thought down.

He won’t snap.

But if she’s not stopped him from speaking, could she stop herself from believing he’d kill if that’s what he promised?

“All 4 of you are suspended from wands handling for two weeks,” she stated definitely, but still tensed when he showed great distaste in her decision.

“That’s all they get? They bruised her!” he hollered. Surely people would start to gather outside now to listen. “What about the other classes she’s forced to share with them!?”

“If anything else happens-”

“You’ll do nothing!” he declared, slamming his fists down against the old desk she sat behind, fighting the hard flinch that shot into her shoulders.

The heat hitting her front couldn’t have been from his body alone, but more so from the agitated energy thickening the air around them, stifling her steady breaths that now felt constricted. It made her all the more eager to get out of that room and away from him, at least long enough to clear her head and shake off the panic she felt rising.

“Two weeks, Makhel. It’s non-negotiable,” Tikka finalized, side-stepping when he immediately moved towards the door.

“If they touch her again,” he puffed, raising his finger. “I swear.”

The door slammed sharply behind him, leaving Tikka to lean against the tables surface, her head hung and releasing the shaking breath that had caught in her chest. But her mind circled his words; was that a promise, or a threat?

“You’re gonna let him off like that?”

She sighed. “Not now, Fero,”

“We could hear him down the halls,” her lover battled, stepping in his with arms crossed.

“Imagine how it was up front,” she exhaled, standing straight to meet him. He looked nearly as shaken as her, but Fero had been skeptical of the Orc since day one, and bringing him in that afternoon had been the fuel to Fero’s fire. He’d warned her of the danger he posed, but she denied it everytime.

Surely such a mistreated boy only needed to be listened to, given structure.

But as the months passed, there was something visibly shifting in him. It was like his shadow was taking on its own personality, whispering to him, giving him the courage to fight back, voice his opinions.

Sometimes lash out, and use force when his threats alone didn’t ward off the pestering classmates.

And those moments ago? She saw a glimpse into the darkness Fero had insisted he’d seen lurking. The silent monster waiting for it’s time to pounce; the long dormant hatred threatening to erupt. But she didn’t say that aloud. Tikka wanted nothing more than to believe that the more work she put into integrating him into normal day to day life, the more his temperament would calm despite it becoming unpredictable as of late.

It was just a phase, she’d tell herself.

“He needs to be transferred.” Fero pointed out again, but she shook her head. She wasn’t ready to give up.

He’ll grow.

↠

“Makhel-” she gasped, face pinched. “Makhel calm down,”

He was lost in himself, grunting into her skin and rutting against Rania with such ferocity that she’d stopped enjoying it some time ago, but he didn’t hear her pleas. He was consumed in one of the few things that dampened the rage growing in his heart, but he didn’t realize the force he used to pin her already marred form with, worse than the ones she’d been dealt from unwanted hands.

“Look at me, look at me,” she finally had his face pulled from her neck, his hand releasing her thigh from it’s ironlike grip against his rocking hips. “You’re okay,” she consoled, watching the light come back to his eyes.

He only nodded, dropping his forehead to hers but still keeping pace.

“Makhel?” she called, but just like that, he was gone again, this time his arms wrapped under her shoulders to create the ideal angle. She gasped, nails digging into his back.

“Too hard-” she pleaded, but her voice was lost under his own loud growls muffled against her neck.

Deep inhales made his eyes heavy, but he also wondered…

Was that why they harassed her? Did they want her for their own?

He pushed her head aside, his teeth bared against her skin.

“Makhel!”

Did they want to defile her?

No, they couldn’t.

He wouldn’t let that happen. There’d be no other marks across her skin from anyone but him-

“ Makhel! ” she screamed, and his eyes snapped open.

In a flash he was sat up, her legs still over his thighs until she scrambled away from him, her hand held against her shoulder where blood pooled from between her fingers.

That’s when he tasted the warm blood coating his lips and tongue, and more than that, how unbelievably sweet it was. It was near impossible to fight licking his lips.

“I-I’m sorry-” he started, reaching for her, but she pushed his hands away.

“Why didn’t you listen!?” she demanded, reaching for discarded clothing across the floor to press against the bite.

“I was-”

“You weren’t! Look, Makhel!”

She shoved her arms into the light, revealing the reddened marks where his hands had twisted her skin and that would soon leave bruises. He almost couldn't believe it; he’d done that? That wasn’t from-

“My parents are coming this week! How will I explain this?” she cried, tears brimming her eyes.

“We can cover it?” he tried, and she allowed him to move aside the shirt to look at the wound. “It’s not a full bite, I only pricked your skin,”

“That’s beside the point, Makhel,” she sighed, moving his hands again. “What if you had? What if we ever break up and no other man would want to be with me because of this?”

He retracted a little, her words stinging. “You want to break up?”

“That’s not what I said,” she snapped, and he nodded, dropping his eyes to his hands. There was a drift of silence, the bleeding having stopped and now only a dull throb where his tusk had delved into the muscle. He didn’t look up when she stood to dress, and she didn’t look either when he wiped his mouth and chin of her blood with his blanket.

“I’m sorry,”

She looked at him as she pulled her boots on, his hands running from his face to the back of his neck.

“When I see them going after you, it just…” he took a shaking breath. “It takes me back,”

Rania paused. “To where?”

He looked up then with glossy eyes, but instead of speaking, he pointed to the bites and scars riddling his body, the things she’d never asked of and knew he hated being touched. She finished buttoning her pants before she sat before him, grabbing his trembling hands and following his line of sight until he at last met her searching eyes.

“Tell me. Help me understand,” she implored gently, holding his face when just the request of bringing forth such old pain caused a whirlwind across his features. “I want to help,”

There was a clear reluctance in the way he didn’t agree outright, and in the manner in which he dropped his face into his palms, but Rania had sensed for quite some time that his past that was always a demon sitting on his shoulder was creeping back into his wakeful hours. She’d catch him wandering away with his own thoughts, pulling the sleeves of his shirts down so no one saw the marks riddling him. It was safe to assume some of the nasty things others would say if they saw the bites and burns across him.

“My mom…” he started, leaning a cheek in his palm. “She didn’t want me. I have 4 brothers and sisters but I was the mistake and one day they were all just gone,” he sniffled, plucking absentmindedly at the sheets. “I was 6 so I stayed with my dad but,”

Rania’s head dipped, holding his hands tighter. It was the first time she’d seen a tear run so freely, dripping off of his nose.

“He pimped me out for his drug money. That’s what-” he motioned around his body. “All of these are... His clients,” he choked.

It took a few flips in her mind to understand that; his clients, but when it finally clicked, she couldn’t stop imagining a young boy in his place, cleaning the wounds across his body without even his own father to turn to for safety.

She scooted closer, bringing his hands into her lap. “Makhel,”

He looked ashamed. Even holding her hands, he felt like he was dirtying her. She shouldn’t have been with someone so used, so sullied.

“I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about this it’s too much,” he retracted, crudely wiping his cheeks.

“Makhel Portela, do you really think hearing this is anything compared to what you survived?” she scolded, undoubtedly stricken with horror, but the refusal to leave him when he was finally opening was unrelenting. “I’m here, I want to help.”

It left him deflated before he even could muster the thanks, or begin to form any. How could he show appreciation for the thing of beauty and compassion before him, ready to help shoulder the nightmares that left him gutless? After he’d near brutalized her in bed, scaring her senseless when he too should have been the shoulder for her to lean on in her own dilemma.

He’d promised he would protect her; keep the harm at bay so she didn’t befall the same fate as he, but now this proved how much he’d have to lose it any of it took her from him.

He couldn’t- wouldn't let that happen.

He’d keep the monsters away and her life, and body, untainted.

The wand protested in his tightening grip. “I loved you,” he wavered.

When she smiled, he wanted the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him.

With blood coating her teeth, the life draining, the girl he still loved with every shred of himself left within, she captivated, and broke him.

I didn’t protect you.

She overlooked the small packet of sweets she’d snatched up with the last of her money, hoping they were true to their supposed flavoring of root beer. If she couldn’t indulge in the bubbly drink, she hoped the gummies would stave off the often extreme craving, at least until she could convince Makhel to a vacation to the states.

A soft sprinkle of rain started to dust across her hair and cheeks, and soon it would wash into the downpours that had been on and off all week, but she took the shortcut between the shadowed homes that would have her back at the school in-

The figures at the end of the long walkway were what she thought were normal day-goers, simply hanging around their homes as the gloomy weather prevailed, but the closer she drew, the more recognizable they became. More notably, the taller one that always had his hair slicked back into a tight ponytail, his sideburns effectively repulsing her everytime she caught sight of them.

If she’d not stepped into a puddle that echoed down the stone walls, she could’ve turned away undetected, but now they had their piercing eyes on her.

Months of snide comments and unwanted pats or caresses left her rigid, her brows arched in anger and fists clenching, but she had two bags of groceries in her arms, and in a narrow hall like this, two could easily over-power one.

So she chuffed, turning back towards the entrance after shooting a warning glare their way.

She muttered under her breath, about to step from the stone pathway when another form stepped before her.

Hagen, a Bright who lacked in wand wielding but was blessed in strength, one of the more brawny Elves she’d ever seen. He grinned at her, and it set her back a few steps, but more footsteps splashing across the puddles behind promoted Rania to spin, and Alinar and Shyrrik were approaching.

As soon as she found Shyrrik’s eyes in the dark of the buildings, she saw the appetite in them; the willingness to take what he wanted by any means necessary.

He’d always looked at her that same way, like he was ripping her clothes off with his eyes alone.

She didn’t wait for them to get any closer before dropping her food to stand her tallest, her limbs rigid with concentration despite a boiling dread rising in her chest.

“Fuck off,” she bit, and a brush across her arm swung her hand against it, but Hagen only laughed, shaking his hand in an exaggerated fashion.

“So ferocious, it’s all that time you spend with that goblin,” Shyrrik sneered, shimmying up to her.

“Get the fuck away from me,” she tried to slip between the gap they’d made, but Alinar blocked her, pushing her back with his chest.

Rania growled, baring her sharp teeth and tusks, but Shyrrik and Hagen grabbing loosely at her arms stifled her efforts to remain confident.

“You reek of him,” he inclined, finally grabbing her arms, squeezing painfully as she started to fight him off. “You’re half Elf, you should stick with your better half-”

A lightning headbut pushed him back, but the other two hed her, one of them looping an arm around her neck with a hand clasped over her mouth while the other groped across her body, lifting her shirt as Shyrrik came back before her with eager hands and a bloody nose.

Despite the rapid kicks and thrashing against their hold, it seemed all too easy how they lifted and carried her into one of the cutoffs down the length of the shadowed hall, her screams muffled and cries for help unheard as they ripped her clothing, and skin, forcing their way over her and into her, fighting one another for more time once she’d been beaten close to unconsciousness.

Rania lost the ability to scream when she felt the blood pooling beneath her, staring with blurry eyes at the entrance to the small hole in the wall they’d dragged her into, telling herself at any second someone would walk by and see them.

But it didn’t happen.

It felt like days before they stopped, and she felt every punch, every slap, every time they shoved their way in, laughing above her and spitting across her body and face.

They left her in a puddle of blood and rainwater, broken and cut, stinging and burning.

She wanted to fall into a void where it would stop any more feelings.

But there was only the rain dripping across her, and the throbbing growing in her lower stomach, her eyes burning from not blinking.

↠

He’d thought she was caught up with something with the school when she left that morning.

Maybe she’d stopped to eat something; she liked to sit outside when it rained, enjoy watching it come down in sheets.

She’d slipped out of his bed that morning to first flip through his sketchbook, always drawing little hearts next to the studies he’d done of her hands and smiles, and he didn’t even notice she was gone until he found the space next to him empty, and then finding her winking at him from behind the door, whispering she’d be back soon.

Why hadn’t he gone to find her? After hours ?

He hesitated before moving the curtain to her bed, holding his face. It was physically painful to choke back the sobs, recounting the details Tikka had given him once they’d found her.

Makhel squatted, burying his face in his arms.

It was happening.

Walking in to see it would be one thing, but to smell them across her, knowing they emptied themselves in her, and… marked her, like he’d been.

A whimper made its way up his throat, but he wiped his misty cheeks, standing, taking a few silent breaths that did nothing to calm his trembling body.

The curtain scraped aside softly, but Rania’s back was turned to him where she lay in the bed. From where he was, he could see her hair was dirty, tangled.

“Lul?” he called softly, but no response. Walking around the end of the bed brought him closer; it brought clarity to the details of her bruised arms, her cut face, the vacancy of her eyes as she stared ahead with trails of tears left behind.

He tried to hide the twisting of his face when he smelled it, smelled them.

They’d… left themselves in her.

Left their marks.

The crescent bites were raw and open, overlapping. Elves didn’t mark like Orcs did. They’d done this in a taunting matter, knowing full well the impact had on him, and more importantly her.

The first time he tried to say her name, his voice cracked too severely, so he sat down before her and shakily reached for her hand. Her knuckles were scraped; she’d put up a fight.

Her hand was limp in his hold, even when he squeezed gently. She wouldn’t look to him, even as tears flowed freely, bleeding into the crisp pillow beneath her head.

“Rania,” he finally was able to rasp, but fell forward onto his elbows beside her when she covered her eyes to weep.

He wanted to pull her tight against his chest, but just the slightest pressure around her brought forth a pained cry. Makhel cradled her how he could without harming her, but what words could he offer? He knew the broken sense of self that was inside of her, the skin she no longer wanted to be in- he knew it all. There was nothing he could offer except his comfort, for no words or miraculous day could ease this. It would smother her, but he would be there every step of the way. And when the time came that she wanted to come from the darkness, he’d be there.

He’d be the hand from the light that never guided him out.

Yet this close, he further realized the extent of the bashing they inflicted upon her.

He’d been told she was found unconscious by the market, only detectable from a low cry that traveled from the shadows. The guilt only grew heavier in his stomach, thinking of her lying there, crying for help. No longer did she smell like the sweet luminescence he’d lose himself in, but instead rainwater, and semen.

Makhel buried his face against her shoulder, gently stilling her ragged sobs.

How could he fix her?

His body shook, the realization dawning on him.

How could he uphold his promise now after he’d broken it? He’d sworn to protect her, and instead, she’d been…

He lifted his head to wipe his own face, but glancing out the clouded window brought forth a frenzy of dormant fury once he spotted them . Talking in the courtyard, as if they’d not just committed one of the most heinous, abhorrent crimes to none other than his Rania.

Shyrrik’s shirt was untucked, a scrape across his cheek as he cackled beside his friends.

No, not just friends.

The other rapists.

He sat straighter, his line of sight unbroken from the trio of monsters.

Why were they still there? Surely if TIkka had told him who was responsible, then the higher-ups knew they couldn’t remain at the school; they must’ve known of the danger they posed to anyone else even after months of Makhel telling them.

He kept staring, the longer he did realizing that this was being handled like every other time they’d done something.

Here she was, only feet away from her attackers, only a window separating them.

They were going to do absolutely nothing about it.

Why didn’t he take her home?

Why didn’t he stop?

How could he have claimed he was doing all of this for her, but simultaneously knew she was in no condition to fight against him?

Makhel felt the culmination of his actions suffocating him; a weight on his chest that was unmovable, and it only worsened when she smiled at him, even as she withered.

“You did,” she whispered.

He exhaled slowly.

He was the monster.

Breaking in here once meant he knew how to do it again.

He could almost laugh; had they no sense to improve their security after a lowly street kid had found his way in one time already?

No, they were stupid, but he couldn’t trust all of them to be as absent-minded as Tikka. Soon they’d start gathering the other students to announce what had happened, asking them to keep vigilant watch for the signs amongst other peers, report any harassment. Little did they know their concern with the issue was empty, all talk and no action taken to prevent anything.

They had a brutalized student in their very walls that would have to go on studying beside her attackers… until Makhel had made up his mind.

It came to him, bringing with it a sense of peace.

Watching them go about their day as if they’d not just destroyed someone's life had been the problem, and Makhel was the answer.

He’d come to realize how good he was at spell casting; how natural a wand felt in his hold, how it hummed appreciatively when he spoke to it. He earned it’s respect because he gave it in return, and when this brilliant little solution had popped to the forefront of his mind as he lay beside Rania, stroking her dirty hair, somewhere deep down inside of him knew the wand would think it brilliant too.

He’d made it into the pitifully guarded room, silent as a shadow, the only noise in the wide room being the drops coming off of him from the heavy rain outside.

It was already singing to him.

He could see the soft glow filtering through the heavy doors protecting it and it’s sister, shaking the air around them.

“Shh,” Makhel lulled softly, and was elated to see the wand listen, and dim before he opened the unlocked case. Soft coils of vibrant energy reached for his hand just as he reached for the wand, warm to the touch and featherlight across his rough skin.

He pulled it close to his soaked chest, the drops falling from his nose and chin evaporating before they hit the luminescent scepter. It was so warm, like basking in the sun after a cold night. There was nothing more he wanted than to surround Rania with this same warmth; to show her that he’d make everything okay again.

And he would. He would take it upon himself to break the lives of the one who broke hers.

The further his mind reached and envisioned the revenge he’d exact, the louder the wand rang, excitedly trembling in his hold.

Makhel smiled, turning towards the open window he’d slinked through.

No one would go looking for him, not even Tikka. She’d told him to stay by Rania, and he would, after this.

In their haste to make it through the rain, other students didn’t notice his hand in his jacket, or the determination in which he walked against the crowd, eyes scanning, ready to obliterate even if it meant doing so in front of others. He stopped to check they hadn’t slipped by, eyes jumping from head to head.

He stormed down the corridor leading to their rooms. If they weren’t there, he’d still barge into the assembly hall and do it there. Nothing could stop him now.

Upon spotting light coming from Shyrrik’s window, a satisfied breath left him, continuing on his way around the building.

His door was cracked open once he’d come to it, and Makhel leaned in, listening.

Low music drifted inside, but nothing else filtered out. It was like any other night for him; he felt his gut roil.

He inhaled deeply, stepping back, and kicking the door in viciously.

Not only did Shyrrik jump to his feet, but Hagen too, the two stumbling back from the door once Makhel stepped in, soaked to the bone and huffing.

“The fuck do you want-” Hagen started, but their porcelein skin only grew paler once Makhel flashed the wand, dripping vehemently with sparkling plasma.

Cornered, and wandless, they were left hopeless, just like they’d left Rania.

“Get the fuck out of here you pig-”

“Exentera,” Makhel flicked his wrist, and Shyrrik felt the spray of warm blood across his face before he could turn to see Hagen’s body torn open and butterflied across his wall, his heart still thumping wildly in his ribs before the remnants of him slipped down into a squelching pile of blood and meat and bones.

Clustered, panicked cries tumbled from Shyrrik, tripping sideways over his chair, his bright eyes glued to Makhel as he approached his frantic form, kicking to scoot away from the wand and clawing for anything to hoist himself up.

The Orc kneeled before him, watching Shyrrik cringe away from the sharp ringing in his palm, hissing prayers below his breath.

Makhel tilted his head in fascination, his golden eyes committing every moment to memory.

He wanted to come back to this when he inevitably knew the moments of grief would crush him, but knowing within a matter of moments this creature of filth and perversion would be painted across the room brought him bliss.

Makhel smiled, his sharp teeth flashing causing a stir of loud sobs from Shyrrik.

A long sigh billowed from Tikka, propping open the assembly door as students quietly filtered out. It was one of the more sorrowful congregations; Rania was a friend to most, but so were the boys who’d attacked her, and it left the young hearts amongst the school conflicted.

“So?” Fero came up to her with Tanila, a representative from Shield of Light with long, Lilac braids running her scalp who’d insisted upon the assembly, but was also insisting the three responsible be expelled despite Tikka trying to reason for their continued stay.

“They have no place here,” Tanila ground out, Fero nodding in agreement.

Tikka’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t so vocal about this the weeks leading up to it,”

“That was before they almost killed someone,” he bit back.

“Both of you have handled this poorly,” Tanila interjected, silencing the arguing. “Why weren’t they handled before? I’ve read the report- it wasn’t just the girl who’s complained,”

“It was just bothering them during class-”

“That’s no excuse!” Tanila boomed, retracting when a few heads turned. She smoothed her smartly pressed jacket down her front. “This could have been prevented if you’d taken the steps. Clear your office and hand in your keys in the morning. You’re a risk to our students,”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Fero stepped in, speaking for a dumbfounded Tikka.

“There- there are politics playing a part in this-“

“These are the repercussions of your poor handling-”

A shrill scream echoed down the cold halls, spinning the three toward the direction it came from. More screams followed, then students running, tripping over one another in a confused haze and swarming mass.

The distant shrieks woke her.

As soon as her crusty eyes cracked open, she was reminded of it by the ache between her legs, the soreness riddling her body. She could smell the filth all over herself.

Rania whimpered, struggling to turn her head towards the window above the stiff bed.

It was dark out, and rain was pattering against the window, but the scattered screams and yelling were lost in the fog of her waking confusion.

It hurt too much to sit up on an elbow, so she remained laying, listening past the loud pulsing in her ears as a raging headache ebbed it’s way in. No one else was in the infirmary; there was no hushed words amongst the nurses or papers shuffling. If there wasn’t the obnoxious screaming- what she assumed was lively students- she could go back to sleep.

That’s all she wanted; rest.

The rickety door to the infirmary blasted open, smacking back against the wall, but Rania only bothered to look up when her curtain was thrown back, recognizing Makhel’s silhouette.

“Rania? Wake up,” he puffed, and once stepping into the dull light from outside, she was confused and horrified to see blood splashed across him, head to toe.

“What happened?” she croaked, crying out when he pushed the guard rail down and pulled her into a sitting position. Her broken arm hadn’t been set yet as she waited for her parents to come, and he gripped it unknowingly.

“Can you walk?” he rushed, as carefully as he could pulling her legs over the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on?” she urged him to answer, pushing against his chest but looking at her palms where the blood rubbed off. “Makhel tell me!”

She gasped when she finally caught sight of the wand, reeling back from it. “Why do you have that!?”

“I’ll explain but we’re leaving here,” he explained, resorting to wrapping the thin blanket around her body and carrying her bridal style. She groaned, her body tensing from all the jostling, but she had no energy left to stop him.

“Makhel!”

He turned with Rania in his arms, the couple finding Tikka at the entrance with other teachers behind her, the students outside still scattering.

“Put her down,” she demanded, but Rania was the one to cling to him, tears stinging her eyes.

“This is all your fault,” he ground out, shaking his head, backing away.

“We can fix this-” Tikka tried.

“No! You always say that and look what happened!” he hollered, the wand starting to drip again, the pool growing by his feet squirming. “I did what should have been done! What YOU should have done!”

Tikka stuttered, at a complete loss for words.

All the times she’d been told that his breaking point was coming was standing before her now, charged with rage, and in his grasp a weapon that had no limits.

She’d fed the monster hiding inside of him, nurturing it’s appetite.

“Please, let me fix this,” she implored, but he shook his head, his cheek coming to rest against Rania’s head when she hid her cries under his chin.

“It’s too late,” he mumbled, loud cracking of thunder filling the air around them. “I’ll be back for you.” He snarled, the lights flickering around them before Makhel and Rania snapped out of existence, leaving a rolling thunder swimming around them and some of the windows blown.

The members left behind needed no more to start leaving, talking amongst themselves, preparing for the school to be evacuated and for Shield of Light to lock down the premises.

Tikka remained, stepping further into the destroyed room, crunching over the glass across the floor.

He’d left bloody footprints behind, even down the hallways the other students were frantically gathering in, most of them already bearing witness to the walls covered in the torn skin and muscle of Shyrrik, or the dripping innards of Hagen.

She prayed Alinar was far from here-

I’ll be back for you.

She spun, the hair on the back of her neck standing and goosebumps firing along her scalp.

Her lightning blue eyes jumped, finding no one, but felt eyes all around her, leering from the shadows.

Fero came running in, nearly slipping before he stopped before the entrance, staring at her with wide eyes and breathless. He couldn’t decipher the frantic manner of her expression or understand why her shoulders were trembling.

“The- the room, students, they’re…” his pointing directionless, his brows furrowing. “What? What?”

She straightened herself, stilling her trembling chin. “We need to leave.”

He wanted to go back to that night. He could have left her after the attack; left her out of the other slaughterings.

He should’ve let her heal.

Rania wavered, and he thrust his arm as a choked cry found its way past his jaws.

Tikka shrieked, but there was nothing she could do to stop the blast of warbling energy from surrounding Rania, stabbing up her withered form and pulling the life from her chest with an ear piercing scream. Her body stiffened, her skin splitting across her form as the spell expelled from around her, pulling her last breath from her lungs and shooting into vibrant bolts only to have her fold onto the ground like a piece of paper.

Makhel stumbled back, unable to pull his gaze away from her lifeless body strewn across the dirt.

They found her in the alley-

A shaking breath forced its way from his lungs, and he covered his mouth.

She’s been beaten- I don’t know if she’s stable yet-

The wand was silent in his hold, it’s brilliant light dimming.

Stay with her, talk to her. She was raped, Makhel- she needs you.

He couldn’t find his breath, could barely stay standing. “Rania?” he choked, even though he knew she wouldn’t answer.

“What have you done!?” Tikka sobbed, fighting Ward’s hold around her shoulders, trying to silence her.

Makhel reeled, his wild eyes meeting the one he should’ve killed months ago, the one who was responsible for letting this all happen. The teacher that had seen such promise in him but had ultimately let him down.

The once gold of his iris was now glowing lavender, deep crimson overtaking the white of his eyes. Heavy breaths sent strings of saliva across his tusks, and then there was the slow rise of the wand in their direction, his body trembling.

“Oh fuck-” Ward hissed, already pulling Tikka back.

“Just die,” Makhel whimpered.

Tikka knew by the manner of his crooked body and sickly colored eyes that the wand had infected him, and was drawing the life from him directly. There was no more need for spoken spells when it was harnessing what was in him.

So when the spiraling, flickering magic came crashing towards them, splitting the ground effortlessly, she knew there’d be no dodging it in time-

By the time the sound of the attack puncturing flesh and crunching bones registered in her ears, Fero was already a puddle on the ground before her, his chest blown apart and his cheek and jaw hanging on by mere shreds of skin.

“Fe-” she gasped, finally registering what was left of him, but then there was only screams, one after the other, her own ears ringing from how loud they were.

Ward stumbled away, falling against one of the buildings as he watched Tikka scream above Fero, having not expected him to lunge before her like that to absorb the attack.

Makhel was just as stunned, staggering around in attempts to keep his body upright. His dark skin was paling, a thick sweat breaking out across him.

Ward’s eyes flickered around; Nick and Callie were nowhere in sight.

They then landed on Rania when he could’ve sworn he saw the slightest of movement, and there was.

Although she appeared lifeless, her body was sliding across the dirt slowly, her arm outstretching. Her head lulled backwards, her neck stretched unnaturally to reveal her sunken face, her colorless eyes landing on Makhel. But a suspicious shape was scooting across the ground towards her, skidding wildly until it landed in her twisted grasp.

He could almost hear the ragged breath that expanded her broken ribs, her hand lifting with uncertain aim so she could whisper, “ Ne tua .”

A sparking fire lit between Makhel’s hand and the wand, so vibrant and white hot that he dropped it immediately, exclaiming where it peeled the skin of his palm.

Ward looked back to Rania, and was unnerved to see her twisted further back to stare at him, a weak nod signaling him.

It clicked in his head.

Motherfucker.

He shot up, stumbling back towards TIkka before he bellowed, “ TULA!” in Makhel’s direction.

Makhel’s wide eyes met Ward’s, but the wand was already in his grasp, simmering angrily and burning his skin before it calmed, accepting it’s new handler.

The lavender crept from Makhel’s eyes, the bloodshot more apparent than ever as he stared on in horror, completely powerless.

Ward looked down at the blood soaked wand, the light filtering through the worn wooden handle, and he smiled, fire sparking under his feet.

Translations:

-Olá / Qual o sue nome : hello / what's your name? -Você consegue me entender : can you understand me? -Se você tiver mais perguntas, pode perguntar agora : if you have anymore questions, you can ask him now -seu quarto? : your room? -Ah sim! Ela me mostrou o quarto dezesseis, eu acredito? : ah yes! she showed me it already- room sixteen, i believe? -quarto catorze : room fourteen -Jantar : dinner

-Dragavei (Fero's last name; Fero Dragavei)

-Fale comigo : talk to me -Eu amável : i lovely you -Eu também te amo : i love you too -sim : yeah / yes

-Ne tua : not yours

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ofwizardsandmen · 5 years

Photo

Maybe

College AU

Maybe being more than just friends with isn’t as impossible as their insecurities made them believe every other day.

Pairing: Tara x Mark

Word count: 2k

The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans hits Tara’s nostrils as soon as she walks into M’s café. It’s early in the morning and the place is almost empty except for —obviously and as per usual— M, a girl in the far end corner of the shop and a middle-aged man standing by the cashier.

Tara takes her spot in her favorite table next to the wall and starts placing her stuff on the table when the entrance door flies open and a hooded figure trots in. A smile forms on Tara’s lips but vanishes when the man pushes the hood, revealing blond strands of hair. Huffing in disappointment, she pouts slightly and goes back to the task of taking her laptop off her vintage Dior mini travel bag. Yet, she’s interrupted once again when the blond guy greets her from the counter

“Hi, Tara, what can I serve you today?” Sungjae doesn’t say it, but Tara swears he feels tempted to ask what’s wrong with her face because she’s fully aware of how deadly pale and sick she looks this morning.

“A double espresso, please.” She says simply as she opens her laptop. “With a spoon of arsenic, if possible” She adds, making Sungjae and herself chuckle.

“Ugh, sorry. Still haven’t found a way to merge the coffee shop with a dark apothecary” M joins the conversation once the middle-aged man picks his coffee and walks out. “It’s just 8 am, it might not be that bad”

“Do you even know who my brother is-?” Tara begins and Sungjae groans at the simple mention of Tyler Lee

“Ok, correction” He interrupts “It can be that bad”

Tara nods in agreement and places her elbows on the table “It was and I truly believed it’d be better now that he’s a university student, but he’s worse” She lets out a deep sigh before she returns to her laptop and Sungjae moves to prepare her coffee, but M remains on the very same spot looking at her hesitantly, as though he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t push himself to.

Noticing his eyes on her, Tara contemplates the options. She could as well say nothing, move on and continue to feel miserable or she could talk to someone —M, for example—, get things off her chest and be miserable afterward.

“To the hell with it, I hate Tyler, he’s just so freaking immature and believes I’m some dumb teenager who doesn’t know what she’s doing or is stupid enough to let people take advantage of her.” Tara almost feels as though the heavy burden that stopped her from breathing properly has finally been released, but the feeling is short-lived once the memories of the previous night assault her thoughts for the umpteenth time that day. “And he is so rude. I am so embarrassed he’s my brother. Can I die so I don’t have to go to class?” She whines, burying her face in her hands.

“Wow, I didn’t know it was this bad” M meditates his words for a brief moment before going on “I wouldn’t know since I don’t have any sisters, but maybe he just feels responsible for whatever happens to you, so-“

“So he had to embarrass me in front of my-“ Another word is about to come off Tara’s lips, but she stops herself “my classmate”

A small knowing smile makes its way onto M’s lips, but Tara is already too engrossed in telling the story of how her brother made a scene after finding Mark in her apartment, to notice.

“I don’t know what he has in that perverted brain of his, but we were literally studying, we were doing the whole table full of books and cup of coffee in hand, and he still had the nerve to accuse Mark of planning and I quote him “take advantage of my innocence”. What am I? A 4-year-old?” Tara vents, huffing every once in a while to express her frustration. “Mark probably hates me now” she sighs this time “Tyler was awful to him, I wouldn’t blame him if he never wants to hang out with me again”

“Oh, come on, have you ever seen the way he-“ Sungjae stops mid-sentence and trying to act as casual as the slight blush on his face allows him to, he places the cup of coffee on the counter. “I mean, no. Why would you think that?”

“Because Mark was supposed to be here to finish our group assignment, like half of an hour ago and he’s nowhere to be seen, so-“

“He probably overslept” M interrupts this time as he places the coffee on Tara’s table.

“He’s never late,” Tara says matter-of-factly. “I even came late on purpose”

“Maybe he forgot?” Sungjae ventures from the cashier.

“Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with someone who is treated like a little child by her idiotic brother?”

“Oh, come on Tara” M clicks his tongue reprovingly “Where’s your positive mindset?”

“Buried along with my will to live and my dignity,” Tara says after sipping from the cup of coffee. “And the chances to keep Mark as a friend”

“I don’t think Mark had taken him too seriously” M chuckles, holding back the desire to tell Tara that probably the last thing Mark wants is to keep her as a mere friend, but he would never ghost her for such dumb incident.

Not like he knows him a whole lot either, but judging by all the times he has seen them at the cafe together, it appears to him (and everybody really) that Mark has the biggest crush on Tara.

“It is painfully obvious how little you know Tyler and how much you trust people’s good intentions” Tara comments.

“No, I mean, he’s about to walk in” M says, pointing outside with his chin.

Seconds later Mark steps into the coffee shop rubbing his hands and shuddering the slightest bit. M mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “good luck” and walks away, leaving Tara to panic internally on her own.

The young woman pretends not to notice Mark’s presence and instead she fake reads something from the screen of her laptop.

“Hey” Mark skips a more cordial greeting, but Tara ignores it because she keeps pondering whether she should say something about what happened last night or not “I’m sorry I’m late, Jaehyun and I went to the gym and I really needed a shower,” he says touching his nape clumsily.

The thought of Mark being unable to look at her in the eyes briefly crosses her mind, but Tara doesn’t want to deal with the implications just now, so she forces herself to look up and plaster a smile on her face.

“Oh, it’s fine. I just got her-” Tara lies, but whatever she was planning to say next dies in her throat the moment she makes a double-take and notices Mark’s wet hair sticking to his forehead. “Uh- shall we start working? We only have like two hours to finish Mr. Vincent’s paper and-“

“Well, yes I wanted to talk about it-“ Mark says, pulling a folder from his messenger bag and placing it on the table “I already completed it with the info you got yesterday. You can read it and make corrections if you wish.”

“Mark, you shouldn’t have-“ Tara doesn’t know if she’s reading the situation correctly, but it appears to her that Mark couldn’t bear the idea of working with her, so he decided to pull an all-nighter and avoid being stuck with her this morning. Frankly, it is understandable considering Tyler had threatened to “destroy his life” (whatever that meant) if he ever saw him near his sister again, but that doesn’t stop Tara from feeling a void in the chest.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. We all stayed up last night at the frat” Mark says, pulling an empty chair out the table.

Tara unconsciously bits the inside of her cheek before picking the cup of coffee and downing its content as Mark sits across.

The strong flavor of the espresso almost feels sweet when it hits Tara’s palate. Or probably it is in comparison to the bitter taste that Mark’s words have left in her mouth.

“Jungwoo has a big exam this morning and we wanted to show support.” Mark’s smile is so disheartening to watch that Tara distracts herself closing the laptop and taking her coin purse out of her pocket “I even started the assignment for the Modern British drama course.”

“That’s great,” She says insincerely, hoping to make a smooth transition that allows her to leave without rising suspicion.

“Maybe you can read it later and give me your feedback” Mark suggests hopefully, his eyes widening slightly behind the round reading glasses he’s wearing this morning.

“Sure, why not?” Tara slides her laptop back in the Dior bag. “Since the assignment is done, I think I might get going, I promised Enzo I’d help him to study for a test” She stands up with as much grace as she can muster, which truthfully is not a whole lot given the sleepless night she went through. “I’ll see you later, Mark.”

“Tara, wait!” Mark’s voice even makes the girl in the back turn to look at him, but it takes him a few seconds to register he has moved to grab Tara’s hand in an attempt to stop her from leaving. “I was hoping we could hang out.“ He says after clearing his throat "I mean, we’ve been studying non stop the past weeks and-“ Once he notices Tara’s face flushing, he slowly releases her hand. “I thought we could… maybe… catch the morning screening of Little Women”

Tara unsuccessfully attempts to hide the excitement when she listens to the last two words, but she’s already beaming when she nods her head eagerly and claims she’d love to and that she had been planning to watch the movie with Enzo over the weekend. Mark’s face falls a bit after hearing that name for the second time, but he ignores the jab of jealousy kicking him in the gut.

“By the way…” Tara begins once she sits back down. She hesitates for a brief moment but eventually gathers the courage to go on. “I’m sorry about last night. My brother… he can be a real jerk sometimes.” She makes a pause and corrects herself after realizing that ‘sometimes’ is a bit of an understatement. “Better said, most of the time and I’m so-”

“Don’t even say it” Mark says solemnly, his face growing serious and eyes boring into hers. “It really wasn’t your fault and I might understand where he was coming from. It was really late and it wasn’t right for me to be there.”

“Mark, you are my friend and we were studying, it was more than ok for you to be there. You did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, right” Mark feels as though Tara had slapped him, but it is probably exactly the realization of being only a friend to her what makes him bold enough to say the next words “But what if he thought I wasn’t just a regular friend?”.

“It would still be off-limits for my brother to act like a jerk. In fact, if you were more than just a friend it would be even worse he treated you that way” Tara says the last sentence a bit too vehemently, making Mark smile widely.

He doesn’t add anything, but he thinks that perhaps Jaehyun and Johnny are not too mistaken when they affirm Tara wouldn’t say no if he asked her out.

Maybe being more than just friends with her isn’t as impossible as his insecurities made him believe every other day.

And maybe, just maybe, he is willing to put up with her brother and his meddling even if that means he will probably have to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

Maybe it all be worth if he gets to see Tara smiling brightly at him, like she is right now, every day.

#mark #story #tara #moodboard #otp #college au #oc #sungjae #m

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protectorsofthewood · 5 years

Text

Abby and Wendy - Episode 36

AN UNUSUAL MEETING

Lluvia slowly steered the canoe toward the right bank. A wide view of Evansville opened up before their eyes. The river seemed to grow and spread out, creating space for many docks lining the shoreline. The tall buildings were all on the left side. On the right-hand side a long finger of parkland extended along the shoreline all the way from Half Moon. The Evansville College of Arts and Sciences was nestled among tall trees like a town of mostly low buildings. Beyond the college, Riverside Boulevard ran all the way to River City.

Docks owned by the Parks Department and the College clustered together, creating a marina of boats, all quite small by ocean standards. The depth of the river was only about 5 to 8 feet, and varied radically with rainfall and the tide. No large yachts or ferryboats could safely navigate the river until the Maywood River joined the Half Moon a few miles downstream. At that point the river became wider, deeper, and crowded in a more urban landscape, climaxing at the great metropolis of River City.

Lluvia maneuvered the canoe along crowded docks to a separate, spacious area owned by the college. They tied the boat to cleats in the wooden platform and a young man in a college tee shirt gave them a hand up. Lluvia told him their business and departure time Sunday morning. He wanted student identification, and for a moment they were stuck, unsure what to do.

Then they heard Abby’s name called, and Sara came rushing up the dock. She was obviously nervous and impatient. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Phoebe answered. “An emergency, and my phone is gone. None of us have a phone. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Hi Bill,” Sara greeted the dock attendant. “They’re all with me, meeting in the energy building with Professor Richardson. He’ll approve it.”

“We picked up a stray boat,” Lluvia said. “It was floating free a mile upriver. Can you look for an owner?”

In a moment the three visitors and Sara were hurrying across a wide pathway onto the college campus. Old buildings, generally only two stories, were spread out among trees and lawns, and connected by flagstone paths. Abby had never seen anything like it. Wisteria grew up old stonewalls, and discreet signs were posted to guide visitors. The scene was calm and lovely in the early evening shadows. But Sara led them at a furious pace. Phoebe lagged behind, pulling her right leg stiffly forward.

Abby checked her timer. “Hey Sara,” she called. “It’s only 6:30.”

“We’ve reserved the private meeting room starting at six. Ricardo Richardson and a grad student and Freddy Baez are there already. We’ve made a dinner reservation for seven o’clock. This is a big deal. And we’re running out of time.” She’s the organizer, the mover and shaker,Abby told herself. Just follow along.

They practically ran through a maze of buildings where students walked in and out of dormitories and gathered in groups on the lawn. Cars full of arriving students and their luggage jammed the courtyard. Finally, Sara led the group to a modern one-story building with a picture window, glass doors, and wings built out from both sides. A limestone porch with benches and potted gardenias surrounded the main entrance. An elegant bronze sign read, ‘Energy in the Age of Climate Change’.

Groups on the benches said hello to Sara and stared as they hurried by, practically running down a carpeted hallway to wooden double doors. A quiet living room spread out before them. Lamps on poles, couches and easy chairs, bookshelves, paintings, and a sideboard of refreshments were scattered around a wide area. Three men stood to greet them.

Sara took charge. “Professor Richardson, Evansville Record editor Freddy Baez, and assistant professor Henry Tims, this is Abby, Phoebe, and…” Sara waited for the name.

“Lluvia,” Abby told them. They shook hands.

“Call me Ricardo, please. We’re here to talk as equals. Can I get you some coffee, wine, tea, club soda?” The visitors asked for coffee, and Ricardo served them himself.

Freddy showed them to a long couch with a coffee table, and looked at his watch. “Can we delay dinner half an hour at least?” he asked Ricardo. “We need the time.”

“Henry, see if they can give us until 7:30. Tell them we apologize, but it’s important.”

Ricardo Richardson, the host and head of the department, wore a dark tailored suit and a pale blue tie. He was tall and lean, in his forties, brown skinned, with black hair cut very short. A gold ring with a small blue stone glowed on his right ring finger. Freddy Baez did not seem to be concerned about his appearance. He looked just the same to Abby as he had appeared in Reverend Tuck’s office: balding, in his fifties, needing a haircut around the ears, a bit overweight, wearing a shabby pale suit with no tie. He sipped his wine and glanced around impatiently.

Henry Tims looked maybe 25 or 26 years old, very young for an assistant professor. He was short and light skinned, with wispy blond hair falling over his forehead, and a vulnerable baby face free of wrinkles. His jeans and pinstriped shirt were clean and ironed, giving him a bit of formality.

“Yes, right away,” he said, and hurried out the door.

Abby and Phoebe were struggling to keep their eyes off the blue stone in Ricardo’s ring. It’s dreamstone, its dreamstone!Their thoughts were buzzing, and they met each other’s eyes with a look of elated recognition. Here’s someone on our side, they thought. Abby glanced at Lluvia and noticed her wide-eyed look. She knows.

Sara retreated to a corner of the room and made a quick phone call. She wore her usual uniform: STAFF tee shirt, jeans, and wide red headband. “Amy will be here in a minute,” she told them.

“Ah! Excellent.” Ricardo gave a sigh of relief. “Let me give all of you a chance to drink your coffee and relax.” He spoke slowly and gently, with the hint of a Spanish accent. “I want you to know how grateful we are to see you here on our home turf. It’s a tremendous favor. I know you’ve overcome obstacles to be here… you folks are under a microscope these days. But now we have a chance to put our minds together in hopes of a better future. This is a moment blessed by fate.”

Henry returned, nodded to Ricardo, and pulled up a chair.

“We’re just getting started,” his professor told him. He was silent for a minute as the young women drank coffee.

Well, well…thought Abby. Quite an introduction. She was determined to play her role with all the concentration at her command, and bring in Phoebe and Lluvia to offer all those things that she could not.

The door suddenly opened and Amy Zhi walked into the room. Sara hugged her, and introduced her to Lluvia and Phoebe. Amy waved to all and sat in an upholstered armchair to the side of the couch. Henry hurried to get her a cup of coffee.

The professor met everyone’s eyes and began: “I think we’ve all done a good job of arranging this off-the-record meeting, and I think we can count on each other’s confidentiality.”

They nodded.

“Please bear with me while I give a brief description of our situation. We’ll be discussing renewable energy developments that are still in an early, fragile stage, but are becoming too prominent to ignore. As you know, tomorrow the Evansville Board of Trustees will be responding to our student/faculty declaration of climate change commitments. I realize that this document is technically open to change and negotiation. But most of us, including the trustees, are aware that we are drawing a red line, a firm position that we intend to implement with all the influence we can find.”

He paused and drank from a glass of wine. “Okay, now here’s some news. We’ve obtained through the grapevine a summary of the trustees’ response. They will point out that not only our college, but also our city and state, are nowhere near ready to achieve %100 renewable energy. Therefore they – the trustees – will not promise to withdraw all fossil fuel related investments. They will say we are decades, thirty years at a minimum, from banishing fossil fuels from our economy. Therefore, they must continue to invest in enterprises that are currently essential to the welfare of our population, such as fossil fuel heat, transportation, electricity, fertilizer, plastic, and so on. We know that this argument is shared by many of the powers that be in our world, and could have merit, except that over the past thirty years they have done nothing except continue business as usual. And the business interests that the trustees represent have no wish to change, and are ignoring the perilous consequences of delay.”

“Hurry it along, Ricardo!” interrupted Freddy Baez. “We’re from the news business, we’re used to rushing. And in twenty minutes we’re supposed to be eating dinner.”

“I understand, Freddy. But tonight, I don’t care if all the food is overcooked or stone cold. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Everyone will get a chance to say their piece.”

He took another swallow of wine. “In maybe ten years, with supporting policies like an escalating carbon taxes, regulations, and investments into solar and wind projects, electricity could be just about 90% renewable. But as we know all too well, our state and nation and most of the globe, do not have the political will to achieve anything drastic at the moment. We don’t have the batteries yet to store enough energy to get through days with no wind and winters with little sun. Without the invention of better batteries, generators will need to continue using natural gas at least part of the time. We don’t have the grid, the heating and cooking equipment, the cars and jet fuel and household appliances to move to 100% renewable, even with a carbon tax and enormous subsidies. And for all those places off the grid the situation is hopeless. Propane tanks populate the countryside like mushrooms. And world-wide, that adds up to an insurmountable problem…except for one thing. The problems look different if you include biogas.

Ricardo looked around the room. “That’s what we need to discuss tonight. We know that all organic material can produce biogas, mostly methane. We know that landfilled organic material gives off methane into the atmosphere where it becomes a greenhouse gas. We know that landfilling organic material is expensive. We know that biogas is much more environmentally friendly than burning wood and related materials. We know waste organic material can be collected from a village or a city or a farm. We know the production of biogas can be a local enterprise or a colossal industry. We know that fracking can be banned as soon as we have better batteries for electrical storage and biogas for furnaces, stoves, and generators. Millions of families already use it all over the world. And tonight, we need to talk about the little-known fact that biogas is used by thousands of households right here in the Half Moon Valley. How did this happen, given the political and business support for fossil fuels? Why can’t we study and discuss it?”

The participants looked at each other, but no one answered. Ricardo waited, and then went on: “We’ve discovered that one of our trustees, Herbert Irving, is alarmed that his Valley Fuels distribution network is losing customers. He’s already investigating the production of biogas by our Parks Department. We know he will convince the governor and his allies to close down that operation unless they meet very strong resistance. We know that Rivergate is already 100% renewable, and Half Moon maybe 50% renewable, and Middletown is rapidly getting into the act. Why can’t we replicate this process? Why can’t we argue that with intelligent biogas production – by intelligent, I mean refusing to grow crops for biofuels on land suitable for food crops, refusing to cut down forests… in other words, producing biogas only from waste, organic garbage, wood that is already being chipped by the Parks Department as a matter of ordinary maintenance, grasses grown on land with soil too poor for human food… Why can’t we study, publicize, and argue for intelligent biogas production?”

He looked at his watch. “Thank you for your patience. The ball is in your court.”

“We’ve got a problem among the students,” Sara replied. “They’re all fired up about Abby’s interview, the mysteries surrounding Middletown, the gender and spiritual issues… but… it seems that they don’t understand biogas very well. It’s not clean and pure like solar and wind. It burns and gives off carbon dioxide, just like fracked gas.”

“Mmmm…” Ricardo smiled. “Tell them the squirrels and the dogs and humans give off carbon dioxide. The tree that falls in the forest and turns into compost gives off carbon dioxide. Cow manure gives off carbon dioxide. But the fracked gas didn’t have to give off itscarbon dioxide. It’s been safely underground for millions of years, and could have stayed there, if we didn’t mine it and burn it. We’re adding carbon to the life cycle, carbon that has been sequestered for eons. That’s the problem. We should stick to our basic talking points: KEEP IT IN THE GROUND. BAN FOSSIL FUELS. And by the way, the organic material that produces biogas has a desirable byproduct: solid compost, pure and ready to use as fertilizer. It’s far better to make biogas out of organic material than to burn it.”

“It seems to me,” Sara retorted, “that you should get those professors in first year earth science to do a better job. The facts seem self-evident to you, but not to most other people.”

“Good point. Yes, a better education is essential. But that will take time, a year at a minimum. We need to act over the next couple of months.”

Freddy Baez leaned forward. “I’m sorry to say this, but you’re all on the wrong track. Sure, improve education, explain the issues, argue your case. But we’ve got hot news here, very hot. That interview with Abby… it’s gone around the world. The attention of the public is at a peak I’ve rarely seen. This wave of interest must be fed, or it will break and disappear. News items are stories. What story should we tell? I ask you, Abby… what story would you recommend?”

She had been waiting for this moment. Her mind was well prepared, the words on the tip of her tongue. “I agree we have to move fast. This public attention you’re talking about… it also includes the wrong kind of attention. It alerts our enemies, and they investigate and create their own story. That’s natural. They’re threatened. This Herbert Irving you mentioned who runs Valley Fuels, he’s losing money. Large parts of this whole system will lose wealth and power, and strike back. And fossil fuels are a cultural as well as an economic problem. The self-esteem of part of our population seems to be married to fossil fuels. If we don’t get our story out there in a powerful way, we’ll be crushed.”

#ecofiction #Environmentalism #teenagers #green energy #live music #climate change is REAL

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