#Raising the Dead: Re-Examining ‚Night of the Living Dead‘

[thebrickinbrick]

What Is To Be Done In the Abyss If One Does Not Converse? Part 1

Sixteen years count in the subterranean education of insurrection, and June, 1848, knew a great deal more about it than June, 1832. So the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie was only an outline, and an embryo compared to the two colossal barricades which we have just sketched; but it was formidable for that epoch.

The insurgents under the eye of Enjolras, for Marius no longer looked after anything, had made good use of the night. The barricade had been not only repaired, but augmented. They had raised it two feet. Bars of iron planted in the pavement resembled lances in rest. All sorts of rubbish brought and added from all directions complicated the external confusion. The redoubt had been cleverly made over, into a wall on the inside and a thicket on the outside.

The staircase of paving-stones which permitted one to mount it like the wall of a citadel had been reconstructed.

The barricade had been put in order, the tap-room disencumbered, the kitchen appropriated for the ambulance, the dressing of the wounded completed, the powder scattered on the ground and on the tables had been gathered up, bullets run, cartridges manufactured, lint scraped, the fallen weapons re-distributed, the interior of the redoubt cleaned, the rubbish swept up, corpses removed.

They laid the dead in a heap in the Mondétour lane, of which they were still the masters. The pavement was red for a long time at that spot. Among the dead there were four National Guardsmen of the suburbs. Enjolras had their uniforms laid aside.

Enjolras had advised two hours of sleep. Advice from Enjolras was a command. Still, only three or four took advantage of it.

Feuilly employed these two hours in engraving this inscription on the wall which faced the tavern:—

LONG LIVE THE PEOPLES!

These four words, hollowed out in the rough stone with a nail, could be still read on the wall in 1848.

The three women had profited by the respite of the night to vanish definitely; which allowed the insurgents to breathe more freely.

They had found means of taking refuge in some neighboring house.

The greater part of the wounded were able, and wished, to fight still. On a litter of mattresses and trusses of straw in the kitchen, which had been converted into an ambulance, there were five men gravely wounded, two of whom were municipal guardsmen. The municipal guardsmen were attended to first.

In the tap-room there remained only Mabeuf under his black cloth and Javert bound to his post.

“This is the hall of the dead,” said Enjolras.

In the interior of this hall, barely lighted by a candle at one end, the mortuary table being behind the post like a horizontal bar, a sort of vast, vague cross resulted from Javert erect and Mabeuf lying prone.

The pole of the omnibus, although snapped off by the fusillade, was still sufficiently upright to admit of their fastening the flag to it.

Enjolras, who possessed that quality of a leader, of always doing what he said, attached to this staff the bullet-ridden and bloody coat of the old man’s.

No repast had been possible. There was neither bread nor meat. The fifty men in the barricade had speedily exhausted the scanty provisions of the wine-shop during the sixteen hours which they had passed there. At a given moment, every barricade inevitably becomes the raft of la Méduse. They were obliged to resign themselves to hunger. They had then reached the first hours of that Spartan day of the 6th of June when, in the barricade Saint-Merry, Jeanne, surrounded by the insurgents who demanded bread, replied to all combatants crying: “Something to eat!” with: “Why? It is three o’clock; at four we shall be dead.”

As they could no longer eat, Enjolras forbade them to drink. He interdicted wine, and portioned out the brandy.

They had found in the cellar fifteen full bottles hermetically sealed. Enjolras and Combeferre examined them. Combeferre when he came up again said:—“It’s the old stock of Father Hucheloup, who began business as a grocer.”—“It must be real wine,” observed Bossuet. “It’s lucky that Grantaire is asleep. If he were on foot, there would be a good deal of difficulty in saving those bottles.”

—Enjolras, in spite of all murmurs, placed his veto on the fifteen bottles, and, in order that no one might touch them, he had them placed under the table on which Father Mabeuf was lying.

[dfroza]

A defense of the message meets opposition in this world

but truth will always stand the “test” of time.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 23rd chapter of the book of Acts:

Paul stared at the council and spoke.

Paul: Brothers, I have always lived my life to this very day with a clear conscience before God.

Ananias the high priest signaled those standing near Paul to hit him on the mouth.

Paul: You hypocrite! God will slap you! How dare you sit in judgment and claim to represent the law, while you violate the law by ordering me to be struck for no reason?

Bystanders: The nerve of you insulting the high priest of God!

Paul: I’m sorry, my brothers. I didn’t realize this was the high priest. The law warns us to not curse the ruler of the people.

Paul noticed that some members of the council were Sadducees and some were Pharisees, so he quickly spoke to the council.

Paul: Brothers, I am a Pharisee, born to a Pharisee. I am on trial because I have hope that the dead are raised!

That got the two parties arguing with one another because the Sadducees say there is no such thing as resurrection, heavenly messengers, or spirits, and the Pharisees believe in all three.

Soon these leaders were shouting, and some of the scholars from the party of the Pharisees rose to their feet.

Pharisees: There is nothing wrong with this man. Maybe he really has encountered a spirit or a heavenly messenger.

The two parties were about to start throwing punches, and the commandant was afraid Paul would be torn to pieces, so he sent in his soldiers to intervene. They took Paul back into custody and returned him to their barracks. That night the Lord came near and spoke to him.

The Lord: Keep up your courage, Paul! You have successfully told your story about Me in Jerusalem, and soon you will do the same in Rome.

That morning a group of more than 40 Jewish opponents conspired to kill Paul. They bound themselves by an oath that they wouldn’t eat or drink until he was dead. They told the chief priests and elders about their plan.

Jewish Opponents: We’ve made an oath not to eat or drink until this man is dead. So you and the council must ask the commandant to bring Paul to meet with you. Tell him that you want to further investigate Paul’s case. We’ll get rid of the troublemaker on his way here.

Now Paul had a nephew who heard about the planned ambush; he managed to gain entry into the barracks and alerted Paul. Paul called one of the officers.

Paul: Take this young man to the commandant. He has news the commandant needs to hear.

The officer took him to the commandant.

Officer: The prisoner named Paul asked me to bring this man to you. He has some kind of information.

The commandant led him away so they could speak in private.

Commandant: What do you want to tell me?

Young Man: The Jewish council is going to ask you to bring Paul down to the council tomorrow under the pretext that there will be a thorough examination. But don’t agree to do it, because 40 assassins have bound themselves to an oath not to eat or drink until they’ve killed Paul. Their plan is in motion, and they’re simply waiting for you to play your part.

The commandant sent the young man home with these instructions: “Don’t tell a soul that you’ve spoken with me.” Then he called for two officers.

Commandant: At nine o’clock tonight, you will leave for Caesarea with 200 soldiers, 70 horsemen, and 200 spearmen. Have a mount for Paul to ride, and conduct him safely to Felix the governor.

He wrote the following letter:

Commandant Claudius Lysias greets his excellency, Felix, Governor. The accompanying prisoner was seized by Jews who were about to kill him. I learned he was a Roman citizen and intervened with the guard here to protect him. I arranged for a hearing before their council and learned that he was accused for reasons relating to their religious law, but that he has done nothing deserving imprisonment or execution. I was informed that a group was planning to assassinate him, so I sent him to you immediately. I will require his accusers to present their complaint before you.

So the soldiers followed their orders and safely conducted Paul as far as Antipatris that night. The next day, the horsemen conducted him on to Caesarea as the foot soldiers returned to the barracks. The horsemen delivered the letter and the prisoner to Felix who read the letter. The only question Felix asked concerned the province of Paul’s birth. When he learned Paul was from Cilicia, he said,

Felix: As soon as your accusers arrive I will hear your case.

He placed Paul under guard within Herod’s headquarters.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 23 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice:

Paul is brilliant. Accused by a group of religious intellectuals, he gets them fighting with one another. Paul understands the axiom, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” so he picks a fight with the Sadducees knowing the rest of the room will defend him. The thing society opposes often defines it, so manipulation is easy. (Consider some of the conservative political pundits who have never espoused any inclination toward Christianity. They gain millions of Christian followers by opposing the political enemies of conservative Christians.) Paul embraces a similar strategy here—if he can get these guys to fight, they will forget why they are actually convening. In many ways, the culture war is equally distracting to the early church. In the middle of the Jews vs. Gentiles battle, the church is realizing believers are not here to fight about morality and culture, but to bring the kingdom of God to earth. His kingdom will not come by debate, but by the working of the Holy Spirit within the church.

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 17th chapter of the book of 2nd Samuel about continued wartime in Israel:

Ahithophel had a strategy for victory over David and advised Absalom.

Ahithophel: Let me choose 12,000 men, and tonight we will pursue David while he is weak and weary. We’ll throw him into a panic; then all of the people will run away from him, come back to you, and be safe. I will strike down the king. If we take only the life of this one man here—your father—then everyone else can return to you.

This advice appealed to Absalom and to Israel’s elders.

Absalom: Call in Hushai the Archite, and see what he thinks.

When Hushai arrived, Absalom told him what Ahithophel had advised.

Absalom: What do you think? Should we do as he suggests? If not, tell us what you’d advise.

Hushai: I don’t think the advice from Ahithophel is good this time, and I’ll tell you why: You know that your father and his men are hardened soldiers. Right now they’re angry, like a bear that’s been robbed of her cubs in the field. Also your father is such a wise warrior that he’ll know he’s our target. He won’t sleep in the same camp with his people. He’s probably hidden in a cave or some other hole where he will be hard to find. When our troops start dying in the first attack, everyone will say, “Absalom’s men are being slaughtered.” Then even the courageous warriors, the ones with the courage of lions, will disintegrate in fear. Everyone in Israel knows that your father is a true warrior, and those with him are hardened veterans.

No, my counsel is to take your time. Gather the people of Israel, from Dan to Beersheba, so that you have a large army, like the grains of sand on the beach, and lead them into battle yourself. Wherever David is, we will fall on him like the dew on the ground. We’ll kill him and all who defend him. No one will remain. And if he slips into a fortified city, we’ll have so many men of Israel that we could lasso that city and pull it down into the valley, so that not even a stone would be left in place.

Absalom and his counselors decided that Hushai’s plan was better than Ahithophel’s, not knowing that the Eternal One had determined to thwart Ahithophel’s good advice and bring about Absalom’s destruction.

After Hushai advised Absalom, he went to the priests Zadok and Abiathar. He wasn’t certain what Absalom would do, so he told them Ahithopel’s plan and his own.

Hushai: Quickly now, send a messenger to David. Tell the king to move deeper into the wilderness, across the river but away from the fords! If he remains where he is tonight, then he and all his followers will be swallowed by Absalom’s forces.

The priests’ sons, Jonathan and Ahimaaz, were waiting at En-rogel for news. A servant girl would bring them messages because they couldn’t risk being seen entering the city. When they had something to report, they would go tell King David. But this time they were careless, and a boy saw them and reported it to Absalom. So the two men fled to the house of a man in Bahurim. There was a well in the courtyard, and they lowered themselves into it. The man’s wife put the cover over the well and spread out grain on top of it, so no one could see it was there. When Absalom’s soldiers arrived, they questioned her.

Soldiers: Where are the traitors Ahimaaz and Jonathan?

Wife: Oh, they’ve crossed to the other side of the stream.

The soldiers looked for them, but when they couldn’t find them, they returned to Jerusalem.

After the soldiers left, they climbed out of the well and went to speak to King David.

Ahimaaz and Jonathan: Get ready to cross over the river into the wilderness quickly, because here is Ahithophel’s plan of action.

And knowing about the danger, David and everyone with him crossed over the Jordan River and moved deep into the wilderness. By daybreak not a single man loyal to David was left on the near side of the Jordan.

When Ahithophel saw that his plan was ignored, he knew the best hope for victory was lost. He saddled his donkey and went home; and after setting his affairs in order, he hanged himself and died. He was buried within his father’s tomb.

Meanwhile David went on to Mahanaim as Absalom was crossing over the Jordan with all of the men of Israel. Absalom had made Amasa commander of the army, which used to be Joab’s office. Amasa was a nephew of David: his father was Ithra the Israelite who had married Abigail, Nahash’s daughter and also a sister of David and Zeruiah, Joab’s mother. Absalom and the army of Israel camped on the plains of Gilead.

When David arrived in Mahanaim, Shobi (the son of Nahash from Rabbah of the Ammonites), Machir (the son of Ammiel from Lo-debar), and Barzillai the Gileadite (from Rogelim) brought beds, basins, earthenware, wheat, barley, meal, parched seeds and grain, beans, lentils, honey, butter, sheep, and local cheese for David and his men to eat; for they knew the men were hungry, tired, and thirsty there in the wilderness.

The Book of 2nd Samuel, Chapter 17 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, november 24 of 2022 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about gratitude:

Gratitude is essential to the life of faith... We read in the Torah: “And you shall bless the LORD your God for the good” (Deut. 8:10). Whenever we derive benefit or enjoyment from something we are to bless (i.e., thank) God for his goodness. Indeed the Hebrew term for gratitude is "hakarat tovah" (הַכָּרַת טוֹבָה), a phrase that means "recognizing the good."

The heart looks through the eye, and therefore how we see is ultimately a spiritual decision: "If your eye is "single" (i.e., ἁπλοῦς, sincere, focused)," Yeshua said, "your whole body will be filled with light" (Matt. 6:22). When we see rightly, we are awakened to God's Presence in the little things of life, those small miracles and “signs and wonders” that constantly surround us. The good eye of faith sees hundreds of reasons to bless God for the precious gift of life (1 Cor. 10:31) - even in times of testing...

“Give thanks to the LORD for He is good; his love endures forever" (Psalm 136:1); “give thanks to the LORD always” (Col. 3:17; Eph. 5:20; 1 Thess. 5:18)... Gratitude is foundational to our lives as followers of Yeshua. Indeed there are really only two prayers we ever offer to God, namely “Help, LORD!” and “Thank you, LORD.” Meister Eckhart once remarked that if the only prayer you said in your entire life was, "thank you," that would suffice... Genuine prayer ultimately resolves to an expression of thanks. We are to "praise the Bridge that carries us over" into the Presence and Love of God, and that Bridge is Yeshua our Lord.

The “thank offering” mentioned in the Torah (i.e., zevach ha-todah: זֶבַח הַתּוֹדָד) is also mentioned in the New Testament. In the Book of Hebrews were are instructed to “continually offer up a sacrifice of thanks (זֶבַח תּוֹדָה) to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his Name” (Heb. 13:15). It is interesting to note that the Greek verb used to “offer up” (i.e., ἀναφέρω) is used to translate the Hebrew verb “to draw near” (karov) in Leviticus. In other words, the “offering up of thanks” for the sacrifice of Yeshua functions as “korban” and draws us near to God. Thanking God for personal deliverance constitutes “right sacrifices” (זִבְחֵי־צֶדֶק) as we draw near to God in the hope of His love (Psalm 4:5; Heb. 7:19). [Hebrew for Christians]

========

Psalm 103:1 Hebrew reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm103-1-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page (pdf):

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm103-1-lesson.pdf

11.23.22 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

November 24, 2022

Giving Thanks for Christian Friends

“We give thanks to God always for you all, making mention of you in our prayers.” (1 Thessalonians 1:2)

We all have much to be thankful for. It is certainly appropriate to give audible thanks for our daily bread, whether in private, at a family meal, or in public at a fine restaurant. In fact, Jesus set the example. When He miraculously fed the multitude beside the Sea of Galilee, He began with a prayer of thanksgiving. “He took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them....And they did all eat, and were filled” (Matthew 15:36-37).

It is good to give thanks for our food and shelter and clothing, but the blessing of having Christian friends is even more thankworthy. The first letter to the Thessalonians was possibly Paul’s first Spirit-inspired letter to Christian friends, and Paul began with a testimony of thankfulness to God for them (see the text above).

When Paul wrote to the Philippians, he began similarly. “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you” (Philippians 1:3), and to the Colossians he started the same way. “We give thanks to God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, praying always for you” (Colossians 1:3). The same when he wrote his epistle to the church at Corinth. “I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 1:4). Even when writing to the Christians at Rome, whom he had not yet met personally, he wrote: “First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all” (Romans 1:8). He also thanked God for his personal friends Timothy (2 Timothy 1:3) and Philemon (v. 4).

Throughout our Christian life journey, we develop lasting Christian friends and can thank God for all of them. What a blessing to have such friends, and how fitting it is to give God special thanks for them at this time. HMM

[tonguesofdestruction]

George A. Romeros “Die Nacht der lebenden Toten” in 4K und im Kino am 31. Oktober 2022

George A. Romeros “Die Nacht der lebenden Toten” in 4K und im Kino am 31. Oktober 2022

Der Horror-Meilenstein von George A. Romero kommt bald in in 4K-restauriert ins Kino und wird im Home Entertainment Bereich verfügbar gemacht. “Die Nacht der lebenden Toten” aus dem Jahr 1968 gilt als genreprägender Meilenstein. In der Info heißt es zum Event und zum Release: “Pünktlich zu Halloween kommt der schwarz-weiße Horror-Kultfilm am Montag, den 31. Oktober exklusiv in einer…

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 18

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 18

It was half a day’s journey from the port in Le Havre to the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. They stayed one night in a tavern before arranging a coach to take them to the abbey. Though the impulse to head straight for Paris to Jared’s home was strong, the abbey was another consideration they couldn’t rule out ‒ and the closest location upon arriving in France.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the abbey and the three of them stepped out into the bright sunshine. They approached the abbey with only the faintest flicker of hope. Months on this trail had left them anxious enough not to get their hopes up too soon.

The exterior and grounds of the abbey were lovely ‒ a 12th century Romanesque structure with a large garden that was carefully tended to. Claire’s gaze was inexorably drawn to it as they walked up the path leading to the abbey.

And then she glimpsed a flash of red-gold hair in the sunshine from up ahead in the gardens.

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet refused to move any further. Absently, she registered that Murtagh and Fergus had stilled beside her, puzzled.

Ahead of them, a small red-headed toddler registered the presence of three new visitors and boldly went out to greet them.

Claire’s vision burned with tears. She won’t remember, she reminded herself. And just the same, it didn’t matter. After all those months, Faith was right there in front of her, and she didn’t care if she had her work cut out for her still in winning her child’s heart back.

Her feet moved then of their own volition, unsteady at first and then picking up the pace to close the distance. Claire dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could in her condition and pulled Faith abruptly into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

“Oh, my baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out of her in a rush and then it was like a dam breaking open. She clung to Faith and wept.

Claire had her. At last. Faith was alive and real and heavy in Claire’s lap.

She felt the girl squirming in her grasp, her little hands pushing against Claire’s chest, and reluctantly, she let her go. Fergus was at her side, she realized, and he gripped her by the elbow to try and help her to her feet. They managed, a bit awkwardly.

It was only then that she noticed who Faith was with ‒ and who Murtagh was helping ease onto a stone bench after she looked about ready to faint.

“Y-y-y-you’re dead…”

Claire’s gaze flicked over to Murtagh briefly. In all their time searching, they hadn’t given much thought to how they would explain this to Mary ‒ or anyone else who wasn’t Jamie for that matter.

“Whoa, lass!”

The sight of Mary beginning to hyperventilate snapped Claire out of her thoughts. “Easy now. You’re alright.”

She was aware of Faith trying to burrow behind Mary’s skirts, but couldn’t give that her full attention just then. Murtagh stepped aside to let Claire in next to her. “Easy now. Cup your hands together over your mouth and nose and breathe into them. There you go. Try and breathe slowly.”

Faith moved to lean against Mary’s knees, watching anxiously. Claire stifled the impulse to reach for her. God, this was all going so poorly…

“I d-don’t… understand,” Mary said between labored breaths. But she was calming down and a little color was returning to her cheeks, Claire noted.

“I can imagine it’s quite a shock, and I’m sorry for that.” She rubbed Mary’s back lightly. It helped her own nervous state to be able to focus on helping someone else. “It’s a long story, but we’ll tell you it all later. Where’s Jamie? Is he inside?”

“Oh God,” Mary uttered suddenly and she looked as though she might be sick. “Oh I wish you had been here even a day earlier.”

She felt her stomach lurch at Mary’s words and wondered if she would be sick. “What do you mean? Where is Jamie?”

Mary began to tremble. “Th-th-there was an a-accident…”

They had started towards the abbey with Mary leading them, but in their panicked haste, Claire and Murtagh quickly overtook her. Mary shouted directions at them, but it didn’t matter. Once inside, it only took one frantic request to the first monk they ran into before they were brought to Jamie’s room.

Seeing her husband bruised and bandaged, unconscious, Claire didn’t realize at first that she was physically leaning on Murtagh for support, holding tightly to his arm. It was a different time, a different abbey, and yet her mind made the connection to just after Wentworth, when she almost lost him. She felt dizzy and weak.

“What‒” Her gaze took in the leg wrapped in splints and soaked through with dried blood. Whatever had happened, his leg seemed to bear the brunt of it, though the rest of him was covered in scrapes and bruises as well.

One of the brothers had followed them in and was explaining softly in French what had happened and how Jamie was faring. In all the commotion, they attracted a few more residents of the abbey, who filtered into the small room.

She caught enough to understand Jamie had developed an infection, most likely from his leg. Her stomach roiled and her hand came to press high on her pregnant belly out of habit, though it did nothing to help.

It was then her eyes fell to a cut on the inside of his forearm, too perfectly placed and neatly cut to be a coincidence. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea. No, they couldn’t have…

“You bled him!”

Stillness descended on the room following her outburst. She finally tore her gaze away from Jamie to look at the monks for explanation, to Mary who was trembling in the back.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?”

Just as quickly as the room had fallen silent, it roared back to life with voices raised and overlapping ‒ each person trying to explain or justify or placate. Above them all was Claire, unable to contain her horror. “--already weakened from the accident and trying to fight off an infection and you bled him!”

She was vaguely aware of Murtagh’s tug on her arm, but it wasn’t until he screamed for the rest of them to be quiet that she paid him any attention. Her gaze flew to him, but he wasn’t watching her. And that’s when she heard the hushed, gravely voice of her husband, straining to be heard above the noise.

She caught his fevered gaze and felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Sassenach?”

Murtagh quietly cleared the room, though in the moment, Claire hardly noticed this kind act.

Claire’s words clogged in her throat but she moved closer to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, taking Jamie’s hand carefully in her own. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Am I‒ I…” He struggled between labored breaths and his eyes fluttered shut but he seemed to muster the energy to force them open again and find her. “Am I dying then?”

The implication of his words hit her hard, and she shook her head vehemently, feeling silent tears spill down her cheeks. “This isn’t a hallucination. I’m real. I’m here.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes drifting shut again.

God, to find him after all this time and to find him like this…

Murtagh cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. “Ye can save him, Claire.”

It wasn’t a question, but she heard the need for reassurance.

“I’m damn well going to try,” she said as much for her own benefit as for Murtagh’s, but her voice wobbled even as she tried to sound confident. She squeezed Jamie’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I can make a poultice for his infection,” she said with a bit more authority. “And maybe a tea.”

She brushed the hair back from his forehead ‒ faded dark locks with his natural red coming in at the roots. They’d caught on that he had dyed his hair through some of the descriptions they’d heard of him along the way. He must’ve stopped worrying about it once they reached France. He looked ridiculous and she wanted to be able to tease him about it, to see the way his ears turned pink when she did and hear his laugh. Later, she told herself. Get him well.

She pushed herself to her feet and went to examine his leg. Whoever had tended to it had done well ‒ the gash across his thigh had been stitched by a steady hand, and though the wound had become infected, that might not have been avoided even under Claire’s care.

But the bloodletting…

Indignation still fizzled in her veins. He’d already lost some blood from the accident, from the looks of it. And of all the things they could’ve tried to help him once infection set in, this was the worst.

“Where are the children?” she asked suddenly.

“Mary has them.”

“Did Faith see me‒”

Scream like a lunatic at everyone within earshot?

“Nay,” Murtagh said quickly. “She wasna in the room.”

Claire nodded at that. She knew the ground she was on with Faith was shaky at best. And the last thing she wanted was to give Faith any reason to fear her.

“Madame?”

She followed the sound to its source ‒ a frail, kindly-looking monk in the doorway that Claire got the distinct impression was sent in as an intermediary. But behind him stood a stocky figure with black hair and familiar slanted eyes. Jamie’s uncle, Alexander Fraser. Though she’d heard about him, they’d never met even during her time in France two years ago.

“You must be Claire,” he said. His voice had a strange dialect that Claire knew at once to be the result of a born and bred Highlander living so many of his adult years in France. “I must admit it is a shock to meet you at last, given that Jamie told us you were dead.”

“A misunderstanding,” she supplied lamely.

“Un miracle,” said the quiet monk with a kind smile, and Claire decided that she liked him very much, even if he was sent in to placate her.

Abbot Alexander nodded to the man. “This is Brother Thomas. He can assist you with Jamie and bring you anything you need.” His eyes darkened as he added, “It was a terrible shock, what happened. We all want Jamie to be well again.”

She knew this was as close to an apology for the bloodletting as she would get. And that whoever’s call it had been would never be revealed to her. “Thank you, Abbot. I shall be very happy to have Brother Thomas’s assistance.”

  Jamie heard her voice again, and felt his whole body orient toward the sound. Softer this time. Hushed. Bleary-eyed, he looked about and found her right there within reach, though he dared not try to touch her in case doing so would somehow banish the vision of her. No matter ‒ he hardly felt strong enough to turn his head let alone lift his hand.

“Am I dying?” he asked again.

“Not if I have anything to say about that,” she shot back at him, eyes snapping up at his in challenge. He smirked at this, weakly. Even as he neared the end, this part of his soul that Claire occupied and materialized before him was just as fierce and unrelenting as the real woman.

“Do you hear me, James Fraser?” she spoke again, gripping him by the chin as he fought to stay awake. “You do not have my permission to die.”

“Aye, lass…” He couldn’t manage more than that before darkness crept in once more.

  Some time in the evening, Brother Thomas came around with supper for Claire and made her sit and eat. When he tried to encourage her to leave the room for a break and go see the others though, she resisted the idea.

After how she’d found Jamie, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him unattended.

But at the moment, he was resting and there was nothing immediate that she could do for him ‒ and Brother Thomas swore he wouldn’t leave Jamie until she came back.

With enough prodding and reassurance, Claire left Jamie’s bedside in search of the rest of her family.

She found them in a small library and stood in the doorway watching them. Mary was sitting with them, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She still looked pale and drawn with worry, the poor thing.

And Murtagh had Faith on his knee, bouncing her slightly and talking in a low voice to her. Claire felt her throat clog with emotion, watching the two of them. She knew what that moment meant for Murtagh, having been the one to bring Faith to Culloden three months ago, to hold her again and see Faith’s family restored to her.

Claire stayed frozen in the doorway, a voyeur to this moment, never fully part of it. She had a visceral desire to walk right over to Murtagh and pluck Faith from his lap, to hold her close in her own arms again ‒ oh god, even to look at her and know she was real ‒ and yet that desire was overpowered by one thought that kept Claire in check. That whisper of doubt in her ear telling her that she’d already screwed up. She’d startled Faith out in the gardens and now what did the girl think of her?

She felt the baby kick and her hand went automatically to the spot. Hadn’t been that long ago that Faith was just a little nudge felt from within and now they were nearly strangers to each other.

Fergus noticed her first and raced to her side. “How is Milord?” he asked in a whisper, and she realized her hesitation to join them had come off as being the bearer of bad news.

“He’s alright.” She pulled him to her side and gave him a squeeze. “He’s still fighting.”

“Can I see him?”

She drew in a steep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Well, he’s resting right now, darling. Maybe tomorrow, alright?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, but she knew she had crushed him. Of course he wanted to see Jamie, but if… if he saw him while he was fevered and weak, heard Jamie’s talk of dying… no, she didn’t want that for Fergus.

He slipped away from her and went to join the others. Claire watched as he bent down to talk to Faith and then as she jumped down from Murtagh’s knee to take Fergus’s hand. Claire’s hand came up to press just below her collarbone where it felt like her heart was splitting open at the seams. To see them together again and slipping easily back into a rapport with each other, as children often did without much difficulty… Her children ‒ Hers and Jamie’s ‒ together again.

The ache was still there for the time that was lost with Faith, the guilt over any unintended pain she’d caused her wee girl. But there was something tender and hopeful in knowing she’d returned Murtagh and Fergus to Faith’s life. They both loved her so, and Faith would know that soon enough. Claire held both things, the hurt and the hope, as she watched Fergus and Faith.

Murtagh saw her then, still standing in the doorway. “Come sit down,” he called out.

She pushed away from the doorway and went in.

  It was later in the night when Murtagh came to check on her and Jamie. With Brother Thomas’s help, she’d made a poultice for Jamie’s leg and also managed a few times to get Jamie to drink some tea for his fever and pain. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the fever hadn’t broken. Every time he spoke to her, it never felt like she was speaking to the real Jamie.

“Take another break,” Murtagh insisted gruffly. “I’m no’ sure all this pacing is good for the bairn.”

Her hand smoothed over the bump. She’d forgotten how everyone treated her as though she was made of glass as soon as the baby was visible. “Baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Murtagh pulled a face at that and grunted, which she ignored.

“Ye’ve hardly gone near the lass since we’ve been here.” He said this bluntly, and Claire blinked quickly against the burn of oncoming tears. She’d hoped no one had noticed. “She’s awake still, wi’ Mary. Go an’ put the lass tae bed, Claire. I’ll sit wi’ Jamie.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. With Jamie, she knew how to care for him ‒ a little too well, the damn fool. But Faith…

“And if anyone tries tae bleed him, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

She chuckled softly at this and her heart swelled with affection for the old grump that loved them all better than they deserved. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

He grunted and dropped into the chair at Jamie’s bedside.

“And where’s Fergus?”

“They gave him a room and he’s gone tae bed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, patting his shoulder as she moved past him, “for everything today. I didn’t expect… well, it’s been a shock, with Jamie. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Without looking at her, he reached up and squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Get some rest, a nighean.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Alright,” Murtagh said with a resigned sigh. “Go and see Faith then and dinna hurry back. I’ll find ye if anything happens.”

She slipped quietly out into the hall and turned a corner leading to more sleeping quarters. She knew where Mary’s room was, but she went first in search of Fergus. He was still awake when she found him.

“Your own room, hmm?” She sat on the other small bed across from his, looking about the room. “Haven’t had that luxury in a while.”

Fergus’s mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “If you’re scared, just say so and you can stay in here, Milady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She grabbed the pillow on the spare bed and flung it at his head, relishing the sound of his laugh as he ducked and covered his head. Cheeky little arse…

But when his head poked back up, the moment of teasing had passed. She stood and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. Have sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight, Milady.”

He caught her hand as she was turning away, and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I love you, my boy,” she murmured.

“I know. je t'aime aussi.”

Mary’s door was open and there they were by the fireplace, Mary sitting in one chair and Faith leaning against the other one. She had something small in her hand, some kind of toy, and alternated between moving it along the seat of the chair and turning to talk to Mary.

Faith glanced up and noticed her. Claire forced a smile and took that opportunity to enter the room.

“Claire! Oh, come sit. Here, Faith, let’s make room.”

Faith shuffled backwards until she bumped into Mary’s knees, staring curiously up at Claire as she took the other seat.

Mary asked about Jamie and she gave her the same update she’d given Murtagh and Fergus and any one of the monks who had poked their head into Jamie’s room to ask about him.

“I am sorry for startling you earlier,” Claire added. “I hope it wasn’t… well, I hope you’re feeling alright now.”

Mary exhaled a smile. “You’re actually the second person I’ve thought was dead to show up out of the blue, and both of those instances happened in the last few months…” Mary shook her head at that, and Claire realized with sinking dread that it had been Jack Randall she referred to. She’d all but forgotten… but no, she could see now that Mary didn’t want to discuss that. “Come to that, both times the message came from Jamie that you and‒ and‒”

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” she said quickly. Firmly. “Jamie had no idea I was… alive.” Still had no idea, really.

Claire took a deep breath, unsure what Jamie might’ve told Mary already. “We knew that we couldn’t win. We knew if we fought the Redcoats in our current state, there was no way the Jacobites would be victorious. So we had Murtagh bring Faith to us and we were going to run. But there was… some confusion on that day. It was chaotic and we were desperate to get out of there. But I got separated from Jamie and Faith. And I think Jamie thought I was taken by the Redcoats and killed. He didn’t lie to you intentionally. He just didn’t know the truth.”

Mary’s gaze drifted towards the fire, still shaking her head slightly, though Claire got the impression it was more to do with the improbability of all that had occurred than any sort of ill feelings. And Claire didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mary added shyly. “And that you’re here.” Her hand dropped gently to Faith’s head, stroking her soft red curls in a familiar way. Her gaze flew to Claire suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh I’m so stupid! You’re here for Faith! Of course you are. And here I am chattering away with you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Claire said swiftly. She had come here for Faith, but… “I did want the chance to speak with you, too. To explain.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief but she still smiled politely and moved to stand. “She’s slept in here since the accident. You’re welcome to stay in here as well. But I’ll‒ well, I’ll make myself scarce for a bit. Give you two some time together.”

She moved a bit slowly, her much smaller frame balancing a larger belly than Claire, but Mary extricated herself from the room as swiftly as possible, closing the door behind her.

And then it was only Claire and Faith.

With the sound of the door closing, Faith seemed to realize then that no one she knew was with her. Just Claire. Just this odd woman who had wept hysterically at the sight of her earlier today. Claire had already been preparing herself for this ‒ No more tears. Not from herself, at least. She wouldn’t scare Faith again.

Faith stood stock still by the chair Mary had vacated, no longer wide-eyed with curiosity. Instead, she seemed to search the room for something familiar. She made a beeline for the door, which she wasn’t tall enough to open.

“Lovey, it’s alright…” Claire moved to her feet, but hesitated to take a step further. But when she stood, she drew Faith’s gaze and felt something wrench in her chest. The panic in the tiny girl was palpable. “I know you’re frightened and you don’t remember me, but I’m‒”

Faith’s expression pinched with worry and she breathed in deep, and it made Claire pause.

“Want my da,” Faith croaked in her little voice, and then her face scrunched up and she began to howl.

Claire moved in an instant to scoop the girl up. She held Faith close while she cried, the small girl’s body resting above the swell of the baby.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly that she knew Faith couldn’t hear it over her own wailing. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” She slowly paced the small room and rubbed circles on Faith’s back, just as she used to when Faith was a baby.

Faith’s howling didn’t let up, that stubborn streak making itself known. But the longer it went on, Faith crying in her arms and allowing Claire to comfort her, the less her tiny girl felt like a stranger to Claire. How many nights in Faith’s life had been spent just like this?

And eventually, her cries became more of a whimper and then ceased altogether.

Her head popped up from Claire’s shoulder with a red face still streaked with tears and her brows still creased together. “Want da,” she tried again, her lips forming a pout.

Claire’s fingers caressed the sweet face, wiping at the tears. It broke her heart that she couldn’t just bring her to him. “He’s still here, but he’s sleeping. You’ll see him as soon as he’s better, I promise.”

“No,” Faith whined half-heartedly. Claire swayed in place with Faith and watched her yawn and then shiver slightly and burrow into Claire’s warmth.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Aye.” Faith murmured, succumbing to another yawn.

“Here,” Claire grabbed a woolen shawl and draped around them both, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Faith sat up straight once she was in Claire’s lap, glancing about again. Her gaze turned back to Claire.

“Wha’s yer name?” Faith asked in her sweet little voice. Her head cocked to the side in a familiar way and Claire felt the sting of tears but blinked them away swiftly.

“I’m your mama,” Claire said, feeling her heart clench at saying those words. She delicately traced the sweet face that she longed to smother with kisses, wiping at the last of Faith’s tears and brushing curls off her sweaty forehead. Faith’s brows furrowed together again and Claire wondered what she made of that, what she could understand of the word at the tender age of two.

“My mam?”

Claire made a slight sound, caught between a laugh and a cry. “Yes. Yours. I carried you inside me for several months while you grew. And when you were born, I held you close and I couldn’t believe that you were mine. My baby.”

“Baby.” Faith pointed to her rounded belly and Claire exhaled a soft, surprised laugh at this.

“Well, yes, there is one in there, but I meant you. You were a baby in my belly once, too.” She brushed Faith’s curls back out of her face again and cupped the back of her head to pull her forward, meeting no resistance from the girl. Faith’s head rested on her mother’s chest, a little awkwardly draped over the baby bump. Claire sighed. She was already running out of room in her lap and a desperate feeling gripped her, that she needed to rebuild her relationship with Faith before the next one arrived. “I would hold you here and let you hear my heartbeat as a newborn baby, the same sound you heard from within when I carried you. And you knew who I was from that sound.” Faith stayed quiet and relaxed under Claire’s hands as they cradled her head and slowly rubbed her back. “My baby.”

She wasn’t sure at what point Faith drifted off to sleep, but she stayed in that chair with her girl curled up on her chest much longer than she needed to. She felt Faith’s exhales of breath caressing her skin once more, no longer the quick little puffs from when she was first born, but deeper now. This was how they had started out, the two of them, and this was how they were finding their way back. Claire’s arms went about Faith’s still form, anchoring her there, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there to breathe her in and know she was real. The tears did come then, spilling fast down her face. She shook slightly with choked-back sobs but didn’t make a sound.

Barely three months ago, Claire had been in 1948 with Frank. It seemed like another lifetime ago ‒ and Culloden with Jamie and Faith, another lifetime before that. She’d searched for months and now that she had this girl back in her arms again, she’d never let her go.

“Faith Elizabeth Janet Beauchamp Fraser,” she addressed her sleeping child slowly, pronouncing each name distinctly as Jamie had done with his own name when he first told her. “I don’t know what your future holds, but I promise to do everything in my power to see you living a long and happy life. And I know you don’t know me anymore, but you will. You’ll always have me from this moment on. I traveled 200 years just to find you… I’m not likely to let anything else stand in the way. And you won’t ever lose me.” Her lower lip trembled and a few rogue tears spilled onto Faith’s head. “You and me, Faith,” Claire rasped, resting her cheek on top of Faith’s head. “We’ll be alright. I’m here. I love you.”

She didn’t want to move for fear of waking Faith ‒ and in doing so, of ruining the moment of being able to hold her baby to her chest ‒ but she couldn’t stay there all night. She needed to check in on Jamie.

So she stood slowly, carefully, and readjusted Faith to rest her head high up on Claire’s shoulder. The girl breathed in sharply during the move, but turned her head into Claire’s neck and let out a sleepy sigh, settling back in.

Faith’s bottom rested just above the swell of the baby, which was almost protruding far enough to sit Faith on top of it, but not quite. “I really will have my hands full in a few months, won’t I?”

Claire sauntered quietly down the hall with Faith and turned into Jamie’s room to find not only Murtagh where she had left him, but Fergus, who had joined him too.

He must’ve snuck in as soon as she went to see Faith, since he was already sound asleep in a chair near the foot of the bed. Murtagh caught her eye as she entered and merely shrugged. “Didna see any harm in letting him stay. Jamie’s been out since ye left.”

“It’s alright.”

She reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his forehead before shifting Faith’s weight higher in her arms. Despite wanting to keep the children from seeing Jamie in a distressing state, she felt strengthened by their presence and by Murtagh’s. They were whole, finally. And as long as Jamie stayed strong, they would remain so.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice called to him, and he whined. What punishment was this? He had fought so hard these last few months to give Faith the best life he could, to accept his future as just a father but no longer a husband. And while he was torn between fighting to stay for Faith or give in and be at peace... be with Claire… it felt as though the spirit of Claire was urging him to stay put. Stay with Faith.

“Jamie, don’t give up on me.” Her voice was pinched with worry. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”

But he didn’t know that he was strong enough to keep fighting.

Oh, lass, dinna be pained on my account, he wanted to say, i’ll be wi’ ye soon. But no words came out.

  The gardens provided an escape during the day as well as allowing for Fergus and Faith to run off some of their energy. Even though she’d been slow to walk at first for her age, Faith was quite steady on her feet now and Fergus made a game of chase with her, running at a slow pace to keep her after him. Every now and then, he’d slow down enough to let her catch him and flop dramatically onto the grass, which never failed to make Faith burst into laughter.

It was a short-lived escape from their worry, and inevitably for Claire, something would happen between Fergus and Faith that made her wish Jamie were present to witness it. They’d already lost so much time…

“Want my da!” Faith declared as she sped ahead to Jamie’s room before anyone could stop her. Claire huffed and picked up her pace as best she could.

“See? Da’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.”

Faith stood beside the bed, and her tiny frame shook. She was close to tears, Claire could tell. Nothing about the situation made sense to Faith, and she didn’t need to verbalize her distress for everyone else to know it was deeply upsetting to not have Jamie awake and alert.

“How about some cuddles for Da? You have to be careful of his leg but you can go up here by his shoulder and cuddle with him, if you want.”

It was nearing Faith’s nap time anyway, from what Mary had said. Faith didn’t need further invitation and started to scramble up the side of the bed.

“Easy, love,” Claire laughed, jumping in to help situate Faith to the other side of the bed where there was more room. She moved Jamie’s arm away from his body, creating space for Faith to curl against his side. “There we go. Rest your eyes, sweet girl.”

Jamie muttered softly and shifted in his sleep. Claire reached over and felt his forehead. He was sweaty and didn’t feel too terribly warm, which was promising. Claire tried to keep her hope tempered.

“Fergus, do you know where they keep the herbs for making tea? Could you run and grab me some more?”

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not know, Milady,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sighed. Brother Thomas wasn’t around and neither was Mary, but she wanted to make Jamie a fresh cup of tea and see if he would drink some of it the next time he roused.

Faith was still knocked out against Jamie’s shoulder and it was only Claire and Fergus awake in the room. “Come with me. I’ll show you so you know for next time. It won’t take long.”

  Jamie opened his eyes and felt like he was waking for the first time after a very strange dream. Tired and still weak, but his head felt clear. No more chills or aches through his whole body. No, just a dull pain in his thigh when he twitched his leg. He felt too warm and tried to kick his uninjured leg free from the blankets.

The fever was gone and he let out a sigh that was only partly relief. If the fever had left him… then so had Claire.

He became slowly aware of a small, warm weight on his right shoulder and looked to see a head full of wispy, red curls that could only belong to Faith. His arm tightened around her as best as he could and he turned to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Deo gratias…” He whispered hoarsely into her hair, holding the only remaining testament that he had of his and Claire’s love. I’m sae sorry I almost left ye, a nighean...

She slumbered on, undisturbed by this even as Jamie’s hand came to rest on her head in supplication and he offered up a plea for this child’s safety and a humble request that if he should have to live the rest of his years on this earth without his wife, that he might still live to see this child of theirs grow up…

“Oh thank god!”

He stiffened at the sound of his wife’s voice, knowing it meant he was not as well as he thought, if he was still hearing her. But even as he wouldn’t turn his head to look towards her voice, he was aware that he and Faith were not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure filled the entryway and in his peripheral vision, his sight told him it was Claire. But his head knew better. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

Then she drew near and her hands framed his face. His eyelids slammed shut in disbelief, pushing tears down his cheeks. “Thank god!” she said again in a tight whisper.

“Claire?” His voice came out ragged. Her hands gently held his face and turned him towards her. His eyes fluttered open and there she was, smiling down at him through her own tears. He breathed in sharply and could only stare because she would always be the most beautiful sight to his eyes ‒ And a sight he thought he would never see again. “How‒”

She leaned down and kissed him, tentatively at first but feeling him respond, she let the kiss unfold, lingering for what seemed like a blissful eternity until she pulled away, leaving them both panting softly. He reached up and touched her, tracing the outline of her face.

She was trembling terribly, almost on the verge of crying, as her eyes slid shut at his touch, and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

His heart felt as though it were trying to march right through his ribcage, it was hammering so fiercely. “I thought… I thought you were a dream. I canna believe ye’re real.”

He shook his head then as the truth set in. “Ye came all the way to France?” He was aghast, still shaken by the very presence of her. She smiled through a fresh wave of tears.

“I came two hundred years and all the way to France,” her hand reached tentatively for Faith, hovering just above the girl’s head before gently making contact, “Just to find you two.”

There was a soft scuffle of feet and Claire glanced over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “And I didn’t come alone, Jamie.”

“Milord!”

He’d hardly processed her words before Fergus was there, flinging himself haphazardly at Jamie. Fergus’s head buried itself in Jamie’s chest, and Jamie clutched him close, feeling a sudden, sharp sob tear from his throat. Oh God, his son.

His vision clouded over, but not before he’d noticed his godfather standing in the doorway. One arm tightened around Faith while the other held Fergus to him, and his resolve not to openly weep like a baby finally crumbled.

He had believed for so long now that his family as he once knew it was lost for good… and to have them returned to him in one instant, he felt a brief flicker of doubt. That this was nothing more than a fevered dream, to have everything his heart desired.

But he could feel the weight still of Faith leaning on his shoulder, awake now and sitting up from the sudden bursts of noise around her. He could feel where Fergus held a fistful of his shirt in a clenched fist, refusing to let go, and where the boy's tears were soaking through the fabric to Jamie’s chest. And he could feel Claire’s delicate hand brushing his hair back from his face, the softest touch but unmistakably real, before she framed his face again and kissed him, first on his lips and then peppering soft kisses across his face like she needed to cover every inch of him with her love.

And it was everything and all too much.

His family was here. And they were real. Deo gratias.

[retroellie]

hi!! could i request ellie imagine/headcanon (whatever you want) where her and the reader used to be best friends but got separated for years until they reunite? like maybe the reader shows up in jackson

Summary: Reuniting with Ellie after being separated for 5 years 

A/N: Thanks for the request<3 I had this planned out so well but i got lazy lol, i hope you enjoyed and i added a bit of romance in it cause i’m a whore for this woman wbk (also again i didn’t proof read much so sorry) 

Warnings: None

Word count: 3.1k

You weren’t exactly sure where you were, all you knew was there was a town in front of you. Were they friendly? You had no fucking idea but you were exhausted, bloodied and bruised. This could just be a quick rest stop, you had nowhere to be and no one to see so it didn’t really matter much. 

“Stop right there!” a voice called out. 

“Hey! I’m not here to hurt anyone, I'm just a bit lost and I was hoping i could rest here.” You raised your hands in the air hoping they would just let you sit in peace for a minute. 

The man looked you up and down, trying to see if your intentions were good or not. He then whispered down to another man before turning back to you. You were silently praying he let you stay here, you just needed a couple hours.

“Okay, take her to Maria. You can leave your stuff over here.” He said, throwing a signal up. A signal that caused the door to open. 

You gave a small smirk of appreciation, so glad they let you in. They led you through the town, you saw how developed and advanced they were. There was running water, food gardens and even electricity. You’ve been around and you’ve never seen anything like this. 

They led you into a bar. There was actual food, not just beans that you have been eating for weeks straight. Your mouth was almost watering when you saw the meat and fresh fruits they had been serving. 

“Maria, we got a friendly or we think she is.” The man said. 

The woman, or Maria, was a tall blonde. She looked no more than 40, if her hair wasn’t greying you’d say she was in her early 30′s. She looked over at the 2 men and then at you, examining you. 

“You take her weapons?” She asked, sizing you up. You looked awkwardly between her and the men, her stare terrified you more than any infected out there. 

“Yeah, she’s clean.” The man replied. 

“Good, i don’t want to have to put a bullet in between your eyes.” She said, your mouth went dry. 

She signaled the men to leave and you wanted to go with them, you’ve been in rooms with men much bigger than her and so much more bossier but she terrified the hell out of you. She patted the seat next to her, not even looking over at you. 

“You look starved. Seth, get me something for this girl to eat.” She called out, she looked up at you. You tried not to make eye contact. “ What brings you out here.” She leaned closer to you. 

“Uh, I was out searching for supplies when some hunters attacked me. They killed my horse and stole some of my supplies, I chased after them but I ended up getting lost.” You explained, she sat there and listened. 

A man had brought you food, it was a burger and some fresh carrots. Not a combination you would go for but it didn’t matter, you were starved and you 're not gonna complain. You basically stuffed your mouth full of food, causing Maria to chuckled. 

“Well you're safe now, you can stay here as long as you need. Just don’t cause any trouble and we’ll be good.” She started, standing up from the table. “I’ll have someone come show you where you can rest when you get done eating.” She said, giving you a grin. 

“Thank you maria, you’ve been so kind to me.” You smirked up at her, mouth full of carrots. 

She shook her head and laughed, walking away. You continued to stuff your mouth with food, not caring if you were being impolite. They’ll understand, they’ve all probably been in your situation before. 

When your plate was empty, you decided to stay there for a minute. Waiting for the person that Maria sent to you. You looked at all the pretty paintings they had here, pictures of nature and horse, even some photographs of the people of the town. 

“I just don’t understand why they didn’t just kill her right then. It would’ve saved them the burden of making 2 more movies.” A voice stuck out to you, it sounded like you heard it before. 

You looked over past everyone and saw no one familiar, you did see a girl with auburn hair but that can’t be her, right? You saw her get bit, it couldn’t be. You just turned around, sitting back in your seat. 

“Oh hey, can i get a glass of water.” You said, perking up to ask the man who had given you the food. 

He gave you a small nod before disappearing into the back. You could really use a glass of wine or whiskey, but you didn’t want to be greedy. You sat back once more, your eyes feeling really heavy. This would be a nice place to live, it’s nice and cozy. 

“Ellie, it was the 80′s. They tried to drag out movies as long as they could.” A deeper voice said. 

That name, you thought to yourself before snapping your head back to look for the voice. You knew it wasn’t her, she was dead but you had to know who the hell this woman was. You looked at the auburn haired girl once again, trying to get a glimpse of her face. 

You watched her closely, studying her movements. She finally turned her head towards the bar, you saw half of her face. She had these freckles and you got a glimpse of her green eyes in the light of the bar. You sunk down in your seat, were you going crazy or is that her. 

“are you okay?” A voice said, you looked up to see the man with your water. You nodded. 

“Do you see that girl over there?” You asked, he looked over to where you pointed and he nodded. “Who is she?” 

“That is Ellie Williams, i don’t know much more than that.” The man said, leaving you once again. 

Your heart speeds up, pounding at an unbelievable pace. Was it really her? Should you go up to her? What would you even say? ‘hey sorry for leaving you and Riley to die, do you still wanna be friends?’ 

You sunk lower into your seat, hoping she didn’t see you. Every time you think of her, you see the way she did when she got bit or when she thought she got bit, or if she did get bit and somehow survived. You honestly have no fucking idea how she survived, you saw her get bit. 

You had a mental battle with yourself but you came to a conclusion, you were gonna talk to her. You felt so guilty about leaving them so if she beat you up or killed you it would make you somewhat even right? 

You slid out of the booth and walked over to her slowly, watching her and the man she was with talk about whatever they were talking about. Every step made your heartbeat a little more faster, ‘if she beats you up, you deserve it.’ you thought to yourself. 

There she was standing right in front of you, the man that was with her stared up at you confused about why you were hovering over her. You let out a sigh before you shaky tapped her. She turned around, you saw her full face and you couldn’t believe it was actually her. 

“Y/N?” She asked, letting a huge grin show before pulling you into a hug. 

You were so confused, why wasn’t she beating you up... you left her to die. You decided to hug back, feeling the warm familiar feeling of her embrace. All the memories of your childhoods together and little did you know 5 years later she would be a stranger to you. She let you go, still holding on to your arms. She looked at you up and down, seeing everything she missed for 5 years. 

“Why are you here??” She asked, still smiling 

“Uhh, I was attacked and I need a place to stay. so i stumbled on this place.” You replied, giving her a small smile. 

“Well,  you can stay here as long as you want. Your always welcomed here.” She grinded 

You were really happy to see her. You hadn’t been around other humans in a while so being here with your best friend, being safe again gave you such a rush. You had so many questions to ask her and you're sure she had some too.

“I thought you died?” You blurted out. She just let a low chuckled out and looked at her feet. 

“I thought you did too, i heard you got kicked out because of that entire “adventure” we had that day.” She started. “ i thought for sure you would have died out there.” 

That was a time you didn’t want to remember, you guys were just kids and they punished you like that. I guess 2 girls go infected that day, or 1 girl you guess. 

“Hey! I did pretty good out there, i’m still here aren’t i?” You joked. 

She laughed, looking over at the man she was with. He looked amused but confused, ‘you and me both man’ you thought to yourself. 

“Y/n, this is joel. He takes care of me I guess.” she said, causing him to nudge her jokingly. “And Joel, this is Y/n. She was my best friend back at that military school I was in. “ 

You reached your hand out to shake his hand, he looked down at your hand not used to shaking hands much anymore but he reached out your hand and shook it anyways. You smiled up at him, he was intimidating to say the least. 

“So you just passing through?” He asked, waiting for an answer. 

You didn’t really know honestly, this place was nice and Ellie was here so should you ask to live here or just pass through. You looked over at Ellie and then Joel, Ellie looked so happy. 

“Yeah, i was gonna stay a night here before i got back on the road.” You stated, Joel nodded and Ellie's smile dropped a bit. You knew she expected you to stay for good but that’s a really big decision to make at the moment. 

“Your staying the night!?” Ellie acted like she couldn’t believe it, causing you to laugh. “You have to stay over at my house! just like the good old days!” She was practically yelling, she didn’t change a bit. 

-

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“You live in a garage.” You said, looking around her poster covered walls.

There were paint brushes and paint covering things. There were books upon books of space and comic books, it felt like her room back in Boston. That was the room you both stayed in when you got scared at night, she would always hold you while you shook. It’s the thing you should've done when she got bit, she was so upset. 

“You don’t like it.” She asked, plopping down on her bed. 

“No, i like it. It’s very...” You paused, picking up the rocket shaped lava lamp. “You.” You finished, setting it down. 

She laughed, shaking her head slightly. You walked over to her and plopped down on the bed with her, laying back. You watched the star covered ceiling. She laid back with you, her head right next to you. 

You both sat there in a comfortable silence, you had so much to say, you had it all planned out but now that you were here you didn’t know what to say. You thought about all the times you, her and Riley had together. You guys were always in some kind of trouble, always talking back to teachers and just being a pain in everyone’s ass.

“Remember that one time for my 14th birthday when you and Riley made this birthday cake for me.” You asked, smiling at the memory. 

“And we accidently set your bed on fire trying to light the candles.” She added, laughing out at the memory. 

You laughed with her, throwing your head back. You guys were such assholes back then, it’s so weird how things have changed. You guys were all such good friends and now look where you were. You and Ellie were together, staring up at fake stars in a garage without riley... 

You started feeling bad again, it was all so fast. You found someone who you thought was dead and all the memories flying back to you, it made you sick to your stomach. Riley's face, she was so scared but her being so strong tried to cover it up to calm Ellie down. You reached out for ellies hand, something you guys did a lot in her room at night. 

“You know, i always think about that night..” she paused, trailing off, thinking about what and how to say this. “That night when you kissed me” She finished. 

You remember, how could you forget. It was probably the best and worst day of your life. You had been in her room, just like how you were now. You were holding hands, the rain was heavy on the window. You don’t know how it happened or why you did it but you leaned down and kissed her, she kissed back. That was also the day Riley came back and you saw them both get bit, you saw the marks and you left. No goodbye. 

Ellie sat up on her elbows, looking down at you and you up at her. Her hand caressed t’s way down to your thigh, Your body reacted to her touch. As much as you wanted her you couldn’t, you can’t get the image of her face out of your head and it brought so many questions. She leaned down, her lips almost on yours until you pushed her away. You shot up and walked over to the couch before turning to her. 

“Did I do s...” 

“Why don’t you hate me.”  You interrupted, eyes starting to water a bit. 

“Why would i hate you?” She asked, standing up with you. 

You paced around a little bit, all the frustration you had was building up. You couldn’t even forgive yourself so why was she pretending it didn’t happen. 

“I left you and Riley to die, I freaked out and split. it’s my fault.” Your voice cracked a bit, tears starting to form. 

Ellie moved in closer, she didn’t know what to say. In the moment she just believed it wasn’t anyone's fault, things like this just happened; she never blamed you. She knew Riley didn’t either. 

“Y/n..” She trailed off, her own tears forming. “It wasn’t your fault and you didn’t leave us there. We told you to leave, you were just doing what we said to do.” She tried to calm you down, placing her hand on your shoulder. 

“I should’ve stayed, you two were dying and i left.” You burst into tears, taking a seat on the coffee table in the middle of the room. 

Ellie let out a sigh, she didn’t like to remember that day. It was horrible for all of you, she stayed at  the mall for a while after that waiting to turn but she never did. She eventually had to shoot Riley, making that experience 10x worse. She tried to find you but you were gone, so she had no choice but to go to the fireflies. 

“It’s okay, we got bit, you weren’t. we wanted you to get out before all of us died.” She tried to calm you down, she would never be mad at you for protecting yourself. 

“Even if it wasn’t my fault, you still got bit.” You said, locking her in a place she didn’t want to be. “What the fuck happened, why didn’t you turn.” 

A breath got caught in her throat, she wasn’t prepared for that. She knew she would have to tell you at one point but she didn’t know it was going to be so fast. She sat next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/n,” She started. “I'm not supposed to tell anyone but you're my best friend and I trust you.” 

She told you everything, every single detail of her immunity. She pulled up her sleeve to show a tattoo covering a bite sized scar. That caused you to cry even harder, if you were to stay in Boston for a little bit longer you could have helped her.  You thought maybe you both meeting again was a sign, a sign of what you had no idea. 

“I’m sorry..” you started, placing your hand on her knee. “I’ve always just felt so guilty for living. I thought i should've died with you two and me leaving without even saying goodbye, it made me feel shitty.” 

She placed her hand on top of yours, holding it once again. You put your head on her shoulder, more tired than you already had been. From the crying and exhausting memories you could pass out right her. 

“I knew it would, you’ve always been such a sap.” She joked. 

You punched her playfully, giggling at her dumbass. You both sat there for a minute, taking in the feeling you both felt right now. You were both able to get out everything you felt guilty for and everything you’ve been hiding, it’s been eating at you for years. 

“You should stay.” She spoke, breaking the silence. “I mean permanently.” She clarified. 

You wanted to but will you two ever be the same, the kiss and the death you felt things have changed. Good or bad change you didn’t know, you just didn’t want to live here and remember Boston every time you looked at her. 

“I don't know ellie...” You replied. 

You could hear her sigh, she shifted around. She turned to you once more and stared you down. You could feel a whole lecture of why you should stay coming. You were pleasantly surprised when she leaned in once again but this time you leaned in as well. Your lips touched, syncing together. It made your heart pound a mile and minute, you thought at any minute you could have a heart attack. She finally pulled away, smiling at you. 

“Was that your way of trying to get me to stay?” You chuckled out, her smile dropped. She knew she couldn’t get you to stay, you were always a loner even in Boston. You caught on to her sadness. 

 “Cause it worked.” You said before pulling her into another kiss. 

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(Credit to gif owner) 

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

[jadelynlace]

a dead woman tells no tales / vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter four / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head. 

specific chapter content warning(s): mentions of blood, torture (aftermath), suicide and sexual content below the cut (female receiving oral, during her cycle). also note that I included a favorite quote of mine per their characterization and dynamic.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

Noticing the blue sky, it stung in your mind the same shade Ivar’s eyes had been the last night you saw him. Preoccupation with the thoughts of torture—wine red blood slipping between your fingers as shone to Ivar while his absurd laughter overtakes the vicinity—you keep a fair distance from him as he spun the tales back from his own memory. You had no prior knowledge of the day you two were in the field, overcome with sudden whispers in your ears that the visions you saw so clearly dancing on your closed eyelids were no longer there. That they were not real. Stumbled together in a stew of colliding past details, but you two always went to that forest, you two always snuck away, you two always took swords and daggers to each other for practice, you always kissed his cheek when you were to head back and he would always grab you face to plant your lips on his instead. Your mind knew up to that, then your head spoke of the rocks, how your spine felt along their backing, leaves at your feet with Ivar looking over you—but he was standing as he gazed—he could not stand long enough, even then, to examine your injuries to gather if he should carry you back or bring back the aid.

What Ivar told you was a far fetched tale of haggard details, how he told you then of his plans to follow where he was destined, how he would not let you raid, battle alongside him. How you were to wait, or pass time with others who were better than the crippled boy you so loved. How you stopped meeting him in the forest to practice and how when he went days without word from you, sight of you, he went to that spot in the forest once more. Your legs swinging from the ledge as he could see the sunshine in your hair lighting it like a fire, a brief turn back to him with the softest smile he remembers, and then you fell forwards. Dropping his swords and crawling across the ground to see you on the rocks below, eyes dead yet still stuck on him. By the time he made haste back, few in his wake there was a shadow of crimson on the slate but you were gone. Ivar went on with his troops so plainly disturbed by what he watched he had spent every night since locked in a dream of its repetition.

For days now, you wanted no sight of him, no word, no touch. You begged the Gods for silence, to answer you and gift upon you the details you did not remember. You wanted the great wings of the overhead birds to carry you back in time to re-watch the story, to see where Ivar had pushed you, but the longer you harped on such instances, the clearer his story unraveled in your mind.

The stars were powerful above you as your feet carried you to the overgrown area you had spent too long trying to stray from. How the sky gathered out before you as you looked up through cracklings of branches while simply laying among the brush. How the darkness spoke to you of your sadness, your directory of losing Ivar to consume you into a guilt that you were not good enough for him. Enough to fight with him. For him and his crippled legs, that you were not enough. The moon was vacant from the sky, the slithers of a blanket of blackness coated the woods and you alike as you could suddenly hear the whimpers of a woman. Sitting up slowly, your dagger in your grip your mind told you that you were seeing the young girl you remembered to be, stuck on the cold stone crying to the immortals above to set Ivar’s mind in the right path, to make you stronger, or to just keep him safe on the voyage. You hear bitter sarcasm spoken back, an evil spirit answering your voice in deep pity, and then as you try to look away from your own body sitting perched, everything lightens. Your head is on a swivel as the unclear figure looms in the distance and you know that crooked stance to belong to Ivar. You watch how he approaches you. You watch yourself smile back so gently. You watch him with his eyes on you. You watch yourself fall forwards. You watch Ivar drop, hastily maneuvering himself to the ledge and you watch him scream. Your body shoots up in the forest as if it was pulled back like an arrow, your chest heaving as the night terror passes back through your vision and you know now Ivar was telling the truth.

*

You had met cunning women before, serpents of lies who leech, return to the grounds like the nine lives of a feline, but Freydis holds a spot in your mind that fits not of that. There is a vileness about her, the way her blonde hair curls across her breasts, how her hips have widened from bringing forth a child Ivar was so hopeful to teach as his own. As she sees you in Ivar quarters, a brief wave of confusion passes down the bridge of her nose before she raises it up towards the structure’s ceiling.

“Has he wed you?” She asks but you scoff in reply. “Has he promised you the ends of our world? His devotion? Has he promised to change from the monster that he is?” Your head tips slightly in interest, longing to see how far this woman may crawl to spite the name of the man she hurt. “Has he promised to stop the terrible things he does?” But her mouth closes too soon for your liking.

“I am not here to wed Ivar the Boneless,” You answer.

“Then why are you here before me?” Freydis asks as you finally smile.

“To watch you bleed,”

*

You peeled Freydis’ skin like a cloth. The pits where her eyes once lived housed the curve of your dagger, you carved holes where out leapt her organs and pooled red paste along the floor. The height of her lungs through her chest, how the hair on her head could make wigs to barter, the bones could be gathered for handles on your wardrobe. While Freydis had been untangled like a scrunched ball of yarn, you remain of skin and bones, unchanged. It was art, how Freydis’ perished. It was art how you held the red soaked blade to Ivar’s tongue as he lapped the blood away from the forged metal. It was art how the soak of the wet fabrics took the day of torture from your hands as Ivar washed you in the river.

“You have gifted me love, despite the horror,” Ivar says out of nowhere during the silence of the water across your bodies. “I thought I would not want your love unless you really knew how repulsive I am. But you still love me even as you know of it,”

“I jumped, Ivar,” You then whisper. “I remember now,”

“I know,”

“I jumped because I was confused; how you spoke of my skills but would not let me raid alongside you. How you wanted me to find happiness with another man who was not you; but if it was not you, then who else was going to love me?” You’re unsure of the wetness across your face to be from the droplets of wet hair, or the tears from your lashes, Ivar’s arms heavily around you.

“Tell me every terrible thing you have done since that jump, Y/N. And I let me love you still,”

Sunlight dries both of you, heated skin tickled across the grass as you two are there to lay far longer than deemed appropriate. Wisps of flowers along your thighs as the wind become the only noise in your ears before the beat from within Ivar’s chest comes next. You covet the time alone with Ivar, how you two would spend the afternoons in search of creatures in the clouds, how he has changed to become a man of tough steel. Your monthly blood came not soon after Freydis was drained of hers, still streaking your inner thighs despite how long you spend changing your linens. Another wave of pressure nudges just top of your womanhood and you hiss slightly, maneuvering off of the fur to stand level and hope it will drain more. Your nudity along the bed catches Ivar first when he enters, across a plain of fabric still cleaning the crimson from your skin.

“I assumed I got it all in the water,” Ivar states when he is on the furs.

“It is my blood, Ivar,” You whisper back, his head turning to catch your gaze. “My monthly blood, I am not hurt,” You assure him. He pulls a fur to cover your shoulders, taking his time to unlatch the beginning parts of the casts, watchful to see if your eyes linger on how he works. “I will take them off if you would like,” You say softly but he snaps his disapproval of your quick idea. You compensate the moment of silence by tending back to yourself, ready to toss the rag for another one and pray the bleeding does not last longer than it should. There’s a new cloth next to your knee before you’re able to rise for another one. As you lay back, Ivar still sits, swinging the tied limbs over the bed as you cast eyes up to the ceiling. The first stroke of the wet cloth on your skin at the end of Ivar’s hand jolts you, curling your knees together and away from him.

“I can not work if you do not stay open,” Ivar says to you, a raise of his brow in challenge.

“You do not clean me,” You say back, climbing forwards to grab the cloth but Ivar holds it too high for your reach at your angle. “Ivar do not be childish,”

“I will clean you,” He states. “How is cleaning you now different than in the river?”

“Because that was blood of another—blood from a battle, this blood is mine, and mine only. I will clean it,” You say back but he still keeps his arm stuck though the air.

“I will clean my queen,” Ivar then says. “Let me,”

“I am not your queen,” You huff back, you arms dropping to bring you back to your position of laying. It would be tale of lies if his words did not catch you with your guard down. You did not plan, not now, to wed Ivar. But the first few breaths after his statement makes those thoughts fade like the sunset. “As you wish,” You finally say, rolling your eyes to take in the vicinity and turning your head away from him. He provides no movements, transfixed on the slight color change that takes over the lips of your cunt with the leeched moon cycle. How it had caressed your legs’ inner flesh, over the scar he had asked of and how it sticks against you. He remembers how Freydis’ blood tasted on your blade, and Ivar wonders how much sweeter yours must be flavored. The next brush against your skin is warm, and you remember the cloth to have gone frigid. Your head cranes quickly to see Ivar between your legs, looking back to you as his tongue drags closer to your middle. His chest heaves as his arms curl around your bent legs, rolling himself to lay between them as his tongue moves the same. A quick rush of air enters your mouth before his lips are against your cunt, slowly tasting the crimson that has stained you. His moan comes low from in his chest, eyes since closed as his hands pull at you further to spread, tingling a peeking pleasure against you as he laps. You don’t notice right away how your nails dig against the furs, how they move to dance over your own chest or how the old pulse in your abdomen has been overruled by bliss. His tongue is warm still as his mouth studies you, drinking you, and as you moan back Ivar replies with his own. His name is hot against your mouth when your spine arches, but he shows no hints of stopping, trying to grip roughly against your thighs as they shake, twist and turn with your hips as a creep of your release moves closer. He does not pull back until you have screamed his name as a chant as you come, raking your nails against your breasts in attempts to quiet yourself but it pitiful how unsuccessful you are. He only looks up at you as your breathing slows, his mouth stained with your blood and release as he cleans it with the back of his own hand. His eyes now almost as dark as the night sky as he crawls back over you and he is all you feel.

Tagged:

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[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @holacherrycola90. Finally! Here’s my Prince Nuada Imagine! Enjoy! ♥

Words: 2346 Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and corpses

He had come out of nowhere, seemingly. No, this wasn’t right. He had come bursting through the window. Burglary and assaults were common this way in your humble town, not however, when you were based on the sixteenth floor. There was blood, screams, debris and repulsion; a convulsion of pain, horror and violence, all senses mixing to a dizzying thick blanket that threatened to steal away your consciousness.

They were all dead. He had killed them. Nausea clawed at your guts and throat when you realised the gravity of what it was like to have witnessed murder, to have witnessed someone die right in front of your eyes.

The blood you were covered in was not yours. It was theirs. And he was still here, treading over the mangled corpses like he would overcome a rocky path.

He had white hair, so white it almost blinded you, his skin as pale as the moonlight. And his eyes… his eyes were red… orange… of a colour defying the beauty of a sunset. He was alien. Never before had you seen something so beautiful and horrifying at the very same time.

He could not possibly have spared you on purpose. You had been buried under two dead bodies during his killing spree, unable to and too terrified to sit up and flee. Now, you cowered there, on the ground in midst a pool of blood, wishing you had called in sick and stayed home. Was this the end? Would you be murdered by a man seemingly not of this world? You were by no means superstitious but you had long accepted that humans could not be the only intelligent species in this universe. If only the proof of this mindset of yours had come peacefully instead of violently.

His clothes were strange too, you realised when you dared another timid glare. Scars and fine lines defined his sharp face. He was wearing battle armour. Battle armour from another world, so it appeared.

“It is not here?”

His accent was otherworldly. Like he spoke a strange language long forgotten by mankind. You could not see the creature he was speaking to until it stepped into the light—an already broken light bulb already emitting sparks; a death trap for the puddle right underneath its weak beam.

Holding back a scream when you took in the creature’s appearance, you resisted, with all your willpower, to flinch back, yet you could not stop the subtle movement of your right hand subconsciously grabbing the shoulder of a dead body next to you.

You held your breath when the strange warrior spun around with a start, facing your trembling form on the ground and pointing his large spear directly at your panic-stricken face.

“Where is it?” It was a question. Directed at you. Your heart skipped a beat. “The crown piece of Bethmora. It was here.”

Any moment now he would dash forward and pierce your throat with the pointy tip of the spear—you would join the corpses surrounding you, bleeding to death and choking on your own blood within a matter of seconds. Your lower lip was shaking when you opened your mouth.

The crown piece. It had been taken away for an auction only yesterday morning. Your supervisor had approved of it after your examination. It was of unspeakable value, made of pure gold with an ancient crafting technique. It would sell for millions.

“It’s not here,” you whispered, unable to raise your voice out of fear of imminent death. “Not anymore. It was taken yesterday.” The warrior snarled. You forced your eyes shut. Darkness was more welcome than your murderer glaring at you through cold, blood-orange eyes as he killed you. But the fateful blow never came.

He was staring at you when you risked another peek up at him, your body still shaking like dry autumn leaves in the wind.

“Where is it?”

Swallowing thickly, you stuttered the name of the location, unable to form another functioning sentence. Not until he stepped closer.

“Don’t kill me… please…”

He crouched down and tilted his head. What was it that stopped him from chopping your head off like he had with all the other meagre and now massacred humans around you? Was it your trembling lips? Would they be soft if he ran his thumb over them? Would he feel the salty tears on his finger and smear them all over your mouth as he did?

You radiated innocence like a blooming flower. “Mr Wink,” he started, never taking his blood-orange gaze off of you as his smooth voice echoed over the murder scene. “Locate the crown piece.” The creature nodded—out of obedience, companionship or respect, you could not tell—and disappeared in the shadows. You did not dare let out a relieved breath though.

“I am Prince Nuada Silverlance.” He introduced himself then. “I am here to claim what is rightfully mine and I will not rest until it is in my possession.”

You dreaded asking what it was he was looking for. Treasure? Heirs? Political power?

“The annihilation of the human race.” He said, without so much as blinking. Your blood ran cold. So he would kill you. “The crown pieces, once re-matched, will allow me to awaken the Golden Army… and destroy human kind once and for all.”

“W-What… what are you?”

“I am an Elf.”

Your lips parted. Elves had looked so different in your fairy tales and stories from when you were a child. Cheerful and happy, not malicious and cruel.

“B-but why?” You regretted the words as soon as they escaped your lips. Nuada narrowed his eerie eyes at you.

“Why? My race was slaughtered by your people. We have been in hiding ever since, like pets in a cage. Your kind deserves death.” Your eyes widened, your mind unwilling to process his words.

“So you will kill me now?” You chirped. Nuada had noticed your tears before you had. They were streaming down your cheeks in a seemingly endless waterfall, worsening your sight. Yet, his response surprised you.

“No. I will not kill you.”

-

Nuada spent two weeks in hiding. The humans had learned about the incident and the murders, of course, and the police had been searching for the culprit ever since. You had read it in a newspaper a businessman must have abandoned at the station.

You were still alive, living, breathing. The question had been burning on your tongue ever since. Why? Why hadn’t he killed you? And most importantly… why had he kept you with him?

You were still afraid of him, of course—if only a little bit. Just enough to avoid asking him why he had not ended your life. He knew you had been awake the night he had taken you, on the edge of consciousness for your mind had soon shut down to not become a victim of madness. When he had told you—vowed—to keep you safe from his conquering.

You remembered it so well you could still feel his cool fingertips lingering on your cheeks and even your lips. He had watched you sleep for most of the cold night, wondering intently why he had kept you alive. Was it so he would have a reminder of what he would have accomplished soon, if he kept the last remaining human to himself? Was it so, if he so desired, he could mix his race with yours to humiliate humanity even further or was it to keep a trophy, a pet?

Blinking, you rose from the makeshift bed. It was no less than a collection of old pillows and a blanket on a handful of cardboard. There was no luxury underground. The place Nuada had chosen for his preparations was ghastly, yet it was perfect for his dark schemes.

He was training, practicing. His spear, so you learned, could shrink to an arm-sized knife if he wanted to. Gracefully, he whirled around half on the ground, half in the air, fighting invisible enemies. His bare body—pale und inhuman like his face—was covered in battle scars. There was a part of you that longed to trace every single one of them with your fingertips.

Prince Nuada was beauty. Not in the conventional meaning of the word and not in the way magazines would rave about make-up and models. Nuada was beautiful in his very own way. He was… fascinating. It scared you how much he enchanted you despite his racist nature, his wish to kill your kind because of humanity’s own cruelty towards his people. No one was just the victim here.

“It is almost time.” He said without turning around to face you. The sound of metal scratching echoed through the dark and moist underground station as he shrunk his spear back to a handy knife. Time for what? You thought. The ultimate destruction of this planet?

“Did you sleep well?”

“Uh… yes. It was a little cold.” You replied timidly.

“I can ask Mr Wink to obtain another blanket for you.” Finally, he spun around, his warm eyes boring into yours. “But it will not be much longer now. I am taking you to my home where you will be safe from the Golden Army.”

“W-where… where is your home?”

“Somewhere underneath New York City, approximately six miles underground.” Six miles. No wonder he found comfort and peace in being down here. But the thought of spending even more time in the dark, away from light and the outside world made you both anxious and nauseous.

“No… Nuada, I can’t… you can’t expect me to live under the Earth. Let me return to—“

“No. As soon as I give the order, the Army will slaughter mankind like my father should have ordered them to a long time ago. They will make no exceptions and spare you like I did.”

“What if I don’t want them to spare me? What if I don’t want to live like this?”

“I vowed to keep you safe, is that not enough?” He spat, sheathing his knife away.

“But why? Why did you do this? You keep me here, away from my life, claiming you are protecting me. Nuada… I am grateful you spared me… but you can’t keep me locked up in here with you forever.”

“Not forever,” he retorted quickly. “Once the last crown piece is mine, I will rise in this place as its new king. You will be by my side, safe.”

“You mean after you’ve extinguished my race?” You chirped. No, no tears.  You had been crying so often lately. And you were worried Nuada would grow tired of your tears. “What is my life worth if I spend it in solitude?”

“You will not be alone. I will care for you.”

“Nuada. Don’t. I beg you.”

He snorted. “The humans must pay for what they did to us.”

“I am human too!”

“You are an innocent.”

“So are billions of others! Billions! Mothers and fathers and children and elders who don’t even know your race exists and who didn’t make the decision to harm you in any way!” You shrieked, blinking frantically to scare away the tears.

“You are testing my patience. There is always a price to pay. That is the burden of ruling.”

“I don’t think that’s how kings should act.”

“Silence now!”

“You don’t get to silence me! What is the point of all of this, Nuada? My begging tires you it seems but what would you do if an elf threatened to wipe out your entire race? Life as you know it? Friends and family?!”

“It is no less than what my people had to endure, (Y/N).” You shivered when he spoke your name. It was always special for he did not do it often. And he was calm—eerily calm. After you had lashed out at him like this, you should have worried for your life. Strangely though… you didn’t. Not even when he backed you against a destroyed pillar, his face only inches from yours—close enough to study every single unique line on his white face.

“I should abandon you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “What is it about you? You are only human.” If the situation hadn’t been so tense, you would have joked with him—flirted with him even, for you had definitely heard better compliments. In a twisted way, you were flattered by the way he treated you, wanting to keep you from any harm as if you were a princess of a faraway realm. But you were not. You were you, a young woman building a career in archaeology and antique trade.

“You are so fragile,” he continued hoarsely. “I cannot let them harm you.”

“Why? Nuada, why?” Your voice was but a mere whisper. You could feel his hot and moist breath on your lips. But you already knew the answer. He had feelings for you, had been growing them since he had laid his eyes on you in between puddles of blood and dead bodies, terrified and alone. Like a white flower they were blooming in his heart, mocking his motives and what he had in store for humanity.

A barely audible gasp escaped you when his cold lips brushed against yours lightly, like the gentle touch of a butterfly’s wings. Perhaps you had become his conscious all those days back upon your first encounter. Perhaps you had become his very own way of living with the horrible deed he was about to do. However, there was also a glimmer of hope. There was a reason your heart had pounded like a steam hammer upon his tender touch on your cheek; a reason for why his proximity did not repulse but excite you.

Before you could stop yourself, you brought your palms to his bare chest, feeling his hard muscles and those unique scars against your skin, allowing him, no, inviting him to kiss you properly. There was still hope he would spare humanity, you were sure of it—for you.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

do 41 for catradora

ghost/living person au

behold! another thing i banged out and didn’t edit! kjjdnjjhdn this was fun! i decided to call it hello, my old heart after this song because i am cruel

(also... i think after i write the sequel bc i can’t just leave it like that i might expand this at some point or maybe write multiple versions? i like this a lot jejtnjrtnrnnm)

Adora doesn’t remember most of her childhood. Or much after that, really.

Everything up to the age of 18 is a... haze. Memories of life, of friends, of her identity, are either buried so deep she has to struggle to find them, or gone entirely. Faces, names, places, all gone somewhere she can’t follow.

It’s a given at this point, another piece of the debris of a life her carers left her with. She can’t fix it, and she can function without knowing her neighbour’s favourite colour, so why does it matter? It doesn’t hinder her too much, nor does it really make an impact on her functionality. It does annoy her, though, for reasons she can’t really explain.

There are things left behind in the fog of memory she... needs. Things that might explain this hole in heart, this deadening sense of loss that seems to follow her everywhere now. Things that might make everything make sense again.

Specifically, there’s... a memory of the traces of a memory. Someone Adora hurt, or someone who hurt Adora, or maybe both. And the girl who walked by her side for the first 18 years of her life, the girl who vanished at the drop of a hat, the girl she didn’t allow herself to grieve for. 

She knows how important the girl was to her. And missing her, dreaming about her without knowing why, hurts more than the loss. There’s something... something between them she has to fix. And it might hold the key to everything.

If she could remember, if she could find those shattered memories and piece them back together, she might remember why they took her past from her, and why Catra vanished. Why Catra died.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She doesn’t know exactly why she came here, to the shell of the abandoned home on the hillside. Maybe because it holds her last memory of a memory of Catra, alive and standing in front of her, laughing as she turns to push the door open. Maybe because it’s where she feels her memories... return, in whatever capacity they are able to,

It’s darker than she remembers it. The hole in the roof has since been covered with tarpaulin and framed with a web of crumbling scaffolding, leaving dark, angular shadows climbing the walls and forming ominous shapes on the floor. Adora couldn’t begin to try and decipher the patterns there if she tried.

If she focuses, she can trace the paths they left in the dust together as kids, winding around battered marble columns and up the staircases and back down again, like trails in the snow. 

Like... 

Adora pushes back the tears. Why am I crying? What is it about this place that-

Oh.

A memory. Of... her.

“You’re trying to remember me, aren’t you? Stars, I’m so sorry, Adora.”  

If she focuses, she can remember the first day they came here together, a pair of awkward 14 year olds with too much energy and too little time, and hid in the shadow of the stairs on the left, waiting for the night to pass. The details are blurred together, half-buried under a white haze, but if Adora tries, maybe she can -

She can’t. 

“You can. If you want, you can. What they did to you - it isn’t permanent. You can break out of it if you try. It’ll hurt, but you can. I did.”

She shakes the - the memory (a memory, nothing else - something she’ll have to sit and examine later) off. 

Adora picks her way across the floor, careful not to disturb the spiderweb of shadows. It feels... familiar, instinctual. Something more than muscle memory. Almost... almost like she’s being guided by the past she can’t reach.

There are memories here. Adora can feel them in the back of her mind, pushing her gently forwards, urging her on. 

She makes her way into the centre of the main hall of the building - it was a mansion once, she realises - and tries to picture it as it was before - well-lit, grand, beautiful. She tries to see it how Catra would have (because she knows how much she loved this place, even if she doesn’t remember it), filled with stars and candles. 

Adora switches off the torch and stretches out her hands, as though feeling her way forward, except there’s nothing to touch but air. And it feels... heavy. Like she’s being watched.

Except there’s no-one here. She’s alone. 

I’m alone. I’m alone... right?

“No.”

A growing feeling of terror rises, unbidden, in her chest, and she whirls around, brandishing the torch in front of her like some sort of sword, doing her best to  clamp down on the cry building in her throat.

Nobody. Nobody’s there. 

“I am. I’m right here. Adora, I’m right here -”

Adora lets her shoulders drop. She feels... defeated, for some reason. Empty. 

But the feeling doesn’t go away. And she can’t leave until something happens. She can’t leave until - until she gets her answers.

“What answers do you want, princess?” 

Okay, the voice was definitely real that time.

Adora spins around again, nearly dropping the torch, and - there she is. Or rather, a memory of her - a girl no older than seven, with a tangle of dark hair and vivid heterochromatic eyes, her outline flickering and fading and - 

She reaches out to touch her - and is met with empty air. The girl meets her eyes, and something in them looks so desperate that it makes her breath catch in her lungs, and then she just - vanishes. Melts into nothing. 

She almost cries out. Almost fucking sobs. Because she was right there, all the answers could have been within her reach, and she just watched the girl she almost remembers melt into dust- 

“Not her,” the voice tells her gently. “She’s not real. She used to be, but she isn’t now.” 

Adora shakes her head and doesn’t answer. 

“There are more of them here. Memories. Kinda.” 

“What happened to her?” Adora whispers. They’re the first words she’s spoken in a while, and her voice sounds disjointed and out of place, echoing over and over down the hallways.

Something settles on her shoulder (at least, she thinks it does). “She’s... a fragment. That’s the only way I can think of describing it.” A laugh, one she... recognises. “I think they’re all part of the memories they took from you. They’re shadows. I’m the only real one. Well, real-ish.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Turn around.” 

Her limbs don’t want to co-operate. Because I’m afraid of what I might see.

It takes a monumental effort to get to herself to rise, turn inch by inch, raise her eyes past the cracked floorboards. It takes even more to comprehend what she’s seeing.

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra. It’s - Catra.

Catra - but not. Not quite the girl she watched disappear from her memories three years ago. Her eyes are slightly hollower, her hair is shorter, and she’s... dead.

Very obviously dead, too. It’s not like Adora could miss a stab wound in the front of her shirt.

But... but she’s there, she’s standing right in front of her, wearing an infuriatingly familiar half-smile, and she wants to cry - 

“Ca... Catra?”

Her smile widens. “That’s me.”

“You’re here,” she whispers, and it comes out as more of a sob. She’s here she’s here she’s here she’s here - 

“You’re here,” Catra - Catra -  echoes, beaming. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” 

And Adora can’t do anything except let out a small sobbing noise in response. 

“Do you... remember?” she asks softly, hesitantly, hands toying with the fraying hem of her shirt. 

Adora shakes her head. “Not... much. I remember knowing you.”

Catra nods carefully. Her form has this odd translucent quality to it; she wonders if touching it would cause her to flicker like a hologram and vanish, only to re-materialise again in another place. “That’s something,” she offers. “Better than I’d hoped for, to be honest.” 

Her eyes fix on the torch in Adora’s hand, then flick back up. “I’d put that away if I were you. Light kind of... uh, dispels ghosts. That’s what I am. A ghost.” A smile. “I think.”

Adora stuffs it into her pocket without registering the movement. “H-how -”

“How do ghosts work?” Catra guesses. “Not sure. How am I a ghost? Again, not sure.” She shrugs, as though brushing it off. “It’s been... a long time.”

“I missed you,” she says, in a much smaller voice than she expected. “I missed you so much. I missed - I missed knowing you. I-” 

Catra smiles, and the movement causes her face to flicker at the edges, like static. “I missed you too. A lot.”

Adora bites back a sob. “Wha- What happened to you? How did you- ?” She shakes her head, shrugs. “Long story.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Adora catches herself staring at the outline of her form, the trails of half-shadows it leaves on the floorboards. In the half-light, she could almost be real. Alive.

She’s dead. She’s dead. It would hurt less if it wasn’t so clearly her fault.

“And - what about you?” Catra asks, breaking into her thoughts (which is a relief). There’s genuine concern in her eyes, she realises. 

She really cares about me. I must’ve cared about her, too - I do care about her. I just - why?

“I... also a long story. I think you know most of it already.” She huffs a laugh, blinking back tears. “More than me, at least.”

Catra nods again, slowly. Her eyes flick up and down, taking everything in like she’s seeing it for the first time. And some sort of realisation crosses them, then fades away as quickly as it came. 

“Do you want to... come back?” she asks. 

“Come back?”

“Come back. To the house. I could... I could show you what happened. If you want. It’s getting late, and Glimmer’ll be worried about you.”

Despite herself, Adora almost laughs. “You’re worried about me getting in trouble with my roommate for coming home late?”

Catra grins. “I’ve interacted with Sparkles before. She’ll be pissed, trust me.”

Adora smiles too, and for a moment, it could almost be - before again. Before her memories cut off and leave her with a white wall of nothing. Before Catra died.

“I don’t know if I can,” she says softly. “I might be... I might be dreaming, or you’ll be gone when I come back, or -”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere,” Catra cuts in. “I kind of can’t.”

She sits down on the floor and crosses her legs, a clear request for Adora to join her. “It’d be easier if I show you now, but I don’t want to make you pass out and have to figure out how to cart your ass back home.”

“Show me what?” Adora breathes. This is it. This is it. I might be able to... to fix things. Finally.

“What happened to me. And what happened to you. It’s a long story, like I said.” She smiles at her, a little sadly, and presses her palms flat against the floorboards as she sits down. Adora wonders vacantly if she can feel it, if her hands are passing through the wood right now, if she’s solid or just a... a ghost.

If she’s really gone.

Thinking about it fills her with an even deeper sense of loss, somehow. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s her fault, even if she knows that’s not true. And it hurts.

For a moment, they sit facing each other under the shattered skylight, and it could almost be - a memory she can’t quite reach. It could almost be just them again, like she knows they were.

“Are you sure you’ll be able handle this now?”

She nods. Once.

Catra gives her a small, sad smile. Her eyes are transparent, filled with guilt and an emotion she can’t quite place.

The room starts to fill with a soft blue light. It creeps up through the floorboards, making the shadows stand upright and wheel towards the fractured ceiling, making Catra seem to glow from within. Adora has to force herself not to stare (then wonders why).

Smoke tendrils begin curling up through the floor beneath them, wrapping around their legs. She swallows her panic in time to see Catra lift her hands from the wood, leaving scorch marks in their wake, and glance encouragingly up at her. It’s... comforting. Familiar.

“Try to relax, okay?”

Adora nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. It’s all she can manage.

The smoke curls up around her torso and expands, filling the entire room with a blue haze. She narrows her eyes against the strengthening glow, closes them entirely - and opens them again when the door swings open and nearly flies off its hinges.

Before she can move, before she can do anything but cry out, Catra’s hands - Catra’s solid, real hands - clamp as gently as possible down on her shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not real,” she whispers. “They can’t hurt us again.”

“Again?”

She turns to meet Catra’s eyes, and for the first time since they saw each other, she looks... serious.

“Again.”

And two kids come running through the door.

Adora almost gasps again, because... because it’s her. Her and Catra, covered in mud and soaking wet and shivering, hair in disarray, eyes filled with sheer terror.

As soon as Catra skids in, past Adora slams the door shut, hinges screaming in protest. She watches it happen as though underwater. It feels... it feels familiar. That fear in their eyes - it’s real, and she remembers it. Except she doesn’t.

“Are you okay?”

Past Catra nods, clutching her wrist to her chest. “I’m fine. Are they gone?”

“I don’t think so.” Past Adora jogs over to her and helps her to her feet, smiling faintly. Despite everything, despite the wound at her temple and the blood caked on the hem of her shirt, despite the rain and the terror in her eyes, she’s smiling.

And Adora... remembers.

She remembers everything at once, a hail of flashing images and thoughts and words and feelings. She remembers emotions she didn’t even know she had experienced - burning, horrific grief, loss, missing her so badly she wants to scream at the sky and quite literally burst into flame, choking on sobs in bed - sheer, unending terror, pushed deep down into the centre of her chest, the need to protect, protect her, keep her safe, because she can’t be scared if Catra is - 

Someone is calling her name.

Someone is... Catra is calling for her, holding her against her chest as she trembles, whispering her name over and over again in her ear. 

“Adora, Adora - “

And Past Catra... Past Catra is bent over on the wood, coughing and crying her name, letting out choking sobs, a hand pressed over the wound in the centre of her chest. The door has been blown open again, letting in the wind and the rain, and Past Adora is gone.

“I’m-” She sits up, which is much more of a struggle than it should be. “I’m here. What happened?”

Catra gives her a concerned look. “You- passed out, I think. I mean, I know I said you would, but I didn’t expect.... this.” 

Her voice has begun to distort again, fading into a soft, static hum. The vision, or whatever it was, has begun to flicker and die into nothing, the threads fraying and unravelling until all that’s left is the girl bleeding out in the middle of the room.

Adora detaches herself from Catra’s fading grip as carefully as possible. Because, fuck, the things she remembers-

“You didn’t see half of that, did you?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

Catra’s face falls slightly. Adora can’t even imagine what the experience was like for her, having to relive her death again for the sake of her memory. 

“But I did...” She clears her throat, rests a hand inches away from Catra’s. “I did remember. Everything.”

Her eyes light up from within, something that has nothing to do with the faded blue glow sinking back through the floorboards. “You did?”

Adora nods. The movement makes her head spin. She remembers... everything. Especially falling in love with the girl sitting opposite her, watching her with wide eyes. Especially the - the magic they tried to wield on her to make her forget, to make her immune to loving. And the way she tried to escape, to take Catra with her to keep her out of their reach, and it backfired in the worst way possible. She remembers her memories being stolen from her one by one, sucking the grief out of her until there was nothing left. 

Most importantly, she remembers waking up in her bed and feeling for the space where Catra should have been the day after they told her she was dead.

“I did,” she whispers. 

Silence stretches out between them, and Adora wonders if they could possibly be thinking about the same thing. 

Without saying anything, without thinking twice, she blurts, “I love you.” 

Catra’s eyes widen.

“We never said that. When you were alive. I always regretted that. I wanted to tell you, and I never got to, and I’m sorry for that. But, stars, Catra, I love you. I love you.”

She’s staring at her like she’s never seen her before, like she did the night - the night they kissed for the first time, the night she can remember with almost perfect clarity now, the night that was hidden from her for so long - 

“Adora -”

“I know it’s been - wow, it’s been years - and I know so much has changed, but I just - I have to tell you that. I have to -”

And Catra laughs. Softly. Her hand comes down and through Adora’s, leaving a wave of - of warmth in its wake, and settles against her palm, and it feels so close to getting to hold her again she swears she could cry again.

“I love you too, idiot.”

[puckyess]

4 Times He Fake Proposed + 1 Time He Did For Real | Shay Donovan

Expect a double post this week! Hope everyone enjoys our Glue Guy! I’d love to know your favorite part, my inbox is open (& reblog pretty please!)

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED ***

Words: 7k

Free Drinks

“Shay, what do you mean you don’t have your wallet?” You asked incredulously, glancing at him as you pulled into a parking space at the restaurant. “I specifically asked you if I should bring my purse before we left”.

“Now we’re going to be late, again because we have to go back and get money or we’re going to have to ask one of the boys to cover us again. For being called mom and dad we sure don’t act like it”. You huff, laying out your options for him.

“Don’t even worry that pretty little head of yours, Y/N. I’ve got us covered”. The grin he wears spells trouble and you know you’re not going to like whatever he’s planning in his head, but you ask anyway.

“I don’t like that look you’re wearing. How exactly do you have us covered with no money? Are you going to wash dishes in the back to cover our meal?” You sarcastically ask.

“Nope” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end and grabbing your hand. You think he’s being sweet at first but then he’s pulling your hand closer to his face and examining your fingers. He nods as if he’s found what he’s looking for and slides one of your rings off of your finger before placing a light kiss on that finger and hopping out of the car.

You’re quick after him. “Shay Donovan, what’re you doing with that? Give it back” but he’s already holding open the door, waiting on you.

“After you, my lady” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. You refuse to walk in, standing in the middle of the door until he answers you.

“Give me my ring, Shay” you demand with your hand out.

He shakes his head at you and pulls the door open further. You’re getting irritated and there’s another couple getting out of their car so you stomp your foot at him. “Damnit, Shay just give it back” you hiss. He pulls you close to him, moving you out of the way to let the couple through and gives them a charming smile as they thank him. You roll your eyes at him once they pass and poke his ribs maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Ow!” He exclaims, putting distance between the two of you again and rubbing his side.

You just give him a look that says “well? You deserved that” and wait for him to hand over the piece of jewelry that was in his pocket.

“Look I’m just gonna fake propose to you and then everyone will just buy our meal and drinks” he says with a casual shrug like he’s talking about what he’s going to order.

Your mouth falls open. That was his plan? “Shay!” You exclaim in disbelief. “You cannot be serious! That’s awful. You can’t do that!”

He nods “yes I can! It’s perfect, everyone will believe it and they’ll offer to treat us. It’s what you do”. How he knows that, you’re not sure. He’s probably right but you didn’t know how you felt about a fake proposal, especially when you wanted the real thing so bad you weren’t sure you could handle a fake one and in front of a restaurant full of people.

He could tell by the look on your face that you were mulling over his proposal. “Come on, it’s a good plan. It’s not like you have a better one” he says trying to persuade you.

“Yes, actually I do. I’ll just ask one of the guys to pay for us and I’ll Venmo them. Bold of you to assume I’d say yes by the way, what if I were to say no?  bet ya didn’t think of that one now did ya bud?” You challenge.

This time his jaw drops and he’s stuttering, clearly thrown off his game. But he recovers just as quickly “well then I’d be the one getting free pity drinks and you‘d be getting booed out of the restaurant” he says as he holds the door open for you once more.

You glare as you walk past him, “No funny business Mr. Donovan. I’ll just ask your brother to cover us again”. But the ring was still in his possession so you should’ve known.

Despite not running back to your apartment for Shay’s wallet, you’re still the last ones to take a seat at your table. You barely sit down before the waiter is taking your drink orders.

“Rydes”, you sing song and bat your lashes.

He groans, “Let me guess, Shay conveniently forgot his wallet again?”

“I’ll pay you back” you promise him, giving his thigh a little squeeze.

“I’m telling mom to cut your allowance and give more to me. I end up buying for you guys all the time” he whines.

Shay rolls his eyes. “Very funny. Actually I have an announcement to make”, he says, clearing his throat.

Everyone’s eyebrows raise, especially your own. He actually looked nervous as he got out of his seat.

“Y/N, I knew you were the one from the very minute I laid eyes on you, cheering me on in a shoving match on the ice. You’ve been my biggest supporter since the night I accidentally on purpose spilled my drink on you to get your number and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side. So, Y/N,” he says dropping down on one knee, “will you marry me?”

Your mouth is on the floor, as is the rest of your table’s. Did he really just propose to you in a room full of strangers? After you had told him not to? Yet, here he was kneeling here in front of you, with your ring in his hand, held out to you. You had half a mind to say no, just to serve him right for subjecting to you this kind of embarrassment but when you saw the look in his eyes you melted. They were soft and filled with a twinkle of light that was reserved just for you. They were begging you to say yes and you wondered if maybe he meant what he said even though it was a fake proposal.

Your reaction was genuine as you nodded profusely and he quickly slid the ring back on your finger, this time on your left hand and picked you up, swinging you around in a circle. You buried your blushing cheeks into his chest as you said “I’m gonna kill you, Donovan”

He laughed as he set you back down, the biggest smile on his face and kissed you fiercely, a little less than appropriate for the amount of people watching. Everyone who was still cheering from the original proposal was now whistling and hooting and hollering for the two of you.

“So what’s everyone ordering” Shay asks as he re takes his seat at the table looking at everyone with a casual smirk on his face.

The boys’ eyes are still wide and there’s a split second of silence before everyone explodes with congratulations and questions.

Needless to say an Uber was necessary for the ride home. Shay’s plan worked accordingly and you had a dozen people offering to pay for your meal and rounds of drinks. The boys also bought a couple rounds to “celebrate” and for a minute it all felt too real.

Especially when Ryder came up next to you and told you that he knew all along you’d be the one to finally tie down his brother and to assure you that Shay was head over heels for you. “I’ve never seen a man as in love as my dad until you came around for Shay. I’m kind of annoyed he didn’t tell me first though” and you had to look away to not let Ryder see the tears starting to form in your eyes as you watched Shay laugh with Tarek. “And that look that you have right there, you’ve got it just as bad”.

You lay your head on Shay’s shoulder the minute you get into the car. He readjusts you so that your body is leaning against his chest and his arm is wrapped around you, holding you. He gives your head a small kiss and you let out a content sigh, playing with his fingers in the dark. “So when are we going to tell them it’s fake?” you mumble. you can feel him shrug beneath you.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of fun being engaged” and even though you know he’s playing around you’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ask tilting your head back so he can see the smile tugging at your lips as the lights pass by.

“One of these days it’ll be for real” he says in the quiet, giving you a squeeze. You can hear the promise behind it and you bring his hand that’s holding yours up to your lips, kissing the place where his engagement band will be. It’s a soft moment and you relish in it.

Finally though he breaks the silence. “I knew you’d say yes” and you don’t have to see his face to know there’s a big old smirk on those kissable lips of his.

Drunk Shay

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going out with the boys tonight? Because I can totally stay in and we can get pizza and watch a movie and do face masks” he offers.

You laugh at his almost request and assure him that it’s okay. “While I appreciate your offer, you should go with the boys. I know they miss you and I love you, but there’s things I need to get done tonight and I can’t do that with you here. You’re a little needy” you tease him.

“Fineeee”, he drags out in a pout. You love that he sounds disappointed that he can’t stay here with you. If you didn’t really have things you needed to finish for work you would’ve given into his puppy dog eyes but you held strong and all but shoved him out the door when Ryder came by to fetch him from you.

“I’ll have him home by curfew, mom!” He called to you with a wave.

“All in one piece preferably” you told him before shutting the door.

A few hours and a handful of snaps later, there’s a knock at your door and you know it’s your boyfriend delivery. One of the many things you loved about Shay was his dedication and how that applied to every area of his life. He lived by the phrase “go big or go home” , drinking included. While he was careful when he was out with you to make sure you were safe, he was wild when you weren’t there to be his tether.

You already had the water getting ready to boil on the stove for his Mac and cheese. “It’s tradition to end every good night with Mac and cheese, I’m telling you” he’d say every time.

“He’s all yours” Ryder says gruffly, trying to make his brother walk through the door. Shay is practically hanging on his brother and Dylan and even though they’re as big as they are, you can imagine his dead weight is pretty heavy.

“Have a good time, baby?” You ask with a smirk.

At hearing your voice his head lifts and a goofy smile takes over his face. He stumbles toward you and Ryder and Dylan both have their arms outstretched to catch him if he falls in the small space between them and you. It was like watching a two year old make their way from dad to mom. He makes it though and wraps you up in a bone crushing hug, forgetting for a second that you were half his size.

Remembering your question he sticks out his lip. “No I did not have fun. No one would kiss me or sit in my lap like you do”

You giggle at your whiny boyfriend. “Well I would hope not”  

Dylan rolls his eyes at Shay’s clinginess. “Seriously though, if I had a dollar for every time he asked me to ‘just kiss his cheek’ I could’ve paid my tab”

You fake shock at this news as you turn to Shay, “you tried cheating on me?”

His eyes blow wide. “No no no, not at all I just wanted some kisses and Dylan was right there so, so , so” he stutters trying to defend himself. “You’re trying to get me in trouble” he says pointing at Dylan.

“I can’t take this anymore” Ryder says running his hands down his face. “I did my part, he’s in one piece.. kind of. Now he’s yours to babysit. Goodnight Y/N”

Dylan gives you one last look as if to make sure you don’t need him to stay too but is silently begging you to release him and you give him a little wave to send him on his way, leaving you with Shay who has wandered toward the pot on the stove.

You shake your head at the man who seemingly couldn’t go a night without you. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and give you sloppy kisses on the cheek and you have to keep gently shoving him back from the stove. When he nearly makes you drop the pot on your way to the sink you banish him to the stool until it’s ready. He pouts at first but begins rambling on about his night while you stir in the ingredients.

When you set the bowl in front of him he shovels it into his mouth and is so amazed. He always says it’s the best Mac and Cheese of his life which you find hilarious because it’s literally Kraft dinner. After finishing almost the whole box except for the little bit that you steal he just wants you in his arms to settle in for the night.

He watches you change for bed and it’s like he forgets that you sleep in one of his old hockey shirts. He sees you and his lips form a little “o” and you swear you see his pupils blow even from across the room.

“Damn, baby. You look so good? And you’re mine?” And he lets out a low whistle.

“Come on, Shay. We’ve been over this” You laugh but blush at the same time because the look he’s giving you is one of pure awe and it warms you to the core.

He pulls the covers back for you and pulls you close once you finally crawl in bed. He lets out a soft sigh.

“I can’t wait to do this every night. It’s like a sleepover with my favorite person except you have to come out too next time” he tells you.

“Favorite person, huh? Don’t let Ryder hear you say that” you poke at him but his statement warms your heart.

“Well his favorite person is Clara so I’m allowed to have my favorite person and it’s you. I love you the most” he says matter of factly.

You laugh, knowing he’s probably right but you try to explain that family should be loved more than you and he gets real quiet, which is uncharacteristic for him.

“But you are family”, he says honestly. And now it’s your turn to go silent.

“I mean, my mom always asks how you are when she calls, my family loves you, everyone knows I’m going to propose to you. I wouldn't feel right if you weren’t a Donovan”.

He always talks about marriage on nights like these. And every time it hits you that you truly want nothing more than to spend your life with this man, making him Mac and cheese in the wee hours of the night and watching him be surprised every time you wear one of his shirts.

“I can’t wait for that day” you tell him.

“Well I can do it right now, I’m ready” he says, sitting up in bed and then trying to move to a kneeling position but he’s still drunk enough that his sense of balance is off and he’s face planting into the mattress.

“I have a speech” he mumbles into the sheets and you’re laughing at his efforts as he tries once again to kneel for you.

“I’ve been in-“ he starts to lean again, “fuck it, I’m in love with you and I want to spend forever with you that’s all that matters. Will you marry me?” he says as he finally topples over and off the bed.

“Shay sweetie, I love you too but I can’t accept a drunk proposal” you tell him through giggles, helping him back into his spot in bed.

Once he’s settled back in bed he agrees that he can do better. “It’s gonna be so good. I’ve already got it all planned out, Ryder thinks you’re going to love it. I hope you do”.

For the second time that night, you’re silent. ”I have no doubt that I will”, and you mean it with all of your heart. He spends a few more minutes talking about your wedding, how beautiful you’re going to look in your dress, how he’s sure he’s going to cry when he sees you for the first time in it. He’s so soft and heartfelt and much more serious than earlier.

Until he isn’t, when he dozes off in the middle of telling you that he wants his dog to be the ring bearer.

In a Fight

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me?” you say as you follow your pissed off boyfriend into your apartment. You had just been out at the bar with some friends when Shay abruptly decided he wanted to be at home and hadn’t spoken a word to you since. You were growing more and more frustrated by the second, especially with your question being met with silence.

“Damnit, Shay. What’s your problem tonight, huh?” you finally break and throw your purse on the counter.

“What’s my problem?” he asks spinning toward you, his face flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t already know?” you throw back at him.

He shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Maybe this will jog your memory. ‘We’re just having fun. I don’t love him like I used to and I don’t know how long this thing will actually last’” he mimics, “Way to make a guy feel confident and secure in his relationship”.

His words take you back to your conversation at the bar with a friend. Taken out of context, you admit they did sound bad. You hadn’t realized he was listening in on your conversation as he had seemingly been preoccupied with his boys at the time.

She had asked how things were with Shay, how serious you thought it was. Her question scared you to death. You were having fun, some of the best fun you’ve ever had in your whole life. But it wasn’t “just fun”. You had gone into it all thinking you would just see what happened but with every kiss and every new memory made with him, you fell more and more in love with the man. And you didn’t know how long it would last. Sure, he told you forever, but he still had three whole years of college to get through and you had already had your fair share of little bumps in the road. It came with dating a big time college athlete, but it wasn’t part of any normal relationship and who were you to bank on forever. You weren’t the same person and didn’t want the same things when you left college that you did when you entered and you were afraid that the same would happen with Shay and you would be one of those things he grew out of.

“Shay-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I don't know what more I have to do to show you I want this, us. I thought we were on the same page, but after your comments tonight I’m not so sure. ‘Just having fun’, Y/N, really? And ‘this thing’? The way you’re talking you’re making it sound like this is some fling and you don’t want it to last!” he’s angrily throwing his hands around and raising his voice with every word. He’d never raised his voice at you before. His brother? Sure. His teammates? Sure, but never you.

And then suddenly his voice drops so low, you don’t even know that you hear him right, when he asks “Is that what you want? For this to not last?”

Your eyes go wide as you realize what he’s insinuating. “What? No, Shay. I want this. I just, I don't know” you groan trying to find the right words to say.

Your words or lack thereof do nothing to reassure him. “So what’re you saying? ‘You want this, but-’ what’s the but, Y/N? You want this now, but if I got down on one knee in this kitchen and asked you to marry me right now, you’d say no? I need to know if I’m in this alone, here”

His face was pained, but honest as he got down on one knee just to prove his point.

Even though you couldn’t come up with the right words to explain what you were feeling, the only words that made their way through your lips were “I want this forever”.

You watched as relief washed over his face and probably yours as well. You went over to where he was still on one knee and took a seat on his lap looping your arms around his neck and looked deep into his eyes. There was still something in those brown eyes of his that worried you.

“But you said you don’t love me the same anymore” he says and his voice is sad and vulnerable.

“No, no , no, baby. There’s so much I have to explain” you sigh. “I’m having so much fun with you, Shay. I meant that but it’s not all just light flirty banter anymore, somethings changed...into more. So no, I don’t love you like I used to. It’s a different kind of feeling now, from the way your lips kiss me to the way your hand fits in mine. It’s better, stronger the longer I’m with you and grows every single day. And well, you just promised forever but things change, Shay. Just because I want forever doesn’t mean that at the end of all this you will too”

He listens intently but shakes his head at the end. “Y/N I’m promising forever because I mean it. Yeah, things change but me wanting you isn’t going to, no matter if it’s me crushing on the hot girl next door in the stands  or planning a future with my future wife, I’m always going to want you”.

He sees your eyes watering and you chewing on your lip and lifts his hand to your chin, taking his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth. Then he guides your lips toward his and puts some proof behind his words.

When he finally breaks away, breathless he pats your butt, “Alright, hun you’ve gotta get up. I’m too old for this, my knee can’t take this floor anymore”.

TikTok

“Babe, come here a second!” You hear your boyfriend call for you.

“Shay does it have to be now? I’m in the middle of something” you call back to him from your computer. You had a deadline to meet and Shay had been a minor distraction the whole day so you locked yourself in your room and left him to his own devices until you finished.

“It’ll just take a second” he promised.

You sigh as you move your laptop off your lap and onto the bed, grabbing your water as you pad your way over to him.

“C’mere” he says beckoning with his fingers to you. Like almost every other time he’s done that, you go to him. He gets down on his knees and pulls you down so that you’re mirroring him. “Ok now put your right knee up like this and touch mine” he says patting his leg

“Seriously Shay, I was busy” you whine, but do as you’re told.

“Okay now switch knees” he instructs. You roll your eyes but again, oblige.

“Okayyy, one more time. Put your right knee up” he says as he put his right knee up.

“Shay what is this about. I have to get my work done.”

“We’re almost done, just stand up”.

You take a big swig of your water as you stand up waiting for his next move. You don’t expect him to stay on one knee and dig into his pocket and pull out a black box.

When he looks at you with a full smile you nearly choke on your water, spitting it out and leaning over slightly to try and pull him up.

He’s dying laughing at your reaction and he tries his proposal again even though you’re still coughing.

“Y/N, you’ve brought so much light into my world and given me so many laughs like this one,” he tries but he can’t continue because he’s laughing so hard at you.

You’re still coughing and you look panicked with wide eyes and he just can’t believe how well you reacted. He looks over at his phone to make sure it’s still recording. You watch as he does so and put two and two together.

“It’s for a TikTok babe, you can relax. I’m glad that wasn’t real though, I never expected a rejection that harsh” he laughs as he tries to rub your back.

“I can’t believe you! That wasn’t funny” you say, annoyed. “You pulled me from work to fake propose for a TikTok? Unbelievable”. You grab your water bottle and turn to stomp back to your room. Was it a little bit of an overreaction? Maybe, but you had shit to get done and he was using your time to make tiktoks so you were a little annoyed. And he fake proposed again, on top of it all.

“Hey, hey, hey. It was just a joke, Y/N” he rushes to make sure you’re not really mad at him

“Well, I’ve got a deadline to meet, Shay!” you said  with your back to him. His long legs makes the few short steps to be in front of you.

“Something tells me that’s not what this is about?”

Damn him for being able to read you so well. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of where he screwed up.

“With this being like the fourth time you've proposed, but not for real I’m just starting to think you don’t take that very seriously. And well, I do and it kind of hurts that you don’t” Your words tumble out, finally getting the weight off your chest.

He reacts instantly to your words, his arms reaching for you to bring you into his chest. He’s stroking your hair and you can hear his heart beat fast as he says, “oh no, honey I promise you I’m serious about marrying you. You know me, I’m not a serious guy, but I swear to you if there’s one I’m serious about, it’s putting a ring on your finger and making you a Donovan. Not today, because obviously that didn’t work out”, he chuckles, “but I promise you, you’re getting that ring for real”.

You look up at him with a little smile, forgiving him easily with this new promise. “Pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky.

He gives you a soft smile in return and locks his pinky with yours, bringing your pinkies up to his lips to seal the deal with a kiss. “Pinky Promise”.

+1

“Are you sure this is enough? I could probably make it bigger?” Shay asks turning to Ryder.

His brother shakes his head. “Dude, she’s going to love this. This is so her, just relax. Everything’s perfect”, he tries to reassure his brother.

Shay chews on his nonexistent thumbnail as he examines his list for the tenth time that day, making sure everything was in place. You were flying in later that day, thinking you were going on a girls date before the start of your second River Bandit Cup. You had loved the tournament so much last year, it was the perfect excuse for him to lure you out to Duluth even though you’d come anytime he asked.

“So mom, Clara, and Nessa are picking her up at 3, they should be there now actually and they’re going to go get their nails done or whatever and you and Boden have to help me get things ready here” Shay reminds him again.

“And what time are her family and friends coming in? You’re going to have to remind dad to go pick them up or he’ll forget” Ryder points out.

Shay looks up from his phone with a glare. “He better not forget or I’ll kill him. I’m on a very tight schedule here, everyone has to do their part or it’s going to be a disaster” he stresses.

“What’s going to be a disaster?” Vanessa asks as she walks in the room.

Shay’s eyes pop out of his head as he looks at his sister. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the airport right now! Where are mom and Clara? Who’s picking Y/N up?!” He practically yells as he jumps out of his seat.

“Someone’s a little on edge today” she tsks, “relax, I’m just meeting them at the nail place because the baker called and needed the cake picked up earlier than planned and I figured you’d have your hands full here. So it’s in the fridge in the garage, I do have to leave now though”.

“You’re going to be fine, everything is going to be perfect” she says, patting her little brother on the shoulder. “Good luck!” She calls over her shoulder as she closes the door.

Shay spent the next few hours running around, directing his brothers until there was absolutely nothing left for him to do but worry. He called to check all of the food was correct and ready to be delivered on time, made sure he had the right champagne, arranged the lights out back just so, sprayed the ODR with a fresh layer, reached out to everyone to make sure they knew where to be and at what time, placed and double checked the cameras and even ironed his damn clothes.

Ryder and Boden sat on Shay’s bed and watched as he stood in front of his mirror opening and closing the little box in his hand, trying to rehearse his speech and not lose his mind while he waited for the sound of car tires.

“You can do this, Shay. She loves you, you love her. Nothing to worry about. You can do this” he says like a mantra. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was a confident guy and he was 100% positive he wanted to marry you and he knew you wanted the same. This should be the easiest thing in the world and yet the anxiety and butterflies he felt were tenfold worse than any he had ever felt before any game.

His brothers echo his self hype and promise him there’s nothing more he can do to show how much he loves you and you obviously love him. Their pep talk is interrupted by the sound of people entering the house.

—

Hours later after lunch and a nail appointment, you’re finally in the car on your way to the person you desperately wanted to see. While you loved Shay's family just as much as your own, you were anxious to get to your boyfriend. You had weirdly barely heard from him all day, only a few texts double checking your flight time, making sure you landed safely and what nail color you’d picked out.

As you pulled into his drive, your brow furrowed. You had expected to come home to a driveway full of cars from his friends, like last year. Checking your phone, it was already 6oclock. Everyone should definitely be here by now. “Where is everybody?” You question.

Clara and his mom both shrug, little smiles on their faces as the car slows to a stop. Shay’s waiting for you on the porch, a smile on his face and your skates in his hands. He looks as handsome as ever under the porch lights in black jeans that hug his long legs and a grey knit, the same one he was wearing when you first met, you note. A smile graces your face at the thought.

“Well hello handsome”, you call out to him. “You look too nice to be bringing me home that River Bandit Cup”.

You grip onto his arms and raise up onto your tip toes signaling what you wanted from him. You melt when he gives into you and don’t even notice his mom and sister sneaking around to the backyard.

“Change of plans”, he says setting you down on the bench by the door and pats his leg.

You throw him a confused look. “What do you mean? You’ve been planning this for months now?”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. If only you knew, he’d been planning this, not that for months.

Your leg is across his now and he’s taking off your boots, replacing them with skates. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as his fingers expertly tie your skate. He pushes your leg off and picks the other one up to do the same, staying silent. Your boyfriend was never silent.

“Earth to Shay. What’s going on with you today?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

“Is there gel in your hair?” You ask with a confused smile on your face when you pull your hand away. You begged him to put gel in his hair, knowing it would help his curly hair look extra dashing but he refused, only allowing it on game day.

“Maybe”. He says quickly and stands up after finishing up on your skate. Without warning his arm hooks under your legs and he’s picking you up bridal style. You’re giggling as you hook your arms around his neck and hold on tight.

Finally your boyfriend is back as he throws his back laughing, soaking up the sound of your squeals and giggles. “Close your eyes and no peeking” he instructs you.

“What?” You ask him, but follow his command blindly, closing your eyes. You trusted him, even after all these times when he’s made tiktoks and played tricks, you knew your trust in him was well placed.

“Just do it. I have a surprise for you” and you could sense a change in his voice, there was a hint of nervousness.

“Something better than the RBC?” You teased.

He laughs. “I sure hope it’s much better than the RBC”.

“I don’t knowww...I really enjoyed drinking out of that cup last year”

“You’ll still get your cup, but tonight I have something else to give you” he tells you and now there was a hint of excitement to his words.

You can tell you’ve reached the ice in his backyard by the change in his movements as he glides and the crisp sound of his blade cutting into what sounds like fresh ice.

Your curiosity was killing you as you practically begged him to let you open your eyes.

“Okay, now you can open them” he says, holding onto you as your blades hit the ice.

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the lights. You look around you as Shay takes your hand, skating you both in little circles so that you can see the whole rink.

There are little candles all around the perimeter of the ice and twinkle lights draped along the fence and club house, creating a soft golden light. Rose petals lay scattered near the candles along with polaroids of you and Shay, dating all the way back to when you’d first met. The thumping in your chest intensified as you took it all in.

“Shay” you breathed. You wanted to look at him but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from each new picture.

There was one from the first game you had nervously waited in the hallway for him, one from the night he kissed you in front of the team to announce your relationship, one from your weekend getaway, and one of your personal favorites, one from the night you had to take him to the hospital because he bet that he could last longer on the mechanical bull than you and ended up throwing out his shoulder … and losing the bet. There was one from your first Christmas together, your first Valentine’s Day together. One of you across the table from him and one of him pretending to be studious at the library even though you know he was watching Netflix. He’s somehow managed to document every little moment of your relationship from the big firsts to unexpected candids. And in each one, no matter who is in the picture they look unbelievably happy.

“Do you like it?” He asks, when all you've said is his name.

“I - I have no words. Yes, of course I love it! What is all this though?” You search your brain trying to remember today’s date and whether or not it was important. You had been so focused on getting to see Shay this weekend that you had barely thought about anything else.

“Oh god, it isn’t our anniversary is it? What’s today’s date?” You asked him, flustered.

He laughed as he skated you back to the center of the ice, where one last picture was waiting for you. He picked it up but didn’t give it to you quite yet.

“Y/N, I’ve spent months trying to craft the perfect speech and I think I’ve come pretty close but no words will ever be able to describe what I feel for you, how much I love you. I knew you were the one from the very second I laid eyes on you in the crowd cheering me on in that shoving match against UMD. I told the whole locker room that night that I’d be marrying the girl in the third row. i looked everywhere for you after that game and low and behold you showed up at the same bar and I did the first thing I could think of and threw my drink on you” he laughs at himself.

“I knew that wasn’t an accident!” You exclaimed.

He shakes his head, “no it definitely was not. I panicked and just threw ice water all over you and then blamed Ryder for pushing me. I still got your number though” he says with a wink and then clears his throat to make himself get back on track.

“You’ve been my biggest supporter through every up and down. You’ve been there to celebrate every small victory like getting cleared to play again and passing my stats class and you’ve held me during my darkest days when I doubted myself and was so lost I didn’t know if I would ever be myself again. But you helped me through that and were my brightest light. You’ve encouraged me and cheered me on. You’ve made me want to be better and challenge myself to grow, not just for myself but for you” his hands are shaking slightly as he takes both of yours, the picture still in his hand.

“You’ve given me so many laughs, so many memories, so much love and I want to do the same for you. I want to be by your side for the highs and lows and tackle life with you, forever and a day. I want to look forward to coming home to you every night and eat Mac and cheese at 3 in the morning and lose my mind every time I see you in my stolen shirts. I want it all with you and I want you to finally have my last name because well,  you have everything else of mine, my heart included. So,” he hands you the last Polaroid as he gets down on his left knee. It’s a picture of a diamond ring.

“Y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?” He asks, holding out a small box with a real diamond ring out to you.

You had passed the point of ugly crying long ago. His words were so filled with love you couldn’t contain the tears. Your freshly manicured hands were covering your mouth trying to hold in the emotions that were pouring out from you. You were nodding your head so fast, not even having to think about the answer to that question for a second.

“Yes?” He asks with a beaming smile just to clarify.

“Yes!” You practically shout.

You’re in his arms in the blink of an eye, skates fully off the ice. He’s twirling you around in circles and telling you how much he loves you when you hear cheering from all around the edge of the rink.

He sets you down and you see both of your families and friends lined up, cheering for the newly engaged couple. You start crying again and hold onto Shay a little tighter, if that was even possible.

“Thank you so much for this. You’ve outdone yourself, Shay. The perfect proposal”

He grins down at you and kisses the top of your head. “Better than the RBC?”

“Much better than the RBC.”

[invidiasaunder]

Doom (”Hell AU”) scene

- Do you really think so?...

There is something wrong with how confused this strong, dangerous and even frightening creature looks, which is now gazing with hidden pain at its own hands. Following the other's gaze, the Marine does not hold back a heavy sigh, it was only necessary to understand - he was aimed at claws unusual for the human race, disfiguring the already painfully pale fingers.

- Really. - Seeing other people's torment becomes unbearable. To stand like an statue, among other things, too, and not having come up with anything better, the Slayer casually pats the head down dejectedly, as if in an absolutely idiotic attempt to support. The palm accidentally touches the root of the curved horns: - You proved to me that you retained not only self-control, but also a relatively sober mind. So why would I consider you disgusting?

- Because I'm a demon? - Skeptically responding, the fallen one clasps his hands in disgust and looks up, making no other attempts to study the body modified by Hell. The cruel truth hits where it should and an awkward silence hangs in the air: From the fact that I am a monster? Freak? Besides, you are unlikely to understand what this is, Flynn, and it is not your fault. Fortunately, of the two of us, only I am doomed to shy away from my own reflection.

- You're not a freak. - Trying to protest, the Soldier immediately purses his dry lips, as soon as he heard a bitter laugh from the side of the deceased comrade. Okay, who is he kidding? The old friend really looked ... not very good. To put it mildly: - Okay, listen. What they did to you is cruel, but personally I don't find you disgusting. In fact, your new look has its advantages.

Skepticism in someone else's gaze burns almost physically, and the Slayer feels drops of nervous sweat flowing down his temple. It was necessary to blurt out this. And now what to say? “You have become bigger and stronger” sounds so childish that even from the very thoughts a bashful blush lights up? - For example ... for example ... For example, your eyes.

- My eyes?

Obviously bewildered, the demon looks puzzled at the interlocutor, expecting a worthy explanation, and, unexpectedly for himself, the person realizes that in these red coals, bordered by a black shadow from the protruding cheekbones, there really is something attractive. Thought is striking in its suddenness and simple, ingenuous truth.

“When I look into your eyes, I see a flame. - After thinking, the Marine continued: - But, it does not burn me. Warms like a fire in a small hearth. Home association, or something like that.

- Did you have one? .. - The fallen man asked quietly, but as soon as he noticed the heavy look of the interlocutor, he immediately bit his own tongue with force and continued even quieter: - The eyes of other demons are also burning.

- They are burning. - The harshness in someone else's voice makes you tense, but not even a few seconds go by when a person, not without due effort, drives away unpleasant memories and clasps someone else's head with his palm before carefully looking into the face. The unexpected closeness puzzles even more - unable to withstand a direct gaze, the demon looks shyly at the floor: - They burn with rage and hunger. Thirst for blood. Hate. Yours could not be overshadowed even by the veil of her power, I still saw in them only the pain of the strayed Night Guard, and not the insane anger of a hellish animal: - Sighing heavily, the Slayer removes his hand from someone else's face and straightens up before confidently ending: “This is what sets you apart from them, Marauder. To hell with your looks if you remain yourself inside.

"Can you ... can you get your hand back?"

Having asked faster than fully realizing the meaning of his own request, the demon immediately lowers his gaze back and clenches his fists tighter, as if the pain from claws digging into his palm is nothing compared to the expectation of a natural refusal. Or contempt in the eyes of others. Both seemed unbearable, and their own vulnerability provoked an irritated groan. You can't. You can't open up that much. Hadn't he already got enough knives in his back? So, why does it still behave like a stray dog, which naively raises its head under the caress of a passerby's hand, even if, after a fleeting warmth, it is destined to remain in cold solitude again? A pathetic, disfigured creature, and it made me want to howl.

- If you want to..? - The confusion in someone else's voice is better than mockery, and a tight lump of doubt weakens its merciless pressure on the chest, or even disappears completely without a trace, one had only to feel the palm returning to the sharp cheekbone. Not daring to look up, the fallen one still feels a slight surprise when, instead of the coolness of the already familiar metal of rough gloves, the dead skin collides with someone else's, alive and hot. - So? Hmm. You see, you are not at all disgusting to me.

Strength, both moral and physical, is only enough to nod weakly, but this light, almost weightless movement is saturated with silent gratitude through and through, which does not go unnoticed. Emboldened by the reaction, the Marine thoughtfully strokes his sunken cheek, re-examining every detail of someone else's appearance, which now did not repulse at all with its ugliness caused by the association with the hated race. On the contrary, there was something special about this pale, almost milky-white skin, mottled with a web of pitch-dark veins, in those crooked horns that resemble an old helmet, because of the weight of which the demon always seemed to look sullenly. The initial shock and disgust in front of someone else's appearance, which later turned to polite ignoring, were now replaced by sincere interest, and the person not without surprise notices that the look of a comrade, defamed by Hell, can be called in its own way ... beautiful.

- Beautiful?

Startled with surprise, the Slayer with vague guilt notices a confused look opposite, belatedly realizing the spoken thoughts aloud. There was no time to come up with a worthy excuse, and therefore a confident nod follows and a direct, sincere answer: - Yes. I think you are beautiful.

Beautiful. Wonderful. Unique. In all the worlds there is no second person like you. You shouldn't consider yourself a monster unworthy of life, because this face is far from the first place that defines you in my eyes.

Tears have always been and remain the prerogative of the living, but old pain is replaced by a light, emerald glow, and the demon presses against someone else's hand, listening to the native voice of his comrade who has accepted his curse. Rough from scars and dry air, the palm awkwardly strokes the disfigured face, and with every touch, the unbearable melancholy subsides, ridding him of his snake venom, which did not allow him to rest or forget about the punishment deserved by betrayal. The time will come, the time will come to pay for all the sins of his past, but not now, when quiet, warm words forced him to flatter like that same abandoned dog, in front of which they decided not only to stop, but also to take him home. From the very depths of the chest, a barely audible rumbling unexpectedly escapes, puzzling both those present, but the gentle laugh that followed helps to relax again, for the first time in many hundreds of years feeling completely safe.

- You are so wonderful. I'm so glad I have you.

[yourmidnightlover]

SSA Hotchner: chapter 4 - romantic love

TW - threatening letter, a bit of combat, flirting, alluding to sexual themes but not really? let me know if i missed something :)

WC - 2,898

series masterlist

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walking into the frat house you scanned the room for spencer immediately, finding him in the corner where he could keep an eye on everything in the living room area and then some. you gave him a subtle nod when he made eye contact with you to signal you knowing his presence.

"alright, y/n. i need you to scope the place for the guy in the picture we showed you," morgan's voice rang out from your earpiece. "he'll be somewhere near the entrance looking for his next victim."

you gave two taps on your earring to let them know you understood. you began walking further into the living room, making eye contact with spencer again who nodded his head to your right. you looked over your shoulder and found the suspect.

you grabbed a cup of some unknown substance, not wanting to take a sip of it anyway. you traced your finger along the edges as you saw lucas stillwater eyeing you. you bit the bottom of your lip gently, noticing how he began walking towards you almost immediately.

"hi, pretty lady," he greeted you, his hand coming to find your waist.

"hi," you smiled softly, repressing your gag reflex from his touch.

"this dress is... something else, sweetcheeks," already two pet names. got it, dick.

"this ol' thing? i've had it for ages," you started, before moving to fix the collar of his shirt. "now you... look great in this shirt. only..." you pulled him in so you could whisper, "i think it might look better off."

"damn, junior hotch," morgan laughed. "you've really got some game."

"you don't waste any time, do ya?" he smiled as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

"hmm... what can i say?" you pulled back to look him in the eyes, removing your hands from him completely. "i know what i want."

"morgan, how about we don't mention my sister like that. got it?" aaron announced.

"you and me both, sugar. you and me both," he growled as he eyed you up and down.

"sir, yes sir," morgan laughed once again.

"i'm hoping that something is me?" you bat your eyelashes innocently, tilting your head in curiousity.

"that something is most definitely you," he agreed. "what do ya say we get out of here, head back to my place?" he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to his body.

"hmm," you traced his chest with your index finger. "i would love to... but i can't," you immediately pulled back and out of his grip, walking across the living room closer to spencer.

"great. now flirt with spencer to entice him more," morgan announced. "you have to get him really riled up, whatever it takes."

spencer had seen how you acted with lucas. as much as he hated to admit, it got underneath his skin. he wanted to be the only one you talked to like that, even if it was just for a case.

you walked over to spencer, biting your lip once again as you approached him. once you got to him, you turned him to face the direction the unsub was once in.

"is he watching?" you whispered in his ear.

"uh, mmhmm. he uh, he's watching," he nodded.

"i'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," you swallowed.

you noticed the way his breathing picked up. the way his body nearly trembled at your touch. you were clearly making him uncomfortable.

"just act like it's someone else, alright?" you asked before pulling back, playing with a few strands of his hair.

"he looks angry, keep doing that," spencer announced.

"that's good," you swallowed, feeling a bit nervous about what was supposed to go down later that night. "so you're going back with me, right?" you asked with a grin.

"uhm, yea. i am," he nodded. "doing so would entice the unsub even further, ensuring that he'd follow you back."

"okay, sounds good," it was your turn to nod with a smile. "i can't wait to get out of these heels," you giggled as you brought your other hand to his shoulder. "they're rather uncomfortable."

"they look amazing," he grinned with his puppy dog eyes. "i uh- i know i wasn't really able to s-say anything before," he swallowed. "you look re-really beautiful."

"thank you, spence," you blushed. "do you think we're good to leave now?" he nodded. "great, i'm so glad i can change out of this," you laughed as you pulled his hand out the door and towards a car the fbi had gotten just for this case.

you drove to your 'house,' noticing a dark blue sedan following close behind as you pulled into the driveway. you quickly got out, and made your way inside while holding spencer unbelievably close.

once you got inside you went into the bedroom to grab the change of clothes so you could get out of the dress. it was a pair of sweatpants and a short tank top. you were also able to take out the earpiece since the unsub couldn't directly see you.

walking out of the bathroom, you met spencer in the bedroom once again. you noticed him looking at you in a weird way.

"what is it?" you squinted your eyebrows as you looked over your appearance. "i don't think there's a stain on these clothes, i just bought them a month ago."

"th-there's not," you furrowed your brows even more in confusion. "it's just... you look amazing in both a party dress and while dressed in what some would call their 'lazy day clothes,' i just don't see how that's fair," he chuckled as you went to sit down beside him on the bed.

"well i would say you look great in 'lazy day clothes' and in your work clothes and in a tuxedo and in practically anything," you moved a strand of hair behind his ear. "be sure to give yourself credit where it's due, doc."

"thank you, y/n," he said in a tone so genuine it sounded as though you had given him the greatest gift in the world, not just a kind compliment.

"of course," you smiled as you went to the head of the bed, ensuring that there was a gun in the drawer beside it.

"morgan just texted and said the unsub's car is parked outside. he's going to come in about 5 minutes from now," spencer announced.

"i have my gun, you?" you looked at him, he nodded. "great," you felt your breathing pick up.

"hey," spencer placed a hand on your lower thigh. "i'm here, alright? i'll go to the back door, that's where he enters the house," he rubbed his thumb soothingly. "he won't hurt you."

"right. he won't hurt me. but what about you?" you asked, placing your hand over his.

"don't worry about me," he took your hand and pressed his lips to it. "i'll be okay."

"if you aren't okay by the end of the night i'm gonna kill you," you warned him as he placed your hand in his lap, still covered by his.

"alright, i'll hold you to that," he chuckled quietly. "i'll be back, alright?" you nodded as he got up and made his way to the back door.

you walked up to the front door, looking out the peephole and seeing nothing but darkness which was odd. there was a porch light on, and streetlights on the street that lit it up. so why was there no light?

you moved to flip the light switch on, finding it didn't work at all. you went to the kitchen, it didn't work. then once you made your way to the back door where spencer was supposed to be, he wasn't there.

you began panicking. he was gone. he was dead. he was hurt. gone. hurt. dead? you ran back to the living room, finding spencer passed out you placed your gun beside his body to examine him. with what seemed to be a tranquilizing dart in his neck.

you felt arms around your neck and torso, then another pair by your feet. you immediately started kicking as the arm around your neck began squeezing harder than before. you tilted your chin down, bringing your hands up to gouge at the person's eyes that was behind you. he went down wailing

using your core, you kept yourself up as the person holding your torso fell back, you wrapped your legs around his body. you jabbed his gut before putting arms around his neck as you used all your strength to choke his neck, twisting your body around to the back of his body. once you were on his back, you were able to unwrap your legs from his body and use that leverage to induce more pain, he passed out within seconds.

you quickly dropped his body and pointed your gun at the guy who was still screaming, recognizing him as lucas. the door busted down, morgan rushing through with aaron, guns raised.

the heaving in your chest didn't stop or slow down, still having that rush of adrenaline from what just went down.

"you're alright," aaron breathed a sigh of relief as he went to engulf you in his arms.

"i told you i would be," you breathed in the comforting scent of your brother, home.

"damn, y/n," morgan came to clap you on the back. "i didn't know you had that in you. taking down two grown men? remind me to never mess with you,"

"spencer, he-he got hit with a tranquilizer," you announced, motioning to where his body lay on the couch.

"don't worry about him, it's a normal valium tranquilizer. it'll ware off soon," morgan informed you, a wave of relief washing over you.

"so how'd this happen?" aaron asked, you turned to face him.

"spence went to the back door to wait for them to enter since that's where he was supposed to come in. then i went to the front door just to be safe, but i couldn't see anything. it was totally dark. they had cut off power for the block," you turned to face morgan. "that's what we missed. once i figured that out i went to check on spencer, he wasn't by the back door so i went back to the living room and found him here like that," you motioned to him on the couch. "then i felt someone's arms around my neck and feet. i gouged his eyes out, held my body up and choked the other one. ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom! you guys come in," you summarized.

"i don't think i've ever been this impressed by you, y/n," aaron smiled, proud of his little sister.

"well i have been taking self defense lessons since i left home," you shrugged.

"really?" he asked, surprised by the news.

"mhmm. i thought that since dad was..." you cut yourself off. "yea, i've just wanted to know how to protect myself and others," you corrected.

aaron's eyes softened as you stumbled over your words, engulfing you in a hug to comfort you. he rested his chin on your head.

"i love you, aaron," you whispered so only he could hear.

"i love you," he replied, placing a kiss on your hairline.

back on the plane, you sat beside spencer who was still passed out from the tranquilizer. he was supposed to wake up sometime before you land, but with his quick metabolism it would probably be much sooner. you kept your gaze on his peaceful sleeping demeaner. moving your hand around his face, you brushed his hair back once more.

basically everyone else was asleep on the jet aside from you and emily. she noticed the way you looked at him. wistfully. worried. loving.

"he's alright," emily spoke up, sitting in the chair closest to the couch. you rose your eyes to meet hers.

"i-i know," you nodded. "i just... i thought he was-" you cut yourself off.

"but he's not," she titled her head as you looked back at him sleeping. "he's breathing. he'll wake up soon."

"there was a moment when i saw he wasn't there, by the back door, and i just-i didn't know..." you sighed as you traced his cheekbone with the side of your finger.

"you know, he's pretty smitten by you, too?" emily asked with a smirk.

"please," you rolled your eyes. "he's a genius."

"after he first met you, he asked me all about you. he wanted to know where you went to college, your hobbies, interests, whether or not you had a boyfriend," she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"that doesn't mean anything, em. it just means he's curious of a new person," you finally refocused your eyes on her. "besides, how do you know i like him?"

"come on, y/n. i've known you for how long?" she whisper-yelled. "i know when you have a little crush on someone."

"who said it was little?" you laughed "no, i just haven't ever had a real relationship before. i don't think i'm meant to be in one," you shrugged.

"why not?" she furrowed her brows

"i've just never been lucky in the dating aspect. i've learned to be happy with myself... by myself," you proudly announced. "and you know what happened with my parents, it just doesn't seem like many relationships these days are actually happy. they all end in divorce or someone stays because they're too afraid to leave or... or it's just not a good idea."

"if this is because of your dad..." she trailed off.

"it's not just because of my dad, it's because i don't think relationships are necessary. i don't think romantic love is... real," you brought your hands to spencer's, fiddling with his fingers to calm yourself down.

"you don't believe in love?" she asked incredulously.

"i don't believe in romantic love," you corrected.

"how did i never know this about you? i mean not believing in love is kind of a big thing..." she rose her eyebrows comically.

"it's never really been brought up," you dropped his hand and shrugged your shoulders.

spencer began stirring in his spot, he leaned up and squinted his eyes at you. he took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you as close to him as possible.

"you're alright," he sighed into your hair. "i thought they were going to hurt you."

"they didn't. i'm alright, spence. i promise," you stroked his hair gently, trying your best to calm him. "i'm okay," you tried to pull back, only to find his grip on you tighten slightly.

"just... just let me hold you for a little longer?" he pleaded as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

"if you're gonna do that then i wanna take a nap," you giggled as you moved the two of you to lay down together, his arms under yours as you curled into his chest.

"whatever you'd like," he sighed.

he heard what you said about love not being real. he heard about how you liked him, but how it couldn't go anywhere. and he was determined to change that for you, no matter what it took.

and he didn't know much about yours or aaron's childhood. from what happened in his own, he understood why someone would want to keep it under wraps. he just wanted you to know that it was alright to confide in him as he has you.

he wants to be that person you went to when you had nightmares about your past. he wants to be the one to chase away the bad guys from your past. he wants to be your future, as well. he wants to be the one you come home with. he wants to be with you. he wants to love you. he wants to be loved by you.

as much as you hated to admit, he's already starting to break down your walls. and that scared you more than your childhood ever did...

the next couple of weeks went by quicker than expected. you quickly found your place within the team, no surprise there since you already knew them. after penelope found out how you had taken the two men down she began calling you her 'little dynamite.'

spencer and you had hung out a couple more times outside of work. he had come over to your place and watched another movie, you went to his so he could give you a lesson on chess, and the two of you went out to eat after a hard case, finishing it with an ice cream with one another.

aaron had been a bit less protective of you after he found out how you had taken self defense classes. he knew you had training with the bureau, but knowing you had training outside of work just eased his mind a bit more.

emily hadn't pressed you on the whole 'romantic love' topic, but she had pressed you on you crush on spencer. she was convinced you and he would be the power couple of the bau.

the rest of the team had gone out together a total of two times after cases. you went out, didn't drink because you needed to drive yourself home, and then went back home.

there was one more letter. one more threat.

i can't believe people actually look up to you. why do they think you're so perfect?

you don't even know how to do your job right and you have men falling at your feet.

you should rot in hell. maybe i should send you there.

no big deal. yet.

[thefanficmonster]

Never Alone

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder) ft. The Keating 5

Warnings: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Swearing, Trauma, Description of Injury

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: While working on a particularly tough case in the ungodly hours of the night, whether it’s due to the lack of sleep or the sudden need to confide in another human being, Michaela admits some truths to the person no one would think she’d ever do so to - her rival Connor Walsh.

Requested by Anon and requested as a birthday present by another Anon. Happy birthday darling Anon! Thank you so much for giving me the honor of writing you a birthday present though I hope the short notice doesn’t affect the fic’s quality. I accept the most brutal of feedback, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy your special day! Lots of love, Vy ❤

“You know, just because you’re still awake and staring at a document doesn’t mean you have an upper hand here. Whether you’re actually reading that file is what will determine who gets the trophy, Miss Shooting Star.“ Connor Walsh waltzes into the living room turned office of the Keating home, looking and sounding a little too refreshed for someone who has had the same amount of sleep as everyone else of the K5 - minimal. Yet, unlike his teammates, he’s still perfectly functioning, talkative and looking forward to being productive without accidentally falling off a chair after being consumed by the slumber his body is probably dying for. It probably has something to do with that cup of coffee in his hand - his tenth one today, if Michaela’s counted correctly.

“Call me that again and I’ll shoot the damn trophy at your forehead.“ Michaela hisses back at him, tired, stinging and bloodshot eyes never leaving the piece of paper she’s been holding, reading and re-reading for the past twenty minutes, never really managing to grasp the words written on it.

“Good luck taking it from Asher. The Douche has fallen asleep with it in his arms.“ Connor sinks down in one of the armchairs, leisurely picking up one of the files laid out on the coffee table, looking at it with little interest.

This time Michaela’s gaze does indeed leave the paper so it can land on her rival, as she raises an eyebrow that somewhere between shocked and offended, “That asshole’s asleep?”

“He’s not the only one.“ It’s Connor’s turn to not spare her a look while answering, “Him and Wes are as good as dead on the kitchen island. Laurel and Frank are most likely awake, but also most likely not working on the case. Well, not this case, that’s for sure.“ He chuckles at his own joke, seeing as how his correspondent found no humor in it, “So, it’s down to you and me and Bonnie if she throws us a bone, which I doubt she will.“

Annalise was very clear with what she had said. Speaking the whole truth here, the five college students weren’t really paying attention until they heard that very strictly spoken phrase: “No one leaves here until someone finds something. Anything” aka the last phrase their professor had graced them with before walking out to go meet someone important for the night. She had every right to be strict and maybe even a bit cruel to them after they all had been exhibiting typical brat behavior throughout the day. To make matters worse and the job even tougher, Annalise had instructed Frank and Bonnie to go home so the kids would really be left to their own devices. Bonnie had had enough so no amount of begging her was gonna get her to stay - it’s also been proven that no amount of voicemails are gonna get her to come back either - but Frank, solely because of Laurel, stuck around and has so far not proved to be any kind of extra help - the polar opposite, in fact, he’s been distracting them all with jokes and snide comments at how incompetent they all are. Now if that wasn’t the most hypocritical thing.

“If the pressure wasn’t on already, I’d like to remind you we have...“ Connor turns his hand over, checking his wristwatch, “less than four hours until we have to show our not-showered, sleep deprived asses in court.“

Michaela groans, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was actually glad to have an overnight task, something that wouldn’t allow her to go home, but this is beginning to be too much. What others would call ‘home’ Michaela refers to as or ‘hell’. It was place she called ‘home’ at one point too, but it wasn’t long before things started going south. And by ‘south’ I mean horribly wrong and toxic. The man she thought she’d one day call fiancée and then husband has now become a monster from her worst nightmares. Having grown up in an abusive household, Michaela had always dreamed of finding a place for herself, a place she’d feel safe in. With a person who’d love her unconditionally and provide her the security she lacked growing up. And that’s what she thought she saw in Miles. She wasn’t wrong for the first few months, the fucker was good at putting up a front, putting on a show for everyone to build a positive opinion of such a disgusting human being.

The mask started falling apart shortly after Michaela moved in with him. She didn’t accept his offer without any thought, quite the contrary actually - she pondered it for a week and a half, her heart taking the win in the end. Well, her heart may have won that time but it is now in pieces. Her eyes have never cried so many tears and her skin has never bled nor been bruised so badly before. She feels broken, alone, betrayed, hurt. She feels all she felt every time she got hit as a kid. She feels like the whole world has equipped knives and guns, each with her name on them, ready to put her through torture.

And she’s got no one to tell, because no one will know what to say back. For some reason, when people are speechless they tend to say the dumbest, most hurtful crap without realizing. Hearing that on numerous occasions before, she knows what effect it’ll have on her, so she strays away from speaking up about it. She’d rather be alone and battle her demons than present those demons to someone else who will introduce new ones into her head and life.

She prefers solitude and isolation over additional torment. It’s always been an easy pick for her.

“If you don’t wanna fight this battle on your own, go fetch me a cup of coffee.“ She instructs, half-expecting the turn-down she receives immediately afterwards.

“You really think I’m gonna help you when you are the closest thing to competition I have in this group of dimwits? Go get it yourself.“ 

Michaela rolls her eyes, wondering why she even asked such an abomination of a question in the first place. Finding her legs too dead to take her anywhere, she remains in her spot with a heavy sigh, returning to her attempt at reading the file she and the rest of the Keating 5 five have read through a dozen times today just to find nothing off about it.

“Hey, this one’s marked twenty-three, that one on the table’s twenty-five, where’s the twenty-fourth one?“ Connor suddenly perks up suddenly, cutting the short silence that had fallen upon them. With the least amount of energy she’s managed to save up, Michaela waves the file she’s holding, blinking away the blurriness of that clouds her eyes. “Give it to me, I need to make some comparisons.”

“Come get it yourself.“ She barks back with the same amount of spite he used barely a minute ago.

Unlike her though, Connor complies, finding that file necessary for some reason despite knowing it’s useless. It’s all pointless and they’re all gonna hear it from Annalise tomorrow morning regardless. But the most they can do is keep trying - trying to prove themselves worthy of that trophy.

Getting up with the most exaggerated distaste in his movements, Connor crosses the distance between the armchair he’s been sitting in and the couch Michaela has not moved from for hours, surrounded by piles of paperwork, folders and files. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t even put up a fight, clearly having been fed up with staring at the same words and not grasping anything for half an hour at this point. 

“Thank y-“ Connor is a syllable away from finishing his sarcastic statement of gratitude when his eyes land on something peculiar, he’d even call is quite worrisome - a large scar going from Michaela’s elbow to about midway down her forearm. It looks to be recent, given that there are still some dried specs of blood around it, “Holy shit....“ He mutters, carefully taking hold Michaela’s wrist as to gently turn her arm a bit more to the side in order to examine the cut, “What the hell happened to you?“

Not having realized what he was examining before, Michaela’s eyes widen when they follow his gaze and land on the very cut she spent an hour taking care of last night. That cut is the aftermath of a drunk boyfriend who wanted nothing more than a reason to start an argument with her when she got home. A reason to hurt her. Coming into work this morning, despite the high temperatures, she was stubbornly keeping a long sleeved jacket atop her shirt to keep the ugly remainder of yet another failure hidden. The relationship in and of itself is a toxic failure, but it’s built of other failures Mihaela blames herself for - she believes she fails every time he hurts her. She thinks she’s the one to blame for the failure because she couldn’t protect herself. So she feels ashamed, disgusted and is attacked by that sense of betrayal all over again.

Feeling these three emotions flooding in at the sound of Connor’s concern, she snatches her arm out of his grip, keeping the scar out of his viewpoint while her eyes scan the room, looking for the jacket she doesn’t remember discarding. “Piss off, Connor. It’s non of your business.”

If she had said something along the lines of it being an accidental injury, Connor might’ve even believed her and let the whole thing go. However, seeing hw distressed his question has made her become, he feels there’s a lot more to it than she’s letting on. So, fully aware it’s non of his business, he keeps prodding on for a reason even he himself doesn’t understand, “Maybe not, but that’s a concerning scar, you might wanna get it checked. In fact, it already looks like it’s infected with something.”

Michaela’s brows furrow, her distress growing into genuine fear as she removes the hand that’s partially covering the scar to check on it and try and see what Connor saw to lead him to make such an observation. Connor takes this opportunity to also get a better look at the cut and it doesn’t take him a while to realize what tool was used in causing it - a shard of glass. 

“Michaela, it may not be my business...“

She cuts him off with hostility, “It’s not”, but her words are choked up and wavering. Her voice is shaking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. And Lord knows crying in front of Connor Walsh is the last thing she wants to do.

“Right, but you can’t tell me that’s an accidental cut. That looks very intentional, very straight, and very much like someone inflicted it on you.“ Seeing her barriers slowly starting to sink despite her best attempts at keeping them up, he keeps his pursuit of his secret, for the first time genuinely curious to get to the bottom of what’s troubling Michaela and not a single ulterior motive in his mind. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve had my fair share of glass shard injuries in my life too.“ The girl’s gaze remains glued to the floor but Connor doesn’t miss the tear that escapes her left eye, sliding down her cheek. This only strengthens his will to getting the truth out of Michaela. “I know I’m not among your favorite people, but I’m not a piece of scum, damn it. You can tell me, Michaela. Believe it or not, you can tell me.“

Silence takes over, loud silence, the one on her end filled with the inaudible sound of her walls coming down quickly. She’s left bare and exposed. surrounded by their rubble and unable to look her rival in the eye. Though, is he much of a rival at this moment? He appears dangerously close to a friend. Hell, Michaela would even make a snide remark about it if her insides weren’t so broken - her heart, her soul, her mind, they’ve all been shattered, bruised and bloodied way worse than her skin.

“Turn around.“ She says out of the blue, the order sounding more like a plea especially when accompanied by another tear freeing itself from the confinement of her pride. When Connor doesn’t move, she finally looks up at him to meet his baffled gaze, “Turn around so I don’t have to see the pity in your eyes when I tell you I’m a pathetic victim of an abusive relationship. The punching bag of an asshole with a short fuse and a drinking problem. A failure to myself and my family. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you think you have the upper hand now?“ Behind the tears that are spilling freely now is the mix of rage, devastation, dread and sorrow. It’s a dangerous combination that could cause her to pounce at him any second, push him away, take her anger out on him.

But that’s what he wants her to do.

He wants her to let it all out, free herself from all that’s been sitting on her chest. He wants to free her from whoever’s responsible for that scar on her arm and those thousands of little cuts on her soul, all still openly bleeding and unable to heal. He wants to save her. And it’s scaring him. He wants to write it off as basic human decency but deep down he know there’s something more. As much as the both of them would like to deny it, if one of them left the Keating 5 tomorrow, the other would miss them greatly. Threats, accusations, arguments and bickering aside, they are aware how great of a team they are. What a good pair of friends they could be if they just let their pride slip aside. But they don’t, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s why they work so well.

However, even with that theory in mind, they’ve both let their pride go in this very moment. Walls and barriers have come down, lines have been crossed and they see each other differently now - More as fellow hurting humans rather than rivaling lawyers-to-be. Closer than ever, that’s for sure.

“Listen, Michaela...“

She once again cuts him off, “I don’t want your pity, sympathy or your advice. I don’t need you telling me to leave him! You think I haven’t thought of that?! You know nothing about it, you don’t get to judge me on my actions and choices!” She’s sobbing at this point with no hopes or ways of stopping the strangled noises from leaving her throat or the tears from escaping her red eyes.

Connor quickly crouches down in front of the couch so he’s at eye-level with  her, his hands taking gentle but firm hold of her shoulders, “Michaela, no! That’s not what I wanna say! Listen to me, damn it.“ To his surprise, this actually gets her to calm down and stop thrashing to get his hands off. Slightly relieved, he pursues what he started, “I know, I know exactly how it is. Every time he does something nice it outweighs the bad. It’s those good moments that make you stay, I know. But those moments are the rare rainbow after a ton of rain. They are not worth this pain and suffering you’re enduring. He’s not worth it. You deserve so much more, so much better and you are aware of that!“

“But no one else is!“ She snaps, her hands coming up to hide her face, “No one else sees my worth beyond the job I do or the person that’s willing to put a ring on my finger. No one sees me for me, Connor! My value is determined by what kind of men find me decent enough for their beds or family contracts! What kind of response do you think I’ll have if I leave yet another relationship?“

Her words break his heart but he doesn’t let it show in his eyes, he’d rather close them than let her see that pity she fears and despises. He doesn’t pity her, far from it, but a simple misunderstanding on her end could break this already fragile bond they’ve built so he keeps his feelings at bay.

“Fuck them! Michaela, you are an adult woman, they can’t control your life anymore! No one can! That’s why you need to cut ties with those whose opinions you fear most. I don’t know what kind of stick they have up their asses, but without them you won’t be alone. You’ll be free!“

“And you’ll still have us.“ The sudden and new female voice comes from behind them, right by the doorway.

Both of them turn to look in that direction to find the four missing members of this late case-digging session: the sleepy Asher and Wes with Frank and Laurel beside them.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but Michaela, you will not be alone, no matter what the context is. We might not be the best friends one can ever have, but we sure as hell aren’t monsters.“ Laurel continues, being the only one to actually take a step in the room while the three men stay put, uncertain of how to approach the situation. “I think we all care about each other to some degree. So, I want you to know, we care about you and we’re here for you. No matter how many times you leave us in the dust with your eyes on the prize.“

That remark manages to get a smile out Michaela even with the tears that are still not done rolling down her cheeks. Asher is also quick to pipe in, “I second that! Anything you need, we’ll be here. Need us to bust someone’s skulls - we’re your people.”

Scoffing, Connor shoots Michaela a look, “Now that’s an idea. Give us the address of that shithead and consider it done.”

She rolls her eyes, “Let me get my stuff out of there first. I don’t want you getting blood on any of it.”

Connor stands up from his crouched position and turns to the rest of the team with a determined look and a hint of a smile on his face, “You heard her folks! The lady wants to collect her stuff, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone.” He turns back to his temporarily-not-rival, “Come on, you can crash at my place until this friendly phase of ours fades. Then I’m dumping you at Laurel’s.”

She narrows his eyes at him, “Hilarious.” Suddenly her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, “Wait, what about the case?”

“Laurel and I found something, already turned it in. We were coming here to send you guys home.“ Frank replies in his usual reassuring manner.

“Ooooh, so you were working on the case after all!“ Asher comments, wiggling his eyebrows at them.

“Yeah, we were. Unlike some who were asleep in the kitchen cuddling a trophy.“ Laurel retorts, sending him the most sarcastic of smiles. 

This whole interaction between her...well, her friends has lifted Michela’s spirits enough to get her up on her feet, “In that case, better get prepared to help me pack three large suitcases.”

And with that the Keating 5 (plus Frank) disembark, heading to their new mission. Walking out of the Keating household with four people, all unconditionally supporting her without even knowing what’s going on and one person with his arm tightly wrapped around her in a protective manner, Michaela has never felt more safe and secure. She might not love these people and they might not love her either, but they are all fond of each other. And if their fondness has reached the degree where they’re willing to accompany her and aid her escape from the hell she’s been trapped in this past month and a half, she’s willing to call them friends.

Some closer than others, but she cannot admit that knowing that in a week’s time her and Connor will probably be at each other’s throats again. And she’s fine with that. Rivalry’s a type of friendship too, ain’t it?

[chloroformthelittleb4stard]

Family Relations - Part 4

Summary: Your criminology teacher is acting all kinds of weird, which is the norm, except for the part where his eyes glaze over and he tries to kill someone. Stiles, the hero he is, tries to stop your professor with little avail until he gets some unnoticeable help from you. Stiles seems to find himself with you at the location of multiple attacks, just barely making it out alive. Through the bloodshed feelings, family, and friends mix to create a perfect blend of chaos and calm.

T/CW: Blood, gore, like a lot of fucking gore, swearing, body horror?

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I hope it's worth it. This is a long chapter but because the first part is short I put a time skip in the middle of it, that's what the = means. P.S - Happy mother's day!

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You'd convinced him to stay with you for the night because of what you were absolutely sure Allison and Scott's "after-pack-meeting" activities would include. It wasn't hard, as soon as you mentioned the prospect of Stiles' precious sleep being interrupted by their shenanigans he was on board with staying at yours. Your dorm had two beds, you'd been lucky and not gotten a roommate, a blessing and a curse really. You'd laid the sheets out and gotten your extra pillow, all ready for Stiles to get to sleep. The only problem was, Stiles wasn't particularly interested in sleep yet. You'd had a long day, mostly it was just that bout of magical fighting that wore you out but still, you were tired, and Stiles simply didn't want to be in silence.

"So, Y/n..." You'd been listening to the sound of Stiles fidget like mad, and you were wondering when he was going to snap and finally talk to you.

"Yes." Your tone was smooth and song-like. Despite needing sleep desperately you wanted to talk to Stiles, he was fun to talk to. You'd always been kind of a loner, it was easier to stay hidden that way, but you didn't need to hide with Stiles and it felt fucking amazing.

"What's D.C like?" He didn't look at you when he asked, staring straight up at the ceiling, but you were happy to stare at him, studying the moles on his cheek and the way his hair laid against the pillow.

"It's, interesting." He snorted, turning to you as you whipped your head away so you didn't get caught staring.

"Care to elaborate on that?" He had a dopey smile on his face, looking at your side profile like his life depended on it while he waited for you to respond. You felt his gaze burning your skin, it was a burn you could get used to.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Traffic's a bitch if you live in D.C, that's for sure. It took me half a hour to go eight miles from my house to school." He sucked in a breath at the statement, like simply hearing about traffic that bad was physically paining him.

"Good thing is if you live in the city you don't really need a car. My mom didn't have a car, neither did any of my babysitters, so we took the metro and the subway everywhere." He hummed, like the thought of the subway actually pleased him.

"I'm going to be in the city, that's for sure. FBI headquarters is on Pennsylvania ave." His muttering made you giggle, surprised that he knew so much about the landscape.

"You've been there before?" Your smile was wide from laughter and you didn't even care if you looked like an idiot, you were having fun.

"Yeah, once. I looked at going to George Washington so when I toured we stopped by. It's a really ugly building by the way, they should fix that." He was quirking a smile as well, glancing between you and the ceiling to try and look discreet.

"Yeah they should." You were trying to be quiet for the sake of your dorm mates but you were having trouble, Stiles was funny and it felt so good to laugh. You hadn't laughed like this in years, always too stressed to find anything amusing.

"So, what's is like rooming with Scott?" He made a vague hum of mediocrity, shrugging and leaving it at that.

"Care to elaborate on that?" You giggled using his words against him.

"It's good, we've been like brothers since we were little kids so it's really not that big of a difference. We spent a lot of time together at my house because my dad was gone a lot so living with him is kinda familiar." You felt a pang of sympathy when he said his dad was away, you thought back to your dad and how absent he'd been. The memories cut off almost as suddenly as they'd started.

"What about your mom?" He took a deep breath, he had a slight frown on his face and you knew immediately that you'd hit a nerve.

"She died, when I was a kid. She had a type of dementia and it, killed her." He was fully frowning now, and he was no longer fully with you, his eyes had glazed over and he was staring right through you. He shook his head and came back, frown gone and a small smile took its place.

"I'm sorry, both for what happened and that I brought it up."

"It's ok, it's been a long time and it brought me and my dad really close so it wasn't all bad." His silver lining was slim, slimmer than was arguably debatable to even count as a silver lining, but you didn't argue. He'd shared enough of his past with you, and you felt honored by the confession even if you did accidentally cause it to happen by asking. The fact that he shared something with you meant a lot.

"My mom died too, she was hit by a car when I was 13 and she died in surgery." The air was tense, but Stiles' expression and morphed from fake stability to real sympathy as your eyes locked and you tried to comfort each other without words. You fell asleep shortly after that, Stiles had stayed quiet for more than five minutes and that was all it took for sleep to wave its wand and take you under it's control.

==

Screams woke you up, screams from within your dorm. They woke Stiles up too and you both sprung to get re-dressed properly, rushing out the door as soon as you'd slipped your shoes on. The screaming was coming from down the hall and you already had a sinking feeling what had happened.

It wasn't uncommon for your fellow dorm dwellers to leave their doors open, it helped circulate cool air in the desert that was California. Being born and raised in D.C left you significantly more paranoid than most of them however, and so you decided you'd rather just suffer the heat than the possibility of getting robbed blind. You'd told some people in the common room at the beginning of the year about your fear and they'd all but laughed at you, saying that nothing like that happened here. You'd never wanted to have been so wrong in your life.

One door was already wide open, and blood was smeared on several other doors, also open. It seemed that the killer had gone down the hall, checking who decided it was too hot to save their lives. The first body was in the doorway of the room three doors up from yours. It was sprawled out on the floor and you and Stiles nodded, agreeing not to go into the room considering the carpet was currently soaking up the victim's blood. It seemed there were plenty of others anyways.

Room after room, one slaughtered college student after another left you feeling ill beyond belief. You didn't need to be told what had happened, you already knew. You had never actually had the chance to see what happened when the killer was finished with their dirty work, what they did to the people they used as instruments of mass murder. Sadly it seems you didn't have to go searching to find out. At the end of the hall was another body, this time with a knife in its hand, most likely from the kitchen in the common room. Its throat was cut, much like all the other victims.

The screaming had long stopped, you assumed it came from one of the other residents who peeked out into the hallway and saw what looked like a scene from an upcoming Scream 5. Stiles was bent over the body, examining what you assumed was its deadness.

"Whatcha looking at?" He gave you a vague noise of acknowledgment before standing up and looking at you with a face slightly paler than it was before he bent down.

"I think you should see this Y/n." You squatted down next to the corpse, examining its overall lack of life and raising an inquisitive eyebrow up at Stiles.

"Look in her throat, through the cut." You'd really planned not to come this close to a corpse in your life. What's that saying? Make a plan and the universe laughs.

The throat was indeed, mostly just bloody and disgusting, but also intriguing. The windpipe and both carotid arteries were slashed straight through, a feat that was essentially impossible to do for the normal non-possessed human. In the back of the windpipe, which you could just barely see through the cut, there was a small mark. You dug your phone out of your back pocket, almost dropping it with how much your hands were shaking, and turned your flashlight on to it's brightest setting so you could see the mark clearly.

It was a small symbol, lines and swirls within a small circle that struck you as soon as you saw it. With a soft thud your ass met the ground as your precarious balancing act failed and you fell from your squatting position.

"Are you ok?" Stiles' voice was lost as your brain went into panic mode, the new found information stirring up a whirlwind of anxiety.

"We need to get out of here. Like, right now." Scrambling up from the blood soaked floor you made your way back to your dorm room, dragging a confused Stiles behind you asking a million and one questions.

Without answering any of them you grabbed your nearest backpack and started destroying your dorm room in an attempt to gather all of your most important belongings, a mix of underwear, clothes, and books thrown into your worn backpack.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me or do I get an explanation for why we need to leave your dorm room? Y'know other than the murdered college students..."  Stiles had passed the stage of being thoroughly confused by you, that ship sailed when you fought off the vine that attacked you both. Now however, he was fed up with not having answers to the predicament you now found yourselves in.

"Can I explain it to you in the car? We need to leave ASAP."

"The car has a name, it's Roscoe." You rolled your eyes, of course he named his car, and of course now is the best possible moment to tell you.

"Less talking more walking please."

"Sorry." The keys jingled as he grabbed them and yours, tossing your purple keychain to you so you could lock up. You took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over Stiles in your haste to get out of the building.

The car seats were cold when you got in but you couldn't be more awake than you already were, adrenaline and fear coursing through your blood, the symbol seemingly burned into the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you so much as blinked. Stiles booked it out of the parking lot, Roscoe's tires making an awful screeching noise as he turned while reversing, a move that would have scared you had there not been the max amount of fear already happening.

"So, explanation." He raised an expectant eyebrow at you, biting his tongue to let you answer before he spiraled into asking questions without enough time for you to answer them.

"Uh, do werewolves have symbols for different concepts, like danger and stuff?"

"Y-yeah they do, there's one for revenge it's a spiral. Why?" A spiral, of course the supernatural weren't creative when it came to symbol differences.

"Ok well witches do, it's called the witches' alphabet, it's a few symbols they mean stuff, the one we just saw in the corpse was the symbol for revenge. It's used to channel the chosen energy into whatever magic you cast." Your voice was shaking, the lack of oxygen in your system making you feel light headed, or maybe that was the endorphins, who knows.

"Ok, so what does that mean?" Stiles was shaking as well, not liking the sound of any more revenge business. He had to deal with this once before, he didn't want a repeat supernatural problem.

"It means that whoever cast the spell is one, vengeful, two, meeting the victims beforehand to get the symbol on them. This is bad, like, really bad." You had to actively sit on your hands to stop their fidgeting, the nervous energy bubbling inside your body like a volcano.

"Just what we need, a witch who wants vengeance. Was a normal evil witch not enough?!" Stiles' comment made you chuckle, the breathy act brought a twitch of a smile to his face, your happiness spreading to him in the midst of your crisis.

"Apparently not. Where are you going, the dorms are the opposite way."

"I don't know, I didn't want to take you back to Scott until I knew what was going on so I kind of just started driving around." Had you not been stressed beyond belief at the moment you would have been endeared by Stiles' care for his friend and roommate, but at the moment it was just irritating.

"You just drove us in the middle of the night down a street you have no idea where it leads? Really Stiles?! Take us to Scott, now." You were fuming but upon seeing the dejected look in Stiles' eyes at your harsh tone you were reminded as to how hard this entire situation must be for a normal human, werewolf pack member or not.

"Please. Could you please take us to Scott." Your manners had escaped you for a moment but with the regaining of your senses they came back.  A pang of guilt struck you at how mean you'd been to the brunette next to you. Reaching out for his hand which was resting on the stick-shift you hoped silently that he would accept your unspoken apology. He did accept, a blush rising to his cheeks at the skin-to-skin contact that you initiated and a smile creeping on his face.

Moments after your mutual flush and giddiness over the contact Stiles pulled up into the parking lot of his own dorm, the tar lit up just barely by a floodlight near the sidewalk. Unwinding his fingers from yours he was the first to get out of the car, you following shortly after, the cold air hitting your bare shoulders per your tank top which you just now realized was covered in blood.

Rushing to Stiles' side you wrapped your arms around your torso to try and cover the evidence of your dorm's activities, only to realize that your arms were the source of the problem. A mix of various people's blood was coating your arms, the red solution drying crusty on your skin. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, the darkness mostly covering your blood-stained everything.

Looking over at the mole-covered man next to you you took in the sight of him, surprisingly not covered entirely in blood. He had spots of it on his hoodie, only barely visible thanks to the floodlight, but he'd managed to stay clear of the mess, something you were currently jealous of. You wouldn't be able to take a shower until you were back in your own dorm and you were really dreading the idea of having to wash off both of your arms in the small dorm sinks.

Stiles opened the door for you and the heat influx from the building was a welcome change, the goosebumps immediately vacating your skin. You both headed up to his dorm in relative silence, trying not to wake his neighbors up. It was a harder feat than it should have been, given how often Stiles almost tripped on the single flight of stairs up to his shared room.

You could hear snoring coming from one of the beds, presumably Scott's, and the embarrassing situation you'd found your friend in made you momentarily forget your current predicament. In the darkness you could see two bodies in Scott's bed, the smaller one of which you assumed was Allison, tucked under her boyfriend's arm. They were sleeping so peacefully you almost felt bad to wake them, Stiles however, did not. With a loud enough greeting and the swift act of turning on all of the lights in their dorm, he woke his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend up with a startle.

"Stiles! They were sleeping!" You'd wanted to put up a semblance of good will with the woman you'd met less than 24 hours ago but in reality you were stifling a laugh, biting your tongue to keep from bursting out. The couple let out groans of protest at being woken up in the wee hours of the morning but got up eventually anyways, thankfully somewhat dressed after what you were still convinced their nightly activities consisted of.

"What the hell dude?" The were-wolf's voice was groggy from sleep and the rough scratch in his throat reminded you of Stiles' voice less than two hours ago when you were woken up by screaming neighbors.

"Sorry but you really can't be asleep right now, also yes that is blood on Y/n's, well everywhere, I will explain that in a minute. Allison could you help her clean up? Scott I need to talk to you." Nodding Allison took immediate heed to Stiles' request and looked carefully for a space to lead you that wasn't covered in blood before eventually deciding 'fuck it' and grabbing one of your slowly drying arms, washing the blood off of the area in the small sink.

There wasn't a lot of space in the dorm for a private conversation but you and Allison made small talk in an attempt to give the boys some facade of privacy.

"So, rough night I guess?" She let out a small chuckle at her own joke while you allowed a smile to creep onto your face at the problem you had earlier found yourself in.

"You could say that. Someone decided it'd be a good idea to murder a solid percentage of my floor mates so, y'know, the night could have gone better." She gasped at that, the light air of the conversation having gone as soon as you brought up the traumatic events that had occurred.

"Murder? Oh God. By 'a solid percentage' you mean how many people exactly?" Your mind flashed through the bodies you'd seen, counting at least six in the haze of the night.

"Six, maybe more. I don't know for sure, it was a lot. We found who did it though, kind of." You wished that you were dealing with a normal murder where finding who did the killing actually solved your problem. Sadly, that wasn't the case and the situation was getting more and more fraught in your mind the more you stressed about it, the images and circumstances pulling the strings in your mind so tightly they were beginning to fray.

"Are you ok?" Allison's eyes were kind and you noted in the back of your brain to thank Scott that he had such good taste in girlfriends.

"Yeah, I think so. I'm not hurt or anything, just a little shaken up." She nodded silently before going into nurse-mode and scanning your now-clean left arm.

"No scratches, all of this blood seems to be someone else's. I think most of the blood is other people's but I need to wash off the other arm to be sure."

"Be my guest, I wasn't feeling the whole blood-sleeve look anyways." You shrugged and let out a small giggle at your own joke, Allison following suit as she lathered up the ruined washcloth for another round of scrubbing.

You were in the process of cleaning the blood from underneath your fingernails when Stiles and Scott crept up behind you, interrupting the light bonding that you had started with Allison.

"Ok, we need to get out of here and go back home, right now." Scott took on more of a dominant personality when in charge and it made you glad that someone knew what to do, even if you didn't. You'd already grabbed spare clothes from your dorm room so you and Allison waited by the door nervously while Stiles and Scott scrambled to gather their most important belongings.

"Where is home?" You knew where you were from and where your home was, but you doubted that everyone would be game for catching a flight at almost 4 a.m.

"Beacon Hills, it's where we all met. Stiles and Scott are from there, so is most of the pack, I moved there sophomore year. The pack started in Beacon Hills, the town is like a beacon for the supernatural, it's probably the safest place to be because it's home territory, Scott's pack has been protecting it for years now."

"So Scott's the alpha?" It made sense given his natural leadership abilities and his friendliness, but it was still a little odd to see your friend as the strongest were-wolf out of the entire group you saw the other night.

"He's a true alpha too." You'd heard of true alphas, mostly by myth however, they were rare but the more you thought back on Scott's character the more it made sense. He was easily one of the most loyal people you'd met, and he was brave as well, fighting for people he didn't even know, or people he didn't know well. He was willing to risk his life to save the barista on the day of that attack, even willing to let her see him shift, it was only logical that he was a true alpha.

Your conversation was interrupted as it took all of five minutes for the two best friends to pack their things, swing the backpacks stuffed full of items over their shoulders before they led the way back down to the Jeep that was parked out front.

The ride was quiet and tense, Stiles in the front with you and Scott in the back with Allison, explaining the specifics of the situation that you had purposely left out because you didn't know how to explain it without making a joke out of it. Dark humor was quickly becoming your most solid coping mechanism for morbidity.

Scott went to protect Allison as she ran up to her dorm to grab her things as well, insisting that she tell her roommate she was going home so no one would file a missing person's report and make the entire situation more complicated.

She came back downstairs quickly, Scott in tow looking noticeably dazed as he held on to his girlfriend's hand when she plopped in the back of Stiles' Jeep. You let out a snort at what had most likely been a 'our lives are in danger' make out and let them have their secrecy as Stiles started up for what was the drive to Beacon Hills.

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Maila Elizabeth Syrjäniemi (December 11, 1922 – January 10, 2008), known professionally as Maila Nurmi, was a Finnish-American actress and television personality who created the campy 1950s character Vampira.

The daughter of a Finnish immigrant, Nurmi was raised in Oregon and relocated to Los Angeles in 1940 with hopes of being an actress. After several minor film roles, she found success in the Vampira character, television's first horror host. Nurmi hosted her own series, The Vampira Show, from 1954–55 on KABC-TV.

After the show's cancellation, she appeared in the 1959 cult film Plan 9 from Outer Space, directed by Ed Wood. She is also billed as Vampira in the 1959 film The Beat Generation, where she appears out of character and instead plays a beatnik poet. Nurmi also appeared in the 1959 crime film The Big Operator. She was portrayed by Lisa Marie in Tim Burton's 1994 biopic Ed Wood.

Maila Nurmi was born Maila Elizabeth Syrjäniemi in 1922 to Onni Syrjäniemi, a Finnish immigrant, and Sophia Peterson, an American of Finnish descent. Her place of birth is disputed: according to biographer W. Scott Poole in Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror (2014), Nurmi was born in Gloucester, Massachusetts. However, during her career, Nurmi claimed to have been born in Petsamo, Finland, claiming she was the niece of Finnish athlete Paavo Nurmi, who began setting long-distance running world records in 1921, the year before her birth. Public U.S. immigration records show her father's immigration at Ellis Island in 1910. Additionally, Dana Gould claimed in a 2014 public interview that he had seen Nurmi's birth certificate, which listed her birthplace as Gloucester, Massachusetts.

During her childhood, Nurmi relocated with her family from Massachusetts to Ashtabula, Ohio, before settling in Astoria, Oregon, a city on the Oregon Coast with a large Finnish community. Her father worked as a lecturer and editor, and her mother also worked as a part-time journalist and translator to support the family. She graduated from Astoria High School in 1940.

In 1940, Nurmi relocated to Los Angeles, California to pursue an acting career, and later in New York City. She modeled for Alberto Vargas, Bernard of Hollywood, and Man Ray, gaining a foothold in the film industry with an uncredited role in Victor Saville's 1947 film, If Winter Comes.

She was reportedly fired in 1944 by Mae West from the cast of West's Broadway play, Catherine Was Great, because West feared she was being upstaged.

On Broadway, she gained much attention after appearing in the horror-themed midnight show Spook Scandals, in which she screamed, fainted, lay in a coffin, and seductively lurked about a mock cemetery. She also worked as a showgirl for the Earl Carroll Theatre and as a high-kicking chorus line dancer at the Florentine Gardens along with stripper Lili St. Cyr. In the 1950s, she supported herself mainly by posing for pin-up photos in men's magazines such as Famous Models, Gala and Glamorous Models. Before landing her role as 'Vampira', she was working as a hat-check girl in a cloakroom on Hollywood's Sunset Strip.

The idea for the Vampira character was born in 1953 when Nurmi attended choreographer Lester Horton's annual Bal Caribe Masquerade in a costume inspired by Morticia Addams in The New Yorker cartoons of Charles Addams. Her appearance with pale white skin and tight black dress caught the attention of television producer Hunt Stromberg, Jr., who wanted to hire her to host horror movies on the Los Angeles television station KABC-TV, but Stromberg had no idea how to contact her. He finally got her phone number from Rudi Gernreich, later the designer of the topless swimsuit. The name Vampira was the invention of Nurmi's husband, Dean Riesner. Nurmi's characterization was influenced by the Dragon Lady from the comic strip Terry and the Pirates and the evil queen from Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

On April 30, 1954, KABC-TV aired a preview, Dig Me Later, Vampira, at 11:00 p.m. The Vampira Show premiered on the following night, May 1, 1954. For the first four weeks, the show aired at midnight, moving to 11:00 p.m. on May 29. Ten months later, the series aired at 10:30 p.m., beginning March 5, 1955. Each show opened with Vampira gliding down a dark corridor flooded with dry-ice fog. At the end of her trance-like walk, the camera zoomed in on her face as she let out a piercing scream. She would then introduce (and mock) that evening's film while reclining barefoot on a skull-encrusted Victorian couch. Her horror-related comedy antics included ghoulish puns such as encouraging viewers to write for epitaphs instead of autographs and talking to her pet spider Rollo.

She also ran as a candidate for Night Mayor of Hollywood with a platform of "dead issues". In another publicity stunt, KABC had her cruise around Hollywood in the back of a chauffeur-driven 1932 Packard touring car with the top down, where she sat, as Vampira, holding a black parasol. The show was an immediate hit, and in June 1954 she appeared as Vampira in a horror-themed comedy skit on The Red Skelton Show along with Béla Lugosi, and Lon Chaney, Jr.. That same week Life magazine ran an article on her, including a photo-spread of her show-opening entrance and scream. A kinescope of her The Red Skelton Show appearance was discovered in 2014. It is available as part of the Shout Factory DVD box set Red Skelton: The Early Years.

When her KABC series was cancelled in 1955, Nurmi retained rights to the character of Vampira and took the show to a competing Los Angeles television station, KHJ-TV. Several episode scripts and a single promotional kinescope of Nurmi re-creating some of her macabre comedy segments are held by private collectors. Several clips from the rare kinescope are included in the documentaries American Scary and Vampira: The Movie. The entire KABC kinescope, plus selections of the KABC pitchman who introduced the clips, is available in the 2012 documentary Vampira and Me.

Vampira and Me also features extensive clips from two previously unknown 16mm kinescopes of Nurmi as Vampira on national TV shows, including her starring guest spot on the April 2, 1955 episode of The George Gobel Show, a top 10 hit. The Vampira and Me restoration of the Gobel kinescope was documented in a 2013 short film entitled Restoring Vampira.

Examination of Nurmi's diaries in 2014 by filmmaker and journalist R. H. Greene verify longtime rumors that in 1956 she was the model for Maleficent, the evil witch in the Disney conception of the classic fairy tale "Sleeping Beauty." The Disney archivist subsequently confirmed these findings.

In 2007, the kinescope film of Nurmi in character was restored by Rerunmedia, whose restorations include The Ed Sullivan Show and Dark Shadows. The restoration utilized the groundbreaking LiveFeed Video Imaging process developed exclusively for the restoration of kinescopes. The restoration was funded by Spectropia Wunderhaus and Coffin Case.

A reconstructed episode of The Vampira Show was released on DVD by the Vampira's Attic web site in October 2007. The release imitated a complete episode by using existing footage of the show combined with vintage commercials believed to have been directed by Ed Wood[citation needed] and the full-length 1932 feature film The Thirteenth Guest.

Nurmi made television history as the first horror movie hostess. In 1957, Screen Gems released a syndicated package of 52 horror movies, mostly from Universal Pictures, under the program title Shock Theater. Independent stations in major cities all over the U.S. began showing these films, adding their own ghoulish host or hostess (including Vampira II and other lookalikes) to attract more viewers.

Nominated for a Los Angeles area Emmy Award as 'Most Outstanding Female Personality' in 1954, she returned to films with Too Much, Too Soon in 1958, followed by The Big Operator and The Beat Generation. Her best known film appearance was in Ed Wood's camp classic, Plan 9 from Outer Space, as a Vampira-like zombie (filmed in 1956, but released in 1959). In 1960 she appeared in I Passed for White and Sex Kittens Go to College, followed by 1962's The Magic Sword. The classic clip from Plan 9 from Outer Space featuring Vampira walking out of the woods with her hands pointing straight out was used to start the original opening sequence of WPIX Channel 11 New York's Chiller Theatre in the 1960s.

By 1962, Nurmi was making a living installing linoleum flooring. "And if things are slow in linoleum, I can also do carpentry, make drapes or refinish furniture", she told the Los Angeles Times.

In the early 1960s, Nurmi opened Vampira's Attic, an antiques boutique on Melrose Avenue. She also sold handmade jewelry and clothing. She made items for several celebrities, including Grace Slick of the music group Jefferson Airplane and the Zappa family.

In 1981, Nurmi was asked by KHJ-TV to revive her Vampira character for television. She worked closely with the producers of the new show and was to get an executive producer credit, but Nurmi eventually left the project over creative differences. According to Nurmi, this was because the station cast comedic actress Cassandra Peterson in the part without consulting her. "They eventually called me in to sign a contract and she was there", Nurmi told Bizarre magazine in 2005. "They had hired her without asking me."

Nurmi worked on the project for a short time, but quit when the producers would not hire Lola Falana to play Vampira. The station sent out a casting call, and Peterson auditioned and won the role.

Unable to continue using the name Vampira, the show was abruptly renamed Elvira's Movie Macabre with Peterson playing the titular host. Nurmi soon filed a lawsuit against Peterson. The court eventually ruled in favor of Peterson, holding that "likeness means actual representation of another person's appearance, and not simply close resemblance." Peterson claimed that Elvira was nothing like Vampira aside from the basic design of the black dress and black hair. Nurmi claimed that the entire Elvira persona, which included comedic dialogue and intentionally bad graveyard puns, infringed on her creation's "distinctive dark dress, horror movie props, and...special personality." Nurmi herself claimed that Vampira's image was in part based on the Charles Addams The New Yorker cartoon character Morticia Addams, though she told Boxoffice magazine in 1994 that she had intentionally deviated from Addams' mute and flat-chested creation, making her own TV character "campier and sexier" to avoid plagiarizing Addams' idea.

In 1986, she appeared alongside Tomata du Plenty of The Screamers in Rene Daalder's punk rock musical Population: 1, which was released on DVD in October 2008. According to a Daalder interview on the 2 disc special edition of Population: 1, "There was a wild lady living out in back in a shed. Tomata befriended her and found out she had played Vampira".

In 1987, she recorded two seven-inch singles on Living Eye records with the band Satan's Cheerleaders. The singles, entitled "I Am Damned" and "Genocide Utopia," were both released on colored vinyl, the second one with a swastika on the label, and are extremely rare collector's items.

In 2001, Nurmi opened an official website and began selling autographed memorabilia and original pieces of art on eBay. Until her death, Nurmi lived in a small North Hollywood apartment.

Unlike Elvira, Nurmi authorized very few merchandising contracts for her Vampira character, though the name and likeness have been used unofficially by various companies since the 1950s. In 1994, Nurmi authorized a Vampira model kit for Artomic Creations, and a pre-painted figurine from Bowen Designs in 2001, both sculpted by Thomas Kuntz. In 2004, she authorized merchandising of the Vampira character by Coffin Case, for the limited purpose of selling skate boards and guitar cases.

In the early 1950s, Nurmi was close friends with James Dean, and they spent time together at Googie's coffee shop on the corner of Crescent Heights and Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. She explained their friendship by saying, "We have the same neuroses."

As Hedda Hopper related in a 1962 memoir that included a chapter on Dean: "We discussed the thin-cheeked actress who calls herself Vampira on television (and cashed in, after Jimmy died, on the publicity she got from knowing him and claimed she could talk to him 'through the veil'). He said: 'I had studied The Golden Bough and the Marquis de Sade, and I was interested in finding out if this girl was obsessed by a satanic force. She knew absolutely nothing. I found her void of any true interest except her Vampira make-up. She has no absolute.'"

The 2010 public radio documentary Vampira and Me by author/director R. H. Greene took issue with Hopper's depiction of the Nurmi/Dean relationship, pointing to an extant photo of Dean and Vampira sidekick Jack Simmons in full Boris Karloff Frankenstein make-up as evidence of Nurmi and Dean's friendship. The documentary also described a production memo in the Warner Bros. archive citing a set visit from "Vampira" while Dean was making Rebel Without a Cause.

The Warner Bros memo was first mentioned in the 2006 book Live Fast, Die Young: The Making of Rebel Without a Cause by Lawrence Frascella and Al Weisel, who were given access to the Rebel production files. An interview Frascella and Weisel conducted with actress Shelley Winters also uncovered an instance where Dean interrupted an argument with director Nicholas Ray and Winters so he could watch The Vampira Show on TV.

In Vampira and Me, Nurmi can be heard telling Greene that Dean once appeared in a live bit on The Vampira Show in which Vampira, dressed as a librarian, rapped his knuckles with a ruler because "he was a very naughty boy."

The English Punk rock band The Damned wrote a song about their relationship entitled ‘Plan 9, Channel 7’ and can be found on the 1979 album ‘Machine Gun Etiquette ‘ ( Chiswick Records )

On June 20, 1955, Nurmi was the target of an attempted murder when a man forced his way into her apartment and proceeded to terrorize her for close to four hours. Nurmi eventually escaped and managed to call the police, with assistance from a local shop owner.

She married her first husband, Dean Riesner, in 1949, a former child actor in silent films and later the screenwriter of Dirty Harry, Charley Varrick, Play Misty for Me, and numerous other movies and TV episodes.

She married her second husband, younger actor John Brinkley, on March 10, 1958.

She married actor Fabrizio Mioni on June 20, 1961 in Orange County, California.

On January 10, 2008, Nurmi died of natural causes at her home in Hollywood, aged 85. She was buried in the Griffith Lawn section of the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.



[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 2 - Someone Like You

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary:  “You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

C/N:  Look - If you’re new here, this is adult shit. If you’re not new here, you know what my C/Ns are about. Be warned. 

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Did I ever think I would be writing about Kylo and babies? No. No, I did not.  Am I writing about Kylo and babies? Maybe.  Its a crazy, crazy world, y'all.

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump for helping me edit this asshole of a chapter.

***

“Retribution.” 

The word sounded ludicrous on his lips, infantile and irresponsible. Abruptly, you had a clearer picture of what was happening. In this mesmerizing nirvana, his encapsulated kingdom, you were a child, stumbling into an adult’s arena to demand attention.

Your senselessness laid bare, you stared at him, adrift in the gleam of irises that never settled on one color. The pregnant moon overhead framed him, adorning his breathtaking face with a perfect, glowing halo. He was unnaturally beautiful, the kind of king women wept for. 

“Father...”

He met your whisper with a sneer, and you recoiled. He, too, thought your trek here was juvenile; you were just a witless woman wrestling with her emotions. Your heart sank at his judgment, disappointed that he thought you naïve.

Ashamed, you fixed your eyes upon a creeping succulent. You traced thick, tear-shaped leaves and winced at inch-long thorns. You could all but feel the phantom pinpricks. The red and pink blooms made for a variegated shroud to decorate the otherwise plain shrine.

It was lovely in its lethality, a fitting summation of this place.

“The Resistance slaughtered my planet, my ENTIRE family.”

You licked your lips and tugged at his sleeve, pulling yourself up to sit. Recognizing what you had just done, you wrung your hands, as though he was a walking electric current. Even so, he was the only bit of warmth in this melancholy vale, and you subconsciously leaned into it.

“You’re a fool.” He rose to an obscene height and moved away. “I care less than a whit for your holy wars. You murder on fantasy, not truth.”

The absence of his body was nearly as painful as his lack of understanding, and the resultant shout erupted before you could stop it.

“IT WAS NOT OUR WAR!”

Your exclamation bounced off shedding trees to die away in spongy, mossy hills. Sniffling, you pressed the heels of your hands into exhausted eyes. Yelling at men was an awful idea; yelling at this specific man was the epitome of lunacy.

How were you going to explain the hole in your soul to a creature who had none? To Ren, your mourning and loss were just specks in eternity, but he didn’t spend his days loving the living only to lose them. If your grandmother's stories were true, he had been this walking void since his creation.

And the brothers made themselves a land with a great vault separating light from dark. In their wisdom, they decreed the living would gather under golden sun, and the dead would gather under silver moon.  Grandfather Sky Walker gave his blessing: Let them rule over these lands through all ages. Let there be day and night, and let them usher in The Balance.

He was here. It was true.

That cast his indifference into an unusual shade of acceptance. Like this place, he existed outside of the universe’s organic stream. It wasn’t a lack of feeling; it was one colored by millennia of demise.

You were struck by the understanding that he made everything here in his image, all of it immaculate, alluring, and fatal. Just as he was.

“The Resistance decimated my planet on a rumor—a rumor that we were a First Order cult.”  Your voice was steadier than you expected. “But my family, my friends and everybody I knew...We were just ordinary people.”

You lifted your eyes and found him examining you, a curious look playing across his striking features. You huffed a pained breath and looked away again, fearing you would shatter under his scrutiny.

“My grandmother believed in the Balance, not in some notion of wiping the Galaxy clean of Soloists.”

His silence was deliberate, aimed to unnerve, and you crumpled forward, bending as though you could implore his aid into reality. When he moved, it was to stalk a circle around the altar.  His head cocked to assess your every angle.  Captured prey, you could do nothing but watch, wait, wonder.

“Belief in the Balance will not return your family. Nor will I.”

His glorious voice had bite; but where there should be an echo, there was none. Every lilting tree, every swaying vine, even the very air enveloped him, moved with him, absorbed his energy.  

Hugging yourself, you fought down your apprehension.

“No, it won’t.”

You looked past him to fat carmine leaves and marveled at how they turned their faces towards The Ren, their master. 

He only understood in terms of the absolute. 

“I came to ask you to kill them—the people who murdered my family. The Resistance.”

His circuitous pacing ended at your front, and he speared you with such a look you felt conquered. If he was the next crusade, the holy war renewed, you would fight for him, lay down and die for him. 

His long fingers slid you to the altar's precarious edge. So near to him, your comatose heartbeat increased, thudding against ribs his knuckles skimmed.

“All of them?”

You nodded, meek and uncertain. He stepped in, spreading your legs wide just by his body’s substantial design. He was the epitome of domineering, his shape meant to terrorize the weak, to endure immortality. 

Uncertain if you were allowed to put your hands on him, you braced against the slab, leaning slightly away.

The scent of this place, misty and piny and richly floral, was powerful, distilled to purity in his body. It seeped from his pores, the sumptuous belladonna curling around you like tainted tendrils.  He obscured what scant light there was and blotted out your senses, filling your light head with dread and longing.

With one finger under your chin, he lifted your face and beckoned you into such a trance you didn’t notice how he lazily caressed your outer thigh. One by one, he tugged upon the plum, plump bows keeping the rest of you hidden. 

“What price are you willing to pay for genocide, lost lamb?”

It was hypnotic—the timbre of his voice, the delicate dance of his fingertips, the starry shine of his eyes.  You blinked at his question, too caught up in the slow drag of his knuckles along your sternum and down between your breasts.

Your lips worked feebly, discarding every suggestion your brain made. What could you offer a being such as this? Prayers? He would condemn them. Offerings? Paltry trinkets. Blood? You’d already given it. Pleasure? You weren’t sure he was capable. 

It was a cruel game, and the realization burst over you like icy water, flooding your addled mind and shocking you back from stupidity.

You had nothing. Purposefully divested of everything, you sojourned here a destitute fool. 

“There it is.” He brushed a thumb across your lips, smirking. “She understands now that she has nothing, is nothing, of value with which to bargain.”

He collected your silent tears and fed them to you, salt in the wound. Chidingly, he wrapped stiff fingers around your quivering neck and squeezed until you felt your supernaturally sustained pulse drumming in your ears. 

“It is as I said. The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.”

Fear licked at your nape, clamoring into the rational parts of you. Your mind whirred, desperately trying to unearth some kernel that would serve your purpose. There had to be something.

The memory struck you suddenly and at full velocity.  Careening, your breath stopped. The lineage of Soloists was a pastime for your brother, who made you sit through innumerable sessions and lectures.

And Solo took himself a wife, making her flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. Their union was prosperous, and she begat him many sons, the first being...

Your body shot into motion, vacating all self-preservation. You grasped his hand and pulled it to your chest. You were even so bold as to thread your smaller fingers through his. On instinct, both legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his legs in a feeble hold. 

You were unwilling to renounce your argument without a fight. Hastily, the words spilled out, a wishful wine you weren’t sure he would drink.

“NowaitIcanbeyourvessel!”

A perfectly sculpted black brow rose over his eye. He untangled his fingers from yours, scoffing. Your face burned, impossible beads of sweat forming at your pounding temples. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you pressed them to your flaming cheeks and tried to calm yourself.

“Choose your next words carefully.” 

Entertained by the toddler, he was indulging your delusions, but there was a limit to his patience. Sturdy hands slid beneath your thighs, parting and lifting them so he could draw your hips further into his. You couldn’t argue; you were the one who stopped him from leaving. 

Was that an erection you felt there? Was this proof to your curiosity? The possibility sent goose flesh tingling to every inch of your skin.

“Your brother... Ah!” 

Athame in hand, he gouged the tip into your unblemished thigh, raising a lone drop of blood. 

“Your brother has many children; does he not? There are stories about his prolific family.”

Out sized, you spiraled into anxious desire. When he tired of your nonsense, pulverizing your bones would be little more than a snap of his fingers. Yet, here he was, still wedged between your thighs and feeling a lot like a man who could make you forget your name. 

“Reminding me of my brother is not the way to make your case, lamb.”

He dragged warm lips over your pulse, lathing it with his tongue. His wide palm wrapped around your generous hip, and every single thought fled on bated breath. He was woefully seductive, a wolf in shepherd's clothing.

You licked your lips and shook your head, trying to agree and clear away cobwebs, but his hands and nipping kisses befuddled you so much you could only sputter half-formed words. Switching your concentration to the blade, you valiantly tried to keep track of it and tied yourself to it's path like a lifeline. 

“But you don’t.” You splayed your fingers out wide, palms flat on the altar. "Your seed will kill a living woman, yes? But a woman already crossed over cannot carry a child."

You were about to launch yourself from the proverbial cliff. Regardless of what came next, you would be a splatter at its bottom.

“I- I can.” You begged the endless midnight sky to strengthen your resolve. “You can have me.”

He had been rubbing you up and down his rigid length, your body no more than an instrument to appease his ardor; but at your declaration, he gripped your hips painfully tight and bit your shoulder. 

Attuned to his mood, the stars dimmed to a faint radiance. It was the one detail your brain could latch onto, the way even the greatest of them conformed to his will. 

“You think that’s a novel gesture? That you’ll be the first person I’ve fucked here?” His voice was low but no less edgy. “How many would you wager have died screaming at the end of my dick?”

A pathetic whimper escaped your open mouth, and hunger set it to watering. The idea of him fucking you here, in this open clearing under his meticulously curated twilight, was salacious, tantalizing.

“Countless.” You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips, trying to jump start his back into rhythm. “But I would wager very few of them have been willing to bear your children.”

He growled, a vicious, threatening promise. His soft touch turned angry, coiling into your hair and yanking your head back. Your throat seized, elongated by his grip and fully bared for execution. What had been a grazing scratch of your blade turned again to a harsh point dug into the skin. 

You could hardly speak, reduced to gaping at his flashing onyx eyes. They blazed with a fiery hatred, and you knew it was because you were right. It wasn’t easy for him like it was his brother. He had spent eons alone whereas his brother wanted for nothing.

It infuriated him.

“You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

He curved around you so tight you could smell the deadly nightshade on his breath, every single part of him designed to snuff out life. You chewed the inside of your cheek, wondering how each part of him tasted. 

“Someone like you?” He spat the words, fingernails digging into your scalp. “Impure? Spoiled by how many men in your lifetime? Cowed by a little death and stupid enough to make demands of me?”

He was so close to snapping your neck, and you itched for it. You would gladly die at his hand, reunite with your family. All of these morose colors blended with the sorrow in your heart, and you pictured your bones rotting to dust, anchoring you here forever.

But he held off, glaring down at you in barely-checked contempt. 

Caught between wanting to die and wanting to murder, your breathing tilted into erratic, skirting panic so closely a fallen eyelash would detonate the bomb in your chest. 

He looked at you in such a way, though, that your apprehension settled. He was angry because he didn’t know how to feel things. He was intended, to his very marrow, to only ever take. Anything else was uncomfortable and worthy of destruction. 

You nudged his nose with yours, a mirror to his earlier gesture.

“Someone willing.” It was less than a whisper, barely a breath. 

His calculating gaze roamed your face, judging the depth of your commitment. In seconds, the pointed extension of his anger sliced down your supple thigh, cutting open a large gash.  

But pain wasn’t his target.

His aim was true. The rogue missile was expertly guided. And when the thing forced into your cunt, you screamed in unmitigated horror.

“I’m no gentle lover, and this is not your marriage bed. Willing or not, the lamb is meant to be slaughtered.”

You splintered into a wrecked and blubbering mess, heaving and howling. You clung to his shoulders, gouging little crescents into his neck. You had expected to die today but not by the blade cleaving apart your pussy. Offering him your womb seemed to make him only want to carve it from your body, a trophy to mark your idiocy.

“You should not offer things that don’t belong to you, lamb.” The vibration tickled your earlobe, drawing you down from your mania. “Your body was mine the moment you crossed into my land.”

You felt it then, the shift and nudge inside your cunt. Where you were certain there had been a sharp edge, there was only an ornately ridged column, handcrafted and safe.

It was the hilt. 

The wave of frenzy crested, and you opened puffy, red eyes onto a lucent, luminous moon.

He had buried the knife’s handle into your cunt and was pumping it slowly. He held the traitorous blade without even a single red cell shed. 

You wailed a halfhearted objection because this was a profane corruption of a consecrated relic. A particularly long drag of the makeshift phallus countered and shook loose a vulgar moan, and you squeezed tight around it.

It was shameless and sacrilegious.

And it felt so, so good.

You whimpered when he licked your lower lip, barely making contact. Your thighs splayed wide, eager, and an appreciative noise rumbled in his throat. He rewarded your responsiveness with another slow, deep plunge of the weapon, and your head lolled back.

“How is your religion serving you now, lamb?”

He shoved the handle as far into you as the guard would allow and worked it back and forth, rubbing the ridges and pommel against the sensitive spots inside. You moaned sinfully loud, and grasped at him. 

He was ruthless, prodding the elusive bumpy patch until you bucked against his hand and watching you float through this immoral delirium.

You wished it was him. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Anything but this false idol ramming into your pussy.

Your whimpers turned to pleasured cries. Your calves tensed and shook. Looking down on his blasphemous claim, you yelped and pushed at his arms, the torrent of blood splashed over your thighs and sex wrenching you from your high.

In your hysteria, you’d forgotten that he’d sliced open your leg. 

“Father, please…”

He dug his thumb firmly into the wound, gripping nearly your entire thigh in the one tremendous hand. For a moment, the throb in your pussy traveled up to swirl around the intrusion, and you writhed to get away.

“If you call me that again,” he bit your jaw, raising a welt, “I will slit you open from cunt to crown.”

He played in the plasma, coating his fingers with it. You whined and grimaced, caught between salvation at your cunt and persecution at your leg. When his tacky thumb connected with your clit, you shouted, wracked with tremors. Like a savage, he masturbated you with your own blood, rubbing fast circles.

Rapture barreled down the length of your spine, working its way through every extremity. You were going to cum for him, at the end of your family's treasured athame, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

It was indecent, and you drowned in it. You collapsed back onto the altar, arching up into a delicious bow. Your knees drew up higher, and your hips worked for him, chasing what he dangled but never quite delivered. Your fingers scrambled against the uneven stone and fisted the velvet garment.

Your insides coiled, churning terror and thirst together until you couldn’t tell one from the other. Inching closer and closer to that crack of lightning, your cries built, a tumultuous, hoarse crescendo.  You thought he would make you tow that line forever, so close to bliss but never allowed to feel it.

But finally, mercifully, it came.

A blistering exaltation slid over your every nerve. Your cunt clenched and quaked, gushing a lewd prayer. The knife in his hand was the center of all gravity, and every part of you swiveled around it, rolling and bucking and shaking. You hurled a string of curses no priestess should ever know, earning a derisive chuckle.

“Such filth from that pretty mouth.”

Spent, your back finally met the slab beneath, and you fought for breath, chest stinging and throat crackly. A pained whine escaped when his torture implement departed from your slick center, but he gave you only a brief reprieve. 

He climbed above you, dropped his heavy knee onto your sensitive mound, and shoved the sullied hilt into your mouth. Your eyes flew open, but he captured your jaw and kept it in place, ensuring that you held the thing upright. 

Copper tang pooled on your tongue and wafted under your nose. On a muffled whinge, your eyes rolled back into your head. Automatically, obediently, you rocked your hips under his trap. 

“No less than you deserve.” He was all spite and venom. “Swallow.”

You couldn’t look at him, the stars in his eyes daunting and demonic.  Your tongue moved around the hilt, licking away the remnants of your vulgar display. You curled your fingers into the hem of his shirt, exhaled slowly through your nose, and complied, gulping the taste down. 

A timid glance found him studying you, but you didn’t know what he was seeking. Obedience? Passion? Reverence? The gravity of the moment was inescapable. He was deciding if you died here and now, and he gagged you from making any further entreaty.

Lithe for his size, he slid from the perch and pulled the athame from your mouth. Silently, he lifted you from the slab and dropped you on the ground. Not knowing if any of the flora was poisonous, you squealed, shot to your feet, and clutched the abused blade to your heart. A second later, you nearly impaled yourself with it when he threw the hefty book at you. 

Grateful that he didn’t destroy your remaining link to your family, you sunk to the ground and dug aching fingers into the dirt. It was cool and soothing, and you wanted nothing more than to lie down in it and die. 

Instead, you watched, benumbed and mute, as he punched a large hole straight through the center of the altar.  It should have been alarming; the crash of rubble should have scared you, but your senses were far past overstimulated.

Silently, he manipulated a chunk of the altar into a slender loop. 

It was astonishing. He was literally creating something from stone that should have been unyielding. Crouching beside you, he pushed your chin up to lengthen your neck. It was then you understood what was happening.  The thing he was fashioning out of the imbrued marble was for you.

Without a word, he molded it around your neck, cementing it with a pinch of his mighty fingers.

His masquerade as a man fell away. That shrine had stood for a thousand years, likely more, and he demolished it as though it was parchment. He had desecrated the altar to enslave you, spinning an infinite bondage into existence with his very will alone. 

The strength, the unfathomable power unleashed a yearning you weren't prepared to address. He was something wholly beyond what you'd been taught. He was profound, unknowable.

You ran your fingertips along the jagged edges and discovered his collar was perfectly measured to your size.  His fingers would fit between it and your skin, but nothing more.

Every story you ever heard about this place rang in your ears, a raucous chorus of warnings. The living could not stay here, nor could they take anything from here. 

But it was too late.

By your own hand, you now existed between life and death, trapped here by this pillaged, obsidian tether and it's king.

You didn’t know if he would do as you asked or if he would make you bear his children.

You did know that you would never be leaving.