#SUNSET SUNRISE STAKE ME IN THE HEART | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

retrievablememories · 3 years

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afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.”

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

home — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: after the battle of hogwarts, reader comes across a familiar face in paris and finds that he, too, needs healing.

T/W: brief mentions of death & blood, trauma, recovery, angst w/ a happy ending

a/n: i have never been to paris n have no idea what it’s like and it SHOWS but anyways .. please be mindful of the trigger warnings before reading!

The battle of Hogwarts left many people wounded.

It left behind marks of fractured bones and countless bruises from all sorts of dark curses and nasty jinxes; injuries that took a while to heal, but did, in the end, as most do. But while there were wounds that were temporary—those that faded and healed eventually—there were also those that didn't. Some scars stayed; the kind that were brought about by the pain of loss. Of trauma. Of witnessing death and destruction and carnage in the very walls the students of Hogwarts had come to call home.

They were children. Teenagers. They were young and barely even knew the workings of the world, but that hardly mattered because the wizarding world was at stake—and everyone who knew how to hold a wand had to fight. Including them. And even though they were supposed to be at school worrying about homework and petty things like crushes or which tie went with which shirt, instead they had to worry about far greater things; they had to worry about their lives and that of their friends, of their families. They had to fight in the crumbling stone corridors of what was once the Hogwarts castle, watching people die both because of them and for them, trying to ignore the bodies strewn across the ground in fear of finding a familiar face.

No one walked out of the battle unchanged, and just like so many others, [Y/N]—twenty-year-old [Y/N], who once dreamed of becoming a Healer but could no longer look at blood without hyperventilating and recalling memories of battle—returned home not quite the person she once used to be. She walked through her front porch and greeted her five-year-old sister with a poor attempt at a smile that only lasted for a few seconds before she'd started crying again.

Because, like every other child who'd fought that battle, she'd returned home bearing the burden of having killed someone. Of having failed to save a friend. Of having watched walls crumble in on people her age and some even younger who had so much life ahead of them but had it torn away in the blink of an eye.

She could have been one of them. She really could have.

But there she was, alive but not quite feeling like it, crumpling to her knees in front of her little sister as she hugged her as close to her as she could.

I killed someone, she wanted to say. They could have been someone's sister, just like you.

"Did you miss me?" were the words that left her mouth instead. And it was worth it—keeping thoughts like that to herself—because when her little sister pulled away, smiling, eyes gleaming with youthful innocence, [Y/N] believed that maybe, maybe there was a little sanity in this world left that she could hang onto.

Because the scars those memories leave behind aren't permanent. Nothing is, really—they just take a much longer time to heal. Those kinds of scars need patience and gentleness and comfort. Need understanding. Space. But most importantly, they need time.

So that's what [Y/N] gives herself. Time and space away from everything around her that reminds her of things she'd rather leave in the past. She finds herself traveling, even though her parents were against it at first—"You can barely even make your own food, honey, are you sure about this?"—they'd understood, in the end, that [Y/N] couldn't bear waking up in a place where everything held memories of war. The owls would come in the morning bearing news of recovery and rebuilding and those bloody obituaries. She'd made the mistake of looking at them once, only for her eyes to quickly land on a face she'd fought alongside during the battle. Some young Gryffindor boy no older than seventeen who wrenched her out of the way when a column had collapsed.

Colin Creevey.

That was his name, apparently, according to the cursive underneath his picture right next to the words may you rest in peace.

It took her a while to calm down after that. But the panic attacks always came. Her little sister once made the mistake of trying to surprise her once, by hiding behind her bedroom door and jumping out when she walked through it. [Y/N] had screamed, fallen to the floor, and started crying, and it frustrated her because she wasn't sure why but there was that horribly familiar, inexplicable feeling inside her chest that squeezed the breath right out of her and the tears along with it.

Even looking outside of her room window reminded her of Hogwarts' own stained glass windows. Of the sound they'd made when they shattered once hit by a curse gone astray. Of the fear she'd felt when Acromantulas crawled their way in through the window frames and devoured anyone in reach. Of all the blood.

The death. The screams.

She couldn't take it, so she left. it would take a while for her to come back—to heal—but she would. She knew she would.

—

Paris is beautiful at night.

[Y/N] sits on a ledge overlooking the cityscape and watches the sun dip below the buildings.

Sitting so far up above everything else and not weaving through the stone alleyways, it looks different from here. Like a toy city. Tiny buildings sturdily built and easily moved. Sometimes it feels like she's on top of the world, towering over everything else as she watches the scene unfold before her like a moment frozen in time with the sunset reflected in her eyes. And sometimes they'd be filled with tears, but today they aren't.

In a city where everything is constantly moving, it's easy to forget things. Easy to lose herself in the bustling streets and the friendly people and the music that seems to come from everywhere she goes, always hanging in the air, the source unknown.

But when it's quiet—when she has no one but her thoughts for company and she sits away from everything else with her heart lodged in her throat and memories trickling back in despite her efforts to keep them locked away—that's when she remembers.

The blood. The death. The screams.

All the lives lost. The lives she couldn't save. The lives she took.

But she is healing.

It hurts, still. Of course it does. She doesn't think the pain really ever will go away, but it should, to an extent. And it will happen.

It will. She knows it will.

—

When she comes across him—the boy with the smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars, like diamonds in the sky, [Y/N] doesn't know right away what he will come to mean to her in the future.

She sits in a pub hidden somewhere along the cobblestone streets away from the main city. The bartender knows her by now, and she him; an old Muggle with a toothless grin and a kind voice. The first time she'd walked through the wooden door a few weeks ago he'd tried to ask her about her life—what she was doing in Paris, how she was liking it so far—the same way he would do to any traveler, but [Y/N] hadn't had much to tell him aside from the same story she'd practiced so many times before; that she was on vacation.

The Muggles buy it all the time. It's at times like those that [Y/N] is grateful for their obliviousness, and in a way, she finds comfort in how little they know. How they don't know about You-Know-Who, about the war, about everything that had happened mere months ago. Because it makes it easier for her to forget.

Until the wooden door to the pub opens and a familiar face walks through it, and [Y/N] is hit by reality again.

He doesn't notice her, at first, and strides straight to the bar. [Y/N] wonders if she's hallucinating—if somehow her mind has had enough of her pushing old memories aside and started making things up as a reminder of the past. But he's standing there and he's smiling at the bartender, who slides a tall glass of beer over the counter-top towards him.

"Thank you," [Y/N] hears him say, and then he's turning around and before she knows it they've made eye contact from where she's sitting in the corner of the room. A flicker of surprise crosses his face, and for a moment all the two of them do is stare at each other, both seemingly in just as much disbelief as the other.

[Y/N] does what's appropriate: she raises her hand in a wave.

Still looking incredulous, George Weasley's mouth falls open a little in what is probably a dubious laugh if [Y/N] were close enough to hear it. And then he's striding towards her table, sliding into the seat opposite her still looking pleasantly surprised.

"[Y/F/N], was it?" George asks her, and his eyes are still alight with wonderment.

She smiles at him. Nods. Wonders if he's thinking—remembering—the same things she is. "I didn't think I'd come across anyone I knew here."

"Can't say I was expecting to, either." He doesn't look like he is; he's grinning. But then again [Y/N] is too, and for a brief second she realizes once more how easy it is to pretend like everything is okay.

And judging by the look in George's eyes, he hasn't forgotten either. But they are so far away from Hogwarts. From home. From the remnants of war. So she decides not to address it, and even though it is unsaid, George decides to do the same.

She went to school with George. Just like everyone else at Hogwarts, she'd known him and his twin brother for their troublemaking antics, but to call them friends would be a bit of an overstatement; [Y/N] was a Hufflepuff and George a Gryffindor, and apart from the few classes they had together, she rarely ever had a chance to speak to him. But in the rare times that she did, she could tell that George was sweet and kind and certainly very witty. He would have made a good friend, if [Y/N] had been given the chance.

But they don't ask each other why they're there, thousands of miles away from England, because in a way they already know. So instead the pair of them talk about anything and everything else. About Paris. has [Y/N] been to the Eiffel tower yet? Yes, duh—it's the first place she went to. How was it? It was breathtakingly beautiful. George tells her that he thought so too, and asks her if she's heard of the festival next week. She tells him he hasn't and George tells her that he'd love to accompany her there if she wants to go.

And admittedly, part of [Y/N] wonders whether it would be better to turn him down. She could walk out of this pub and leave George Weasley, who brings back memories that she'd rather forget at the moment, behind, but the courageous part—the part of her that still takes chances and waits to see where they take her—nods and says, with a soft smile on her face, "I'd love that."

Come midnight, the pub closes and [Y/N] and George are practically kicked out, a little intoxicated but not enough to be drunk, waving exaggeratedly enthusiastic goodbyes to the barkeep who grins toothily right back at them.

They find themselves standing outside of the pub, faces dimly illuminated with orange from the street lamps lining the streets. George, with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, asks her where she's staying.

She tells him the name of the hotel she's been living at, and the smile on George's face is downright joyful. "Lucky me. I'm staying at a hotel not far from there," he tells her, grinning, and she can't help but grin right back at him.

And it feels like the proper time to be saying their goodnights and apparating away, but before she does, she finds a tiny sliver of bravery in her to address what has been looming above the pair of them since the moment they spoke to each other tonight. In a quiet, almost hesitant voice, like she's treading on thin ice, she says, "I heard about your brother." Her eyes are downcast, staring down at the stone underneath her feet. "I'm sorry about what happened to him. I truly am."

George falls silent. When [Y/N] brings her eyes back up to look at him, she almost, almost cries, because there's a pain in his eyes that [Y/N] has seen far too many times in the mirror. But he's smiling, anyway, and that just makes it all the more worse because there is nothing that hurts more in the world than pretending like everything is just as it should be when it's not.

In a quiet voice, he says, "I'm here for the same reason you are. I'm here to heal. To move on." Even under the dim lighting, [Y/N] sees the way he swallows like there's a lump in his throat. "And when I have, I'll head back home and pick right back up where I left off. But right now I'm just a twenty-year-old English bloke in Paris who's just come across a beautiful woman and wants to know if she'd be interested in spending the night with him in the city."

So maybe it's not quite time to say their goodnights. Not just yet.

[Y/N] smiles at him, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, and says, "Lead the way."

—

George Weasley, [Y/N] learns, is a man of many charms.

George knows how to crack jokes when needed, how to make her laugh. George knows how to make her feel comfortable but not so much that he oversteps his boundaries. George always seems to know what to say and when to say it. But perhaps most importantly, George knows how to help her do the one thing she finds the most difficulty in doing: forget.

So in turn she does the same for him, and not much later than their opportune meeting at the pub hidden away from the city, they become friends. Or something more than it. What they are, [Y/N] really isn't quite sure, but all she knows is that she's found something in him that she wouldn't have if she'd decided to turn him down a month ago—and good grief, is she happy she didn't.

Because if she had, then she would have never learned that George likes his coffee sweet, with three cubes of sugar and lots of milk. She would have never learned that he has a fascination with anything related to electricity and only just barely suppresses his excitement whenever the pair of them would come across some form of Muggle technology he hadn't been aware of before. [Y/N], who is Muggle-born and is far too used to the "ordinary" world, finds amusement in his enthusiasm. (He damn near faints with excitement in his seat the one time [Y/N] drags him off to the movie theater to see a film.) [Y/N] also learns that George finds joy in poetry—something that comes quite as a shock to her, as he doesn't seem like the kind of person who would. But on a night out by one of the canal bridges, he turns to her and starts reciting something by Hamlet—"Have you heard of him? Old Muggle bloke, apparently, I think he's dead but he was quite good with words"—and [Y/N] stares at him, incredulous, and bursts out laughing.

"Well, aren't you romantic?" she teases, grinning, eyes curving when she smiles. "Reciting poetry on a night out in Paris. Really very touching."

George puffs out his chest, all pompous and suddenly very snooty. [Y/N] is laughing again, because she's started to do it a lot ever since they'd met. "What can I say?" says George. Judging by the slight smile on his face as he stares at [Y/N], he's pleased with her reaction to his antics. "I'm quite a passionate man."

George has a smile like the sunrise and eyes like the stars and a laugh that reminds [Y/N] of sun rays and clear skies. And it's odd because when she'd first seen him at that pub, she was instantly reminded of the war, but the more time she spends with him the more he reminds her of quite the opposite. George reminds her of a time in her life when she was at peace—when she was a young girl who didn't have to worry about blood on her hands and guilt on her shoulders.

But George, she knows, has worries of his own. And just like her, he's good at hiding them, until he chooses not to anymore.

—

Two people alone in Paris who have gone through so much and lost so many. Two people who have found something that feels like peace in one another after everything they have been through.

George and [Y/N], who look at one another when they think the other isn't looking to admire the way the light catches in their hair. The curve of their throat. The way their eyes crinkle when they smile.

And it's only a matter of time before they finally find it in themselves to venture further into what has formed between them over the past three months they've been together, and before they know it they are kissing, gentle and slow and a little hesitant in [Y/N]'s hotel room, standing out by the balcony with that tiny city below them and the stars hanging above them.

[Y/N] learns that George's lips are even softer than they look. She learns that he kisses with a closed mouth. She learns that he is slow and intimate when he pulls her into bed, and she learns that he has truly come to value her when he asks her tentatively if she is sure she wants this.

[Y/N] learns, that night, just how easy it is to fall in love, how little effort it takes. How, the moment she tells him that yes, George, I want you and makes that brave decision to surrender herself to that almost constricting feeling inside her chest and she lets herself fall, that is all she has to do—fall. And let her heart do the rest.

Touching George's skin feels like falling into oblivion, and [Y/N] lets herself spiral down into him.

Come midnight, the two of them are still awake but only barely. George has his arm tucked underneath his head and the other on her waist, and [Y/N] with her head on his chest, arm draped across his stomach as she stares up at him, eyes dancing over the planes of his face like she's trying to memorize them.

There is a necklace around George's neck. [Y/N] can recall catching glimpses of the chain, but never of the pendant. She acknowledges it now, when the adrenaline in her has died out and is replaced by a drowsy sort of calm, by reaching out a hand to run her thumb across what looks like the metal arrow.

"This mean anything?" she whispers, and in the dim moonlight streaming through the window she makes out a picture at the base of the arrow.

She feels George tense underneath her, and knows the moment the light catches on the picture—the face imprinted on it—what exactly it means to him.

"Fred," she whispers, and it's not a question.

It takes him a while, but she feels more than sees him nod. And his voice is tight, riddled with emotion, but he gets his words out anyway and [Y/N] appreciates it, because she knows that talking about it hasn't gotten any easier. But he still does, because he trusts her enough and he has grown braver over time, and some of his wounds have begun to stitch themselves back together, even by a little bit.

"We have a clock back at home," he tells her, and his words stick in his throat for a second as he takes in a deep breath. His grip on her waist grows firmer, like he needs something to hang onto, and [Y/N] lets herself be an anchor to him. "It's got all of my family's faces on each hand. No numbers—just whereabouts. Work. Home. School. Garden. When we came back home after the battle, we found Freddy's on the ground."

Something wet lands on [Y/N]'s cheek. George has started crying.

"It fell off the clock," he whispers. [Y/N]'s heart breaks. "When he died."

And then [Y/N] is sitting up, gathering him into her arms despite him being broad-shouldered and so much bigger than her. At the moment he doesn't seem like it. Right now he is a boy who grieves the loss of his twin brother, and [Y/N] aches for him.

She knows far too well that no words will ever be able to soothe the pain, no matter who they come from. So all she does is hold him as close to her as she can, pressing comforting little kisses to the top of his head, his forehead, his cheeks, which are wet with tears.

Eventually, George falls asleep—or at least she thinks so, until she hears him whisper, just when the moon is beginning to disappear below the horizon, "Thank you."

Holding George in her arms feels like holding a promise, and seeing him lit softly by the final traces of moonshine, she thinks she might be able to keep it.

—

But even still, part of her can’t help but fear that she might not mean as much to George as he has begun to mean to her.

When she wakes in the morning and finds that the other side of the sheets is empty, panic seizes her lungs and she scrambles out of bed.

Only to find that he is in the bathroom, washing his face, cheeks flushed pink from having just woken up.

But all it took was that one brief moment to realize how terribly big her bed is, and how cold, and how horribly empty without George to fill it.

And even though she knows fully well that George isn't the kind to make love and leave, she is still scared. Still a little uncertain. So she seeks reassurance, and her eyes shining with hopefulness, asks him to stay.

George, with his smile like the sunrise and his eyes like the stars, says—no—promises, "Of course I will."

—

When the two of them find the courage to come back to England many months later, it seems they've found a new kind of home—the kind that isn't made of walls or doors or windows but the kind that's built on promises.

Promises of healing. Promises that the two of them will bear the pain of the past together, and move through it together in baby-steps that may seem tiny but take a lot of courage.

And when George slides his fingers through the gaps in between hers as they apparate away, and the two of them leave behind Paris and return to England with scars that have faded but still remain, [Y/N] thinks, for the first time in a long time, that things might turn out to be okay.

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Six ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 4044

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy Thursday! Thanks for all your responses so far -- I’m so grateful! Alright, time to see what Haldir thinks of all this!

We are sixteen days into our journey when we reach the mountains.

We made good time, considering all the stops and adjusting for our human guests. Now that I know they are more capable than I anticipated, I will be pushing us to clear the ranges in five days. I do not want to travel these mountains any longer than necessary.

Everyone feels the tension. My right hand never leaves the hilt of my sword and I know my brothers travel in a similar fashion. While I am always careful when traveling through the orc-infested mountains, this time more so than usual. The stakes are higher. Lavandil is trusting me to deliver her betrothed to her in one piece. My brothers and Baranor are trusting me to guide them safely on this treacherous journey. And the humans…

Well. They can’t possibly know what they’ve gotten into, so that’s on me, too. They have no experience in battle, nor do they seem ready for a fight. I worry they’ve never even seen an orc, at least not that they can remember. I am as responsible for them as I am for the kin that accompany me.

I turn on Faervel to face my companions, trusting Orophin to watch my back as I take in those that follow me. My brothers are watchful like I am, one hand on a weapon, one hand holding the reins. Their eyes constantly observe our surroundings, never lingering on one spot for too long. Baranor looks mildly nervous — this is only his fifth pass through the mountains and I know his mind is running through his previous journey, remembering the warden we once nearly lost to a poisoned arrow. A dull ache throbs in my left shoulder. The wound is long ago healed — the memories, however, are not.

Cosima holds tight to Rumil, looking around worriedly. I never told her what we might face in the mountains, and maybe that wasn’t the right decision. Every sound makes her jump — she’s obviously expecting to be attacked at any second.

My eyes shift to Alexander, the most recent addition to our group, and I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. I don’t trust him. Not that I automatically trusted Cosima, but she hasn’t given me any reason to be suspicious. She helps with the chores and talks with us freely, even if she has been pulling back a little lately. Alexander can’t boast the same. He’s been nothing but standoffish and keeps himself isolated from the group — dragging Cosima with him.

He glowers at me, and I return his glare. Of course, mine has the force of nearly three thousand years as Marchwarden behind it, and the human quickly looks away.

I return to my inspection of the group. Cosima’s cloak is a beautiful, vibrant red—obviously made for style rather than the stealth and durability needed for travel. I haven’t the faintest idea why she would choose to dress that way if she knew she’d be traveling, nor what kind of leader wouldn’t catch it and make her change. This only serves to irritate the thought that’s been budding in the back of my mind since her arrival. Maybe she really isn’t from our world. Stranger things have happened. Alexander, too, has an unusual cloak, though not as bad as Cosima’s. His is a deep forest green — expensive, the kind that would take months of precise dyeing. Still a suitable color for travel, but not at all practical — already, it’s darkening with mud kicked up on our journey, ruining the maker’s handiwork. I don’t understand it and the mystery of their origins are too much to ponder on the road. So I resolve to deal with what I can now and handle the rest later. At present, Cosima can’t travel through the mountains in that bright red cloak.

I get her attention. “Put your cloak away in your bag, it’s too noticeable. If you get cold, someone will lend you theirs.” She visibly blanches at my words but balances herself atop Roch to do as I say. She is so clearly frightened and part of me wants to reassure her, to tell her not to worry, it’s just a precaution. But I can’t. Lying might make her feel better, but it would also set her at a disadvantage. It is better for her to be on edge. It will keep her sharp, and staying sharp can be the difference between life and death. I wouldn’t sugarcoat it for one of my wardens, so I won’t sugarcoat it for her.

Still, I can’t help myself from offering her some measure of security. I instruct Rumil to take position behind me and send Orophin to guard the back of our line. Perhaps Cosima will feel better being towards the middle of the group rather than at the very back — it is safer.

I put on my most well-practiced fortifying look and address the group. “Remember to ration your water — we won’t come across another stream for some time. With luck and perseverance, we will reach Imladris in five days. Cosima and Alexander — if we are attacked, stay on your horses. Rumil and Baranor will protect you.”

Rumil chuckles lowly and leans back in his seat to whisper to Cosima. “I can’t keep you safe if you strangle me first. Relax.”

Cosima laughs sheepishly and seems to make a concentrated effort at loosening her arms around Rumil.

I pull my eyes away, turning to look the right way down the path.

And off we go.

{***}

Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. There’s a faint breeze hinting at the possibility of rain, and I pray against it. Humans are so fragile compared to elves and I worry the two newcomers won’t do well in another day of downpour. I don’t mind the harsher conditions, my brothers, either — Valar knows how many drills we’ve run, battles we’ve fought in the extremes. But the humans, even Baranor, aren’t so conditioned.

I stop our company a little later than usual and send Rumil and Orophin to take first watch. Baranor pulls Alexander aside to redress the wound on his leg. Cosima and I stay to tend to the horses.

She glances at me from where she brushes Roch’s coat. I raise an eyebrow, cleaning my own horse. She purses her lips and I can tell that she’s scrutinizing me.

“You don’t like the mountains.”

There’s no point in lying. “No. Too many places for the enemy to hide.”

She’s silent for a moment, likely thinking through my words. Unexpectedly, I feel the bite of regret — I probably just scared her again. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Thankfully though, she doesn’t seem frightened. She smiles, a sort of serenity settling on her. “It’s kind of pretty though, if you can find a moment to enjoy it. Did you see the sun sinking over that peak way in front of us? It turned the sky purple and gold.”

I did notice the sky, but only briefly. I hadn’t even stopped to ponder its beauty, only checked to ensure no one hid on the horizon.

She sees the answer in my face and grins, shaking her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to relax once we reach Imladris. What’s it like, there?”

Now it’s my turn to smile, recalling my second favorite place in the world. “Beautiful — much more so than these mountains. There are waterfalls taller than any I’ve ever seen and they cast rainbows at sunrise and sunset. The main city rests on those falls and you can see the water sweeping under you, falling over the cliffs.”

She stares at Roch’s coat, a distant look in her eye. “How long are you planning to stay?”

You. Her question hangs between us as I analyze her use of the word. She didn’t say ‘we’ or make any reference to herself and Alexander. She’s making no promise to stay. That realization shouldn’t bother me, but, nevertheless, I feel discomfort settle in my stomach. I try to distract myself by answering her question. “A month or two, three at most. The journey home will take about three weeks and I want us in Lothlórien well before winter sets in.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

I blink, trying to follow her line of reasoning. I’ve got nothing. “How does that relate to what I just said?”

She closes her eyes, the peace leaving her and morphing into a pleading, distressed look. “Please just answer the question.”

The feeling in my stomach worsens and I hurry to say something to try and put her more at ease. “Honeyed breadrolls,” I blurt, not even sure if that’s my favorite.

She laughs weakly, looking at me from the side of her eyes. “That’s not a balanced meal.”

I grin, relieved to see the stress beginning to fade from her face. “You said favorite food, not healthiest.”

“Oh right, my bad.” She rolls her eyes, a playful light there that wasn’t present before.

Evidently annoyed with the lack of attention, Roch bumps his head against Cosima’s shoulder, snorting noisily. She giggles and pets the horse affectionately.

“He likes you,” I observe, the sight of them bringing a smile to my face.

Cosima shrugs. “He just wants snacks.”

There’s a pause and I feel a sense of urgency, needing to fill the silence before the conversation can come to an end. “What’s yours?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Your favorite food.”

“Oh.” She pauses, looking at the ground in thought. When her eyes return to mine, she looks a little lost. “I don’t know. I don’t mind the lembas bread and fruits, though I couldn’t say for sure if it’s my favorite because I can’t remember much from my homeworld. I guess—well, I do remember some food here and there, but nothing stands out as my all-time favorite.”

Her admission seems to make her sad. I can understand that — it must be terrible to not know who you were or what your life was like. Once again, I feel the need to make her feel better. “Elrond won’t let us go hungry. There will be many new things for you to try.”

She opens her mouth, a spark lighting in her eyes, ready to respond.

The loud, heavy footsteps give away Alexander’s approach. Cosima hears it too and turns to see her incoming friend.

I let my face fall into a neutral expression, not entirely pleased with Alexander’s arrival. He is a lost human in need of help, just like Cosima, so I will offer him my protection and aid, just as I did to the woman at my side.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like him.

From what I’ve observed, he has a manipulative streak that I do not trust. I can understand not being ready to accept his new reality, but Cosima is trying to move on. He shouldn’t try to interfere with her progress.

He addresses Cosima only. “I’ve got dinner for us both. Meet me on the rock when you’re done?”

She shifts her feet, looking uncertain.

“No, you will stay with the main camp.” I hear my voice before I make the actual decision to speak. Cosima nods automatically—and, is it my imagination, or does she look a little relieved?Alexander only grimaces.

“Why?”

A muscle twitches in my cheek. I’m used to leading wardens that follow my every order. In this environment, one that is fraught with danger and requires constant attention and strict regimentation, I don’t like my orders being questioned. It’s not only a waste of time, but a danger to us all. I know well from the battlefield that hesitation—that single moment of questioning—can be the difference between life and death.

I raise an eyebrow, meeting the human’s challenging gaze. “The danger is heightened in these mountains. While you travel with my company, I am responsible for your safety. I will not have you all spread out — it makes it more difficult to protect you should the need arise.”

“I don’t want to sleep on a rock, anyway.” Cosima surprises us both by speaking up.

Alexander squints, looking quite caught off guard that she’s sided against him. “What—“

“Haldir’s right. It’s too dangerous and besides, the grass is softer.”

Alexander opens and closes his mouth a few times, then exhales, shaking his head and stomping back to camp. Cosima turns to Roch and resumes brushing his coat, a new tension in her jaw.

I try to broach the subject delicately. I’m not entirely sure it’s my business, but I suppose any information into the pasts of these mysterious humans is useful. “Do you remember much of your relationship with Alexander from before? Do you know what he was like?”

She closes her eyes—something she does when she’s stressed, I note—and sighs before opening them again. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently. I get that this whole…whatever it is, is impossible. I know that. And he does, too, which is why he’s having such a hard time adjusting.”

I bristle at the insinuation that I and my world aren’t real, but then make myself relax, putting myself in Cosima’s shoes. How would I feel if I woke up in a world completely different from the little I could remember?

She continues. “But I like it here. It’s beautiful and exciting and there’s so much to explore…I’m making friends.” She smiles up at me shyly, and I immediately return it. We are friends. I don’t know when or how it happened but we are. I like having her around.

“But with Alex…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m having a hard time not accepting my life here because it’s all I really know. I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Alex can’t seem to do that…I wonder if he remembers more than he lets on.”

I keep my expression carefully blank. I’ve been pondering the same thing. Something she said does bother me, though. She didn’t say she’s having a hard time accepting our world, but not accepting it. What’s holding her back? I try to dig around. “Cosima, this is your world now. Why wouldn’t you want to accept it?”

She shakes her head slowly, the sadness creeping back. “I can’t accept my life here because there’s no way it’s possible. I trust you and your brothers and Baranor, but something about this place is off. It’s completely unnatural—from what I remember of my world, we don’t have elves. We have cars instead of horses and ways to communicate that stretch across the globe.” Her voice rises in pitch, the first misty hints of tears entering her eyes. “And there’s only one world. There’s no way to go back or forward in time or hop to another planet or—”

“That you know,” I correct, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. Seeing her struggle is not only upsetting, it’s frustrating. She is here, and this world is as real as she is, as real as I am. All this back and forth is pointless. “You said it yourself—you don’t remember much about your home world. And even if you remembered everything, who’s to say that you could know everything? For all you know, you fell asleep in your world and woke up in mine. And, at present, I don’t know of any way to send you back. Elrond or the Lady might, but that’s not a question we can answer until later. So for now, you need to accept this world. Because you are here. This world is real and your life here is real.”

She takes in a shaky breath.

I freeze. Oh Valar. I’ve made her cry.

I hurry to try to undo it. “Cosima—”

“No.” She cuts me off, wiping the corner of her eyes with her sleeve. “I needed to hear that. You’re right. I’m only wasting time and stressing myself out with all this. Because regardless of what I think is logical or possible, the fact remains that I am here in Arda and I feel real and alive. And so does this world. And so do you.” Her eyes, still shiny with tears, meet mine and she offers me a watery smile.

I accept it with a breath of relief and work consciously to soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” she chuckles softly, still wiping away her tears. “I don’t think it’s your fault. I’m just tired and stressed and—what was it you said again?” She throws me a teasing look and I know she’s about to bring up my earlier comment. “You said I was sensitive. That’s right.”

I hold back a groan. Probably not the most well-advised thing I’ve ever said. “I only meant that you are more expressive with your emotions than I or others that—”

“Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there.” She holds up a hand, thankfully still in a joking mood. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

She’s probably right. So I halt my attempts, shaking my head and laughing at myself. “I suppose I should apologize for that too?”

She shrugs off-handedly. “Nah. Because for the record, about the time you decided I was sensitive, I decided you’re way too serious.”

And, with that, she sets Roch free to graze and jaunts back to camp.

{***}

Aside from the brief interlude with Cosima, I don’t allow myself to relax as we continue through the mountains. There are too many peaks and rocks and caves and crevices where the enemy can hide. All it would take is one well-aimed arrow to fell one of my companions, or myself. I have to be vigilant. They’re trusting me, and I must not let them down.

{***}

On the third night in the mountains, Rumil and Orophin stage a sort of intervention, trying to force me into a full night’s rest.

“Brother, you have stood watch every night for the past five nights and most of the nights before that.”

“I am fine,” I retort, straightening my back. “I am perfectly capable of sacrificing rest to keep watch of our surroundings.”

“But without rest you will grow weary and slow,” Orophin adds, planting himself to stop me from walking past him. “You will not be at your best and cannot keep us safe as you could if you had proper rest.” He raises his voice to drown out my protests. “Rumil and I will stand watch all night—we will be vigilant.”

“Now, go lay down and get a full night’s rest willingly, or Baranor is prepared to drug you.” At this, Rumil smiles broadly. He is only joking. And, capable though Baranor is, I have no doubt in my ability to stop him from forcing herbs into my mouth.

But my brothers have a point. Though I am used to many restless nights from battle and my patrol of the borders, I have not slept for more than a few hours in many nights. I feel the heaviness in my eyes, the weariness in my bones, and, though I know I could push through, it is of no benefit to my company. So, reluctantly, I sheathe my sword, nodding to my brothers. “Wake me if there is any trouble.”

Orophin agrees readily. “Of course. You’ve trained us well.”

At this, I must grin, remembering the countless hours I put into developing and perfecting their skills. “I know.”

I leave the outcropping of rocks that has become our watch station and jog the short distance back to camp.

“Wow, look who’s decided to join us for a change,” Cosima jokes. There’s a note in her voice that tells me she had knowledge of, if not a hand in, my brothers’ plan.

I roll my eyes, matching her teasing tone. “I couldn’t leave the three of you unattended for long—who knows the trouble you could have gotten in?”

“Oh, yeah. Baranor ��was about to redress Alex’s wound — troublesome, indeed.”

I sit on the empty mat in between her and Baranor, greeting my elven friend with a nod. Alexander doesn’t acknowledge me, so I don’t acknowledge him.

Cosima passes me a bundle of leaves containing a ration of lembas bread and a handful of blackberries. I smile my thanks and take the food eagerly—I haven’t eaten since morning.

“Glad to see you resting, mellon nîn,” Baranor nods in my direction then returns his attention to Alexander’s leg. The herbs and healing power in Baranor’s spirit have done wonders, but the traveling aggravates the wound. Really, he should take a few days to rest, but we do not have that luxury.

Cosima breaks a piece off her own bread. “How long until we reach Imladris?”

“Within three days, I imagine.” It’s an estimate, but a fairly accurate one, I’d wager. After many journeys, I know these mountains quite well.

She smiles. “That’s not too bad.”

“Agreed.” Baranor sighs and nods, indicating that he’s done dressing Alexander’s wound. He returns to his mat on the other side of our bags, completing the circle we lounge in.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows my hair around. Cosima shudders, pulling her blanket tighter over her shoulders — her cloak is still in her bag. Temperature doesn’t bother elves in the same way it does humans, I remember. I shed my cloak of deep grey, holding it out for her to take. “Here.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be—”

“Take the cloak, Cosima.”

She bites back a smile, and I know why. Even as I was trying to be nice, I still ended up making it an order. Oops. But it did the trick. She takes the cloak, wrapping herself tightly in it and then adding the blanket for an extra layer of warmth. “Thank you.”

I only nod in response. After all, it’s my job to see that each member of my company is cared for. That includes fragile humans who could possibly die from exposure to the elements. And, thankfully, she does look much warmer now — her shivers have subsided and the wind only has the chance to bother her face, as the rest of her body is encapsulated in a cocoon of cloth.

“So Haldir, what do you do?” Alexander’s direct question catches me off guard, as well as the suspicion behind it.

I bristle. “Pardon?”

Alexander raises his chin, eyes narrowed at me. “What is your job? Because you seem awfully comfortable ordering people around.”

I forget how immature humans can be. I push against the annoyance that rises within me. “I am charged with the protection of my realm.”

“So you left it unguarded?”

I speak through clenched teeth. “I took leave.”

“So if you’re on leave then why are you still in charge? We’re nowhere near your realm.”

I feel my pulse quicken. “The others have accepted my authority. I am the most experienced—”

“Have I accepted your authority? Has Cosima?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Uh, don’t bring me into this,” Cosima practically yelps, pulling the fabric tighter around her.

“Yes, this is a good time to stop,” Baranor interjects, looking completely serene — the exact opposite of how Alexander and I must look.

“It’s getting late,” Cosima agrees, darting nervous looks between me and her human friend. “We should all get some sleep.”

Alexander and I stare each other down. I feel no small amount of pride when he breaks his gaze first, then admonish myself for my immaturity. I should have handled that better — I know better than he does. Unbidden, my eyes dart to Cosima. Has my arguing with her closest friend upset her?

But thankfully, she smiles at me when my eyes meet hers, then reclines on her mat. Her voice rings over the small clearing, effectively ending any discussion between us all for the evening. Probably for the best. “Goodnight.”

And, though I am still angry, my body and mind cannot ignore how exhausted I am after days of insufficient sleep. It doesn’t take long for me to find rest.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there.

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @tolkien-apologist @ordinarymom1

**Strikethrough means Tumblr won’t let me tag you**

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sleepyowlwrites · 3 years

Text

find the word tag CLXXXXVII

yes, I am procrastinating on making the youth story supplemental posts. mostly because I haven’t decided how much I want in them. and I know that as soon as I post one, I’ll figure out something else I want to share. but you know, a story is a thing in which one encounters characters and gets to know them. so maybe I’ll just include the power explanations like I said I was going to do. and looks like I’m not going to get that prequel done before summer ends. oh well. @gwens-fiction and @oh-no-another-idea will be consoling me in the meantime.

haphazard chaotic (shots)

Jay tightened his hold on her shoulders. “That’s right. I want you to look me in the eye and say that you’re okay. Not that you have to be or that you will be once this case is over. I know Murtagh is just another in a long line of terrible people you’ve had history with and there’s no way you can sideline your personal stake in things indefinitely. Something else is going on with you and it was triggered when you fired your gun and somebody died.”

“My list of personal stakes is long and chaotic. Every single day I’m confronted with my past. What makes this time any different?”

fun (youth story d0)

R opened his arms. “Come on, baby Nyks, I’ll cuddle you while Daniel is off doing grownup things.”

Daniel watched Nyks get comfortable on R’s lap. “I’m a year older than you, R,” he said dryly.

“Oh, what a difference a year makes,” R responded loftily, making Nyks giggle.

“Fine. Have fun, children.” Daniel pat them each on the head and left.

wood (blood cultivation)

Alone in the room, Lin Meili took the time to explore her immediate surroundings. The room was draped in white and pale blues, broken by warm grays and browns of stone and wood. The air was cool and sweet, but compared to the night before, anything would smell better.

dusk (you, of dusk, and I, of dust)

and then it happened, and the air fell still. I swear it was quiet already, with all the crickets dead in the doorway and half-open hearts on the table without a recognizable beat. the silk knives hung languidly from floorboards on the ceiling and I swear I was no longer breathing. the trees must have all fallen at once and the leaves of last fall are just the carpet under my fingers, inching their way across the ground to catch hold of of cold stone to make some sort of sound.

mug (youth story d0)

“Can anyone explain why we’re all obsessed with drinking tea? What kind of teenager is also a tea snob?” Nyks looked down at his mug like it held the answers.

R flicked a chocolate-covered peanut in Nyks’ direction. It hit Daniel instead, bouncing off one of his godlike cheekbones.. “I’ve been working on my aim for weeks,” R complained.

Daniel gave him a withering glance. “Nyks,” he said, redirecting the conversation back to the previous questions. “We’re tea snobs because of me and I’m not sorry. My friends deserve to drink quality beverages.”

sunset sunrise (follow me down a dream)

There’s a feather in your cap as you tip the brim hello, and I, in my satins, can only wave my hand. The road widens up ahead and two could pass side by side, will I walk with you? There’s a twinkle in your eye as you offer me your arm, and I, in my lace, can only take it with pride. The sky open up ahead and two could watch the sunrise, will I wait with you? There’s a catch here somewhere but I’m loathe to spell it out, and you, in your leathers, are a sight for sore eyes. The night clears up ahead and two could melt to nothing, will you dive in with me? Breathe in the space and drown amongst the stars. Tip your hat one more time, sir, I’ll take your hand and lead you onward.

blanket (youth story d0)

Mark is so tired. "So R and I are friends?"

Cal's light visibly dampens. "Yes, honey. You're friends."

The pet name rolls off his shoulders and doesn't feel wrong. "Okay," he says. "I need a nap."

He registers Cal draping a blanket over him. Friendship is rather nice, actually.

warmth (youth story d0)

“But I am here,” Nyks said, voice suddenly rather small.

Mark stopped walking and Daniel turned around to give Nyks his full attention.

“I mean,” Nyks squirmed a little under their combined gazes. “I’m always here even if I’m just a spectre. I like when you carry me because I can feel more of you and your warmth. And being solid right now is tiring. Thanks for carrying me, Mark.”

Mark blushed and Daniel, ever the gentleman, didn’t mention it. He was definitely going to later, though.

near, name, nice, none, need. BONUS: nevertheless, naptime (but I mean just someone sleeping) @novanovelwriting @ninazeniks @deciphered-narrator @akindofmagictoo (because I know you’ll love all the Nyks snippets) OR ANYBODY or nobody

#find the word tag #tag game #searching circle #alliteration agency

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spiderkiss · 4 years

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This makes me very worried.

I have such a soft spot for ME1 in my heart. ME1 had this great feeling of Sci Fi that 2 and 3 lost along the way somewhere. The lighting and aesthetic felt very ... I can only compare it to Babylon 5 and some of those old Sci-fi novel covers you’d see sometimes.

ME1 was moody, it leaned towards fantasy and the fantastic.

These images have lost that guiding mood in the remake. The brightness/bloom is turned way up, as if the thought was brighter is better because the audience can see more. Shepard is lit in the remake like she’s on the set of a daytime drama. The original Normandy is dark and a little claustrophobic, there’s blue back lighting on everyone, tying into the alliance uniforms, which in turn makes the golden hue of ME2 stand out in contrast as the yellow of Cerberus seeps into everything.

And I cannot get over the shot of that Reaper. The original; the sky is blood red but it’s still brighter than the land and the imposing ship, looming over everything in shadow, with unknown power crackling over its surface. Clouds swirl menacingly. The Remake: The sky is blue with a pleasant sunset/sunrise, the light of the sun taking over your view in a lens flare while a large ship hangs over the horizon.

There’s a reason we didn’t see Reapers like this in ME1 but did see them in daylight in ME3. Because in ME1 we have NO IDEA what those things are but the design is telling you that they are dangerous. By ME3 we know what the stakes are and the reason the Reaper hanging over a totally normal scene is scary because they saved it for when they get to earth, right in your real life backyard.

This is just... so disappointing.

#Mass Effect unhype #default femshep #who the hell is directing the remaster?#also I can't believe I'm saying this but #the armor texture looks better in the original #I don't know if that's an effect of the lighting #or the later armor model being downscaled to fit ME1?#feels bad man

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dianasson · 4 years

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Happy Cerealia!!!

Today is the Roman festival of Ceres. Above are couple photos from the ritual, and while I recover in my cozy bed I will share a story with you. This is from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Melville's translation. (TW: Abduction, Rape)

The Abduction of Proserpine

"The land of Sicily quakes as Typhoeus the Giant buried beneath the island heaves and even Rex Silentum (the king who rules the land of silence) shudders lest the ground in gaping seams should open and the day stream down and terrify the trembling Umpire. Tyrannus had left his dark domains to and fro, drawn in his chariot and sable steeds, inspected the foundations of the isle. His survey done, and no point found to fail, he put his fears aside; when, as he roamed, Erycina from her mountain throne, saw him and clasped her swift-winged son, and said: ‘Cupido, my child, my warrior, my power, take those sure shafts with which you conquer all, and shoot your speedy arrows to the heart of the great god to whom the last lot fell when the three realms were drawn. Your majesty subdues the gods of heaven and sea... Why should Tartara lag behind? Why not there too extend your mother's empire and your own? The third part of the world's at stake, while we in heaven (so long-suffering!) are despised - my power grows less, and less the power of Amor. Do you not see how Pallas and Diana, queen of the chase, have both deserted me? And Ceres' daughter, if we suffer it, will stay a virgin too - her hope's the same. So for the sake of our joint sovereignty, if that can touch your pride, unite in love that goddess and her uncle.’

So she spoke. Then Cupido guided by his mother, opened his quiver and of all his thousand arrows selected one, the sharpest and the surest, the arrow most obedient to the bow, and bent the pliant horn against his knee and shot the barbed shaft deep in Dis' heart. Not far from Henna's walls there is a lake, Pergus by name, its waters deep and still; it hears the music of the choiring swans as sweet as on Caystros' gliding stream. Woods crown the waters, ringing every side, their leaves like awnings barring the sun's beams. The boughs give cooling shade, the watered grass is gay with spangled flowers of every hue, and always it is spring. Here Proserpina was playing in a glade and picking flowers, pansies and lilies, with a child's delight, filling her basket and her lap to gather more than the other girls, when, in a trice, Dis saw her, loved her, carried her away - love leapt in such a hurry! Terrified, in tears, the goddess called her mother, called her comrades too, but oftenest her mother; and, as she'd torn the shoulder of her dress, the folds slipped down and out the flowers fell, and she, in innocent simplicity, grieved in her girlish heart for their loss too. Away the chariot sped; her captor urged each horse by name and shook the dark-dyed reins on mane and neck. On through deep lakes he drove, on through Palici's sulphurous pools that boil in reeking chasms, on past Bacchiadae, where settlers once from Corinthus' isthmus built between two harbours their great battlements.

A bay confined by narrow points of land lies between Arethusa Pisaea and Cyane. And there lived Cyane, the most renowned of all the Nymphae Sicelidae, who gave her pool its name. Out of her waters' midst she rose waist-high and recognised the goddess. ‘Stop, stop!’ she cried, ‘You cannot take this girl to wife against Queen Ceres' will! She ought to have been wooed, not whirled away. I too, if humble things may be compared with great, was loved; Anapus married me; but I was wooed and won, not, like this girl, frightened and forced.’ She held out her arms outstretched to bar his way. But Saturnius restrained his wrath no longer. Urging on his steeds, his terrible steeds, and brandishing aloft his royal sceptre in his strong right arm, he hurled it to the bottom of the pool. The smitten earth opened a way to Hell and down the deep abyss the chariot plunged. But Cyane, heartbroken at the rape of Proserpine and at her pool's outrage, in silence carried in her heart a wound beyond consoling, and in endless tears she wasted away. Into the pool - her pool and she but now its deity - she spread dissolved.

Ceres Searches for Proserpina

Ceres meanwhile in terror sought her child vainly in every land, o'er every sea. Never Aurora (the Dawn) rising with dewy hair, nor ever Hesperus (the Evening Star) saw her at rest. She lit pine-torches, one in either hand, at Aetna's fires, and through the frosty dark bore them unsleeping. When the friendly day had dimmed the stars, she sought her daughter still from sunrise until sunset hour by hour...

Through what far lands and seas the goddess roved were long to tell; the whole world failed her search. She turned again to Sicania and there, in wanderings that led her everywhere, she too reached Cyane; who would have told all, had she not been changed. She longed to tell but had no mouth, no tongue, nor any means of speaking. Even so she gave a clue, clear beyond doubt, and floating on her pool she showed the well-known sash which Persephone had chanced to drop there in the sacred spring.

How well the goddess knew it! Then at last she seemed to understand her child was stolen, and tore her ruffed hair and beat her breast. Where the girl was she knew not, but reproached the whole wide world - ungrateful, not deserving her gift of grain - and Trinacria in chief where she had found the traces of her loss. So there with angry hands she broke the ploughs that turned the soil and sent to death alike the farmer and his labouring ox, and bade the fields betray their trust, and spoilt the seeds...

Then that fair Nymphe Alpheias rose from her pool and brushed back from he brow her dripping hair, and said : ‘O thou, divine Mother, who through the world hast sought thy child... The land is innocent; against its will it opened for that rape. While beneath the earth I glided in my Stygian stream, I saw, myself with my own eyes, your Proserpina. Her looks were sad, and fear still in her eyes; and yet a queen, and yet of that dark land Empress, and yet with power and majesty the consort of the Tyrannus Infernus (Sovereign lord of Hell).’ The mother heard in horror, thunderstruck it seemed and turned to stone.

The Return of Proserpina

Then as her shock so great gave way to grief as great, she soared borne in her chariot, to the sky's bright realms and stood, with clouded face and hair let loose, indignant before Jove and said: ‘I come to plead for my own flesh and blood, yours too; and if the mother finds no favour, let at least the daughter move her father's heart; love her not less because I gave her birth. Behold the daughter I have sought so long is found, if found is surer loss, or if but to know where she is finding her. Her theft I'll bear if he'll but bring her back; a thief, a kidnapper's no proper husband for child of yours, even if she's mine no more.’

And Juppiter replied: ‘The child is yours and mine, our common care and love, If we allow things proper names, here is no harm, no crime, but love and passion. Such a son-in-law, if you, Ma'am, but consent, will not disgrace us. To be Jove's brother, what a splendid thing! - if that were all! What then, when that's not all, when he yields place to me only because the lots so fell? But if your heart's so set to part them, Proserpina shall reach the sky again on one condition, that in Hell her lips have touched no food; such is the rule forestablished by the three Parcae.’

So Jove replied; but Ceres was resolved to win her daughter back. Not so fate permitted, for the girl had broken her fast and wandering, childlike, through the orchard trees from a low branch had picked a pomegranate and peeled the yellow rind and found the seeds and nibbled seven. The only one who saw was Orphne's son, Ascalaphus, whom she, no the least famous of the Nymphae Avernales, bore once to Acheron in her dusky bower. He saw and told, in spite, and by his tale stole her return away. The Queen of Hell (Regina Erebi) groaned in distress and changed the tale-bearer into a bird. She threw into his face water from Phlegethon, and lo! a beak and feathers and enormous eyes! Reshaped, he wears great tawny wings, his head swells huge... a loathsome bird, ill omen for mankind, a skulking screech-owl, sorrow's harbinger.

That tell-tale tongue of his no doubt deserved the punishment. But the Acheloides, why should it be that they have feathers now and feet of birds, though still a girl's fair face, the sweet-voiced Sirenes? Was it not because, when Proserpine was picking those spring flowers, they were her comrades there, and, when in vain they'd sought for her through all the lands, they prayed for wings to carry them across the waves, so that the seas should know their search, and found the gods gracious, and then suddenly saw golden plumage clothing all their limbs? Yet to reserve that dower of glorious song, their melodies' enchantment, they retained their fair girls' features and their human voice. Then Juppiter, to hold the balance fair between his brother and his sister in her grief, portioned the rolling years in equal parts. Now Proserpine, of two empires alike great deity, spends with her mother half the year's twelve months and with her husband half. Straightway her heart and features are transformed; that face which even Dis must have found unhappy beams with joy, as when the sun, long lost and hidden in the clouds and rain, rides forth in triumph from the clouds again. So Ceres had regained her Proserpine."

#ceres #demeter #cerealia #roman polytheism #offerings #paganism #ritual #proserpine #proserpina #persephone #kore #spring

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badassbutterfly1987 · 3 years

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Day 7: Time Loop, Margaret LeFay

Margaret LeFay is many things but weak is not one of them. Her lover (perhaps jailer and murderer were more accurate now) had tried to erode her will and nearly succeeded. But her mind was still her own, even when addled by addiction. She is slowly being devoured by her lover. Maybe she should hate him for it but she knew what he was, she saw the beast inside his soul. Except she’d also seen the man he was beside that and imagined Beauty’s Beast when she should have seen Bluebeard.

Margaret knows that if she tries to escape and fails, Lord Raith will kill her or break her will completely (which might be the same thing in the end). She knows she has once chance to save her own life and save Thomas. He’s a child and deserves a better life than the horror his father would shape him into. Margaret has never been satisfied with limited options. So, she finds a spell that twists time into a loop, causing one day to repeat until the caster closes it. It starts at sunrise and ends at sunset. The Council would not approve the breaking of the Sixth Law of Magic.

Damn the Council. They aren’t the ones slowly dying in a cage.

---

The first iteration is more a test run than an actual escape attempt. Margaret wanders the estate, identifying the various possible ways out and any trace samples that could be used to track her. Lord Raith is attending to business outside of the estate and Elisa is accompanying him. Lara and Natalia are still at the estate attending to other matters. There are security cameras in most rooms but those are easy to disable.

At midafternoon Margaret walks out the door, pauses at the main gate at the front of the estate, and waits. It takes 15 minutes for Natalia to notice and coax her back inside.

---

Next iteration, she escapes through the garden. Margaret has spent enough time here that the Raith sisters don’t suspect anything when she goes there. Thomas trails along after her, his hand small in hers.

They are caught by patrolling guards on the way out. She can’t afford to use violence when a small child is also part of the equation. At least she now knows the route the mortal guards take.

---

The time she actually escapes with Thomas is the worst because it almost works.

“Thomas wants to go to the aquarium,” she tells Natalia.

Natalia glances at the time. Noon. “Let me contact Father—"

“No,” Margaret interrupts quickly. “He no doubt has work to do. I wouldn’t want to irritate him for such an innocuous thing.”

The succubus relents after a brief hesitation. Perhaps it’s cruel to exploit her fear of her father’s wrath, but Margaret can’t afford to extend her compassion to one of her jailors. Not until she and her child are safe.

“I will accompany you,” Natalia says and Margaret accepts the compromise.

Thomas, like most five-year-old’s, enjoys the aquarium for a couple hours. He darts from one exhibit to the next. It warms her heart to see his childlike wonder, which she wishes she still had. She yearns to show him Faerie and all its wonders. When he’s older and not so fragile.

Natalia is the best tracker of her siblings, but even she struggles with a crowd. It is surprisingly easy to separate from her. All it takes is a brief distraction and an illusion strong enough to fool even a vampire’s senses.

Margaret walks swiftly towards the entrance of the building, pulling her young son behind her.

“Momma, I want to see the seahorses!” Thomas complains. “Natalia was going to show me the seahorses.”

“Not this time, sweetie” Margaret replies, trying to remain patient. Her little one is too young to understand just what is at stake. “We’re going on a different adventure.”

Thomas perks up at the idea of a new adventure. Such a darling boy.

Margaret follows her plan. Once they make it out of the city, they’ll make their way to Hog Hollow, Missouri. Hopefully, her father will grant them sanctuary. She doesn’t dare take Thomas through the Nevernever. Too many predators that would take notice of a vulnerable child, even one under a wizard’s protection. They only have three, maybe four hours before sunset and she has to end the spell or undergo another reset.

Margaret gets a taxi to take them to the state border. She pays in spare cash she had grabbed from the estate. Once they escape White Court territory, safety will be within reach. But spare cash only takes them so far and children have limited energy. They stop at a motel for food and rest. Margaret can feel the pull of White Court addiction messing with her thoughts. She can’t afford to make the wrong decision.

Lord Raith finds them an hour before sunset (a part of her is grateful that it wasn’t later). She feels that awful combination of fear and longing that only he can satisfy. She hates and loves him for it. Margaret stands there frozen, knowing she doesn’t have the power to fight him. Thomas, ignorant of all that, runs to his father.

“Papa, we went on an adventure!”

“Was it a good adventure?” His tone is light, no trace of the underlying rage she knows is there.

Thomas chatters excitedly as he clings to his father. Lord Raith does not acknowledge her or her transgression. But he will not forgive it. Margaret can only follow helplessly as her lover guides their child away from the motel. The ride back to the estate is a quiet one; Thomas has finally run out of energy. The silence is both suffocation and relief.

The limo stops at the front gate. Lord Raith gets out, still carrying Thomas. She trails after them.

“You made a poor decision, Margaret.” Her lover’s voice holds the same, steady calm. “You became confused. This happens sometimes but I cannot ignore it.”

Margaret cannot deny it. There is no lie that she could produce that would change things. She had been disobedient and, therefore, must be punished. But not Thomas. Please, God, not him.

He holds the boy with such care. Thomas squirms a little but does not complain. His father is rarely affectionate which makes the boy all the more eager when given attention.

“He’s your son,” she whispers.

He looks at her with something like pity, or maybe just disapproval. She knows what he is thinking: Why would that change anything?

He breaks Thomas’ neck with awful ease and lets him fall. The body drops to the ground limp, eyes staring sightlessly at her. Empty of joy, of life.

As if it were just another body and not their son.

The time after that is a blur. Raith drags her to his bed. She screams at him, she thinks, and tries to hurt him. He gives empty platitudes, offering to give her another child.

It resets.

---

Margaret does nothing the next cycle.

She curls her arms around her boy, reassuring herself that Thomas is still breathing. Still moving. Still alive. He plays with his model train set, watching it go around the track, while she watches him. She thinks a repeat to last time might just kill her.

Reset.

---

Again she tries.

Again she fails.

Reset.

---

Damn the Council and McCoy for pushing her away.

Damn whoever convinced the White Court that they could only be monsters.

Damn Raith for being such a charming bastard.

Damn her foolish, idealistic self for trying to make a better world.

Reset.

---

Margaret gives up on sneaking out and reminds the estate’s occupants that she is still a powerful wizard.

It feels good to throw Lara into a wall. It feels good to see part of this damn house burn. It feels goodto fight back in a way she otherwise couldn’t against her lover/jailer/killer.

But she fights two experienced White Court vampires and mortal men with guns. She loses track of her child in the chaos and a stray bullet hurts him.

Margaret hears him cry out and for an awful moment she thinks she’s lost him again. There’s a line of blood along his side and his breathing is heavy. It’s only surface damage. Frightening to a child but not fatal.

“It’s okay, darling, it’s just a scratch. Come on, we need to—"

He flinches from her. Thomas saw her use magic, saw her hurt his sisters, and can’t understand why. It breaks her heart to see the fear in his eyes. Fear of her. Thomas runs from her, as if she was the monster. She can’t both fight vampires and catch a fleeing child.

Reset.

---

“Could he love Thomas?” Margaret asks.

Lara, the dutiful daughter, is evasive in her answer. “Every child is precious to the White Court.”

“Would Thomas be safe if I wasn’t here?”

“It isn’t always about you, wizard.”

Lara was sometimes a confidant, sometimes an ally, sometimes an enemy. But she fiercely loves her youngest sibling, Margaret is sure of that. A thought starts to build in her head, a truth too ugly to acknowledge.

---

This is the truth: Lord Raith would be displeased if she left, but he would never forgive Margaret if she tried to take one of his children away from him.

Unlike his own father and the previous house lord, Raith did not generally kill children. Because children were only children, not threats. Lara would keep the boy safe through childhood. Life within the White Court is awful, but it is still life.

If Margaret takes him, even if they escape, they will never stop running. He has too much of his father’s blood to be fully accepted by wizards. She wonders if Lord Raith would be willing to start a war over a stolen half-breed child. She wonders how many of her allies would come to her defense if he did.

Margaret doesn’t say goodbye to her son; her will isn’t strong enough to do that and leave. She reads a little from one of his fairy tale books, holding him close and hoping he learns the right lessons from those stories. Grief and shame wrap around her like a second cloak.

Margaret sneaks out the garden. She walks to the edge of the estate, avoiding patrolling guards.

One day, she will come back for him. One day, Thomas will be free from his family.

She undoes the spell and walks into the Nevernever.

#dresden files #margaret lefay #thomas raith #lord raith #lara raith #writersmonth2021 #time loop #ao3 #child death tw #tw: abuse #emotional manipulation #angst

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jayxscripta · 3 years

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The Mahaigner - Chapter Seven

When you're not sure what to put but you want to put something:

hi :)

Madeline was jolted awake as the aircraft shuddered. And it took her more than a few frantic moments to realize that she was causing the turbulence.

Shooting up, she uncurled her left arm and leg. Both were buzzing like a television with no signal. Despite that, she guessed she hadn’t been asleep for long. “You okay?” Rogers called from across the jet. He was strapped in a seat—as was everyone else, she realized.

“I think so,” she replied, nodding. She rubbed her arm and avoided looking at them again. “That’s never happened before.” In all the times she’d known about her powers, they’d only ever manifested when she was awake. Assuming, of course, that she would know if she had used them in her sleep.

“That was you?” Ivanoff asked. She didn’t seem too surprised, just as if she wanted to confirm a suspicion. “Told you it wasn’t wind.”

“I don’t know if I should be relieved or more worried,” Wilson said. “Can you control it?”

Madeline considered her options: lie or confess that there was a strong chance she might drag them right out of the sky. “It’s touch and go,” she settled.

Ivanoff’s brows lifted. “We’ll have to work on that. But we’re almost there, so hopefully that one was just a fluke.”

Madeline blinked, her curiosity piqued. “How do you control your powers?”

The ex-Avenger hesitated. “It’s complicated,” she said finally, “A combination of things. I’ve been practicing keeping them down for so long it’s second nature and using them doesn’t require a lot of work. But it’s like a part of me is always concentrating on them, even if I’m not actively thinking about them at all.”

“Do you ever slip?”

She nodded briefly. “Yeah. When I’m really cold, or sick. Or pissed off—” her eyes flickered to Loki “—that can affect them. At least a little.”

“Would it ease your mind if I stopped breathing?” Loki asked, a blasé edge laced into the rhetorical proposition. Apparently, he had also noticed Ivanoff’s side-eye.

“No, it would just give me guilt, unfortunately,” she said matter-of-factly. “But tell me, did the last person you tried to kill forgive you so quickly?”

“My brother has the gift of being incredibly forgiving and also stupid at the same. So yes, I suppose,” Loki answered, his bored tone wavering.

“Yours is a strange family.”

Wilson snorted, evidently paying closer attention to the conversation than Madeline had previously thought. “Says the woman who faked her own death to avoid being imprisoned by her cousin,” he said, sounding unfittingly amused.

Ivanoff looked almost affronted. “Excuse me. I did almost die. It’s not my fault that him and everyone else thought I actually did,” she returned. Wilson stifled another laugh.

“Could’ve called him. He has that old ass phone Steve gave him,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Steve,” she declared, pointing to Rogers, “could just have easily told him I was alive in that letter.”

Rogers sighed, quite loudly, head buried in a tablet. “Please, leave me out of this.” He sounded less than thrilled. Judging by the nature of the conversation, it seemed to be one they had had many, many times before.

Madeline got the distinct feeling this was usually how the topic was shut down. There was a nagging voice inside her head saying that Ivanoff was wrong—she was dodging the issue, as if she thought Stark didn’t care. Or that she thought he shouldn’t know she was still alive. That if he had known she was alive he would never stop trying to throw her into some maximum-security prison.

She didn’t have much experience with these types of family problems, but Madeline could recognize regret when she saw it.

Somehow, though, this didn’t seem the time or place to say such a thing. Ivanoff may have deserved to know, but she probably didn’t want to. So, despite her better judgement, Madeline muted her conscience and turned her gaze away to a nearby wall that was suddenly looking a lot more interesting.

“When we land, I’ll let Shuri know to have a look at you,” Ivanoff said, changing the topic. “Make sure they didn’t do any permanent damage. They looked like a different version than what I’ve worn.”

“Well, upgrades and such,” Madeline murmured, shaking out her arm one last time. Finally, the tingling was gone.

Rogers looked up from his work. “Are we close, Sam?”

“A minute, according to these coordinates. You sure about this? Crashing a plane into the side of a mountain isn’t really how I want to go,” he answered, staring suspiciously at the forest in front of them. Madeline gulped and strapped herself in, feeling as though she were in some sort of game, racing against a clock. Quick! Fasten your seatbelts before you crash into the hillside!

“I have to say, I agree,” Loki commented. “This doesn’t seem all too safe.”

Rogers stared out the cockpit window stoically. “Just wait.”

Madeline squeezed her eyes shut in nervous anticipation as the jet neared the hillside. But the impact never came, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a futuristic city nestled in a valley instead of a bright white light.

“This is Wakanda?” she asked, astonished. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

Ivanoff smiled a little. “It never gets old.”

“I’ll speak to T’Challa, explain the situation, since they were only expecting us to bring Loki,” Rogers spoke, directing his statement at to his companions. “Make sure her powers are handled as quickly as you can, just in case.”

“Let’s take her to Shuri’s lab, then,” Ivanoff responded, but she didn’t sound extraordinarily concerned. Madeline hoped her powers wouldn’t manifest and knock somebody out again before that. The last thing she needed was to be arrested again.

The jet banked ever so slightly in response to Ivanoff’s words. Madeline had a good guess where she was going now.

There was barely a shudder from the plane as they touched down. The ramp lowered, and the sun blazed into her eyes. She squinted and fumbled with the release to her seatbelt straps. Was that sunrise or sunset? Probably sunset, but regardless, the jet lag would follow.

“We’re here,” Ivanoff said, breaking into her thoughts. “You’re ready, I hope.”

Madeline rose from her seat and looked cautiously out the door—she always knew, deep down, she’d end up in a laboratory eventually. “Should I be worried?”

Ivanoff shrugged. “Probably not.”

They exited the jet, the laboratory looming before her. It reminded her more of a monument than anything—an architectural feat, a unique work of some type of metal, rising like a dagger into the golden sky.

A stiff breeze lifted Madeline’s hair off of her shoulders and into her eyes, and she had to peel it away from her face just to see the ground beneath her feet. What exactly awaited her inside? She was staking most of her hope for safety on the assumption that the ex-Avengers wouldn’t lock her in a prison or lab out of fear that she was evil or dangerous. Given their history with superpowers, she didn’t think they would. But she figured she had every right to doubt.

After navigating the bright hallways of the building, they entered what she assumed was the laboratory. No sooner had they stepped foot inside then they were greeted with a cheery voice. “And what do you bring me this time, Miss Ivanoff?”

“Hello to you to,” Ivanoff said, rolling her eyes in a way that was somehow playful, as opposed to the usual condescending way Madeline had picked up on. She presented Madeline with a small flourish. “I bring you another broken white girl.”

“I appreciate the challenge.”

Ivanoff bumped fists with the young girl who stood waiting for them. “I think every time I come, I bring some new project, Shuri. But if you’re okay with it—”

“Okay with it?” Shuri echoed. “I love it. Gives me reason to look forward to your visits.”

“Ouch,” Ivanoff said, feigning hurt, though it didn’t last very long. The corner of her lip quirked up and she passed the power cuffs off to Shuri. “You’ll have fun with this one.”

She examined the cuffs closely. “Are these what I think they are?”

“Yep. Power draining cuffs.”

“Better than the ones they put on you,” she nodded to Ivanoff, “they’ve improved the quality since then. But they’re still too dangerous.”

“I noticed. I passed out just a few minutes after they put them on,” said Madeline.

“That makes sense. But it isn’t a side effect of your powers going away. Think of all the times Tori used drugs to suppress her powers and never had any lasting effects.”

“Except for the withdraw,” Ivanoff reminded.

“Yes, except for that.”

“So, then what made me pass out?” Madeline asked, puzzled.

“These cuffs are designed to slow your heart rate and put you in a sort of comatose state, so you’re physically unable to use your powers,” Shuri explained. “It’s beyond dangerous for long term use, as we’ve seen before,” she nodded again to Ivanoff. “Unfortunately, the UN is perfectly okay with killing enhanced people if it means they can’t use their powers.”

“That sounds about right.”

“After Siberia, when Captain Rogers brought her here, I was able to take the cuffs they used on her and adapt them into a prototype so that they work without killing the person they’re on. But if you’re okay with waiting a little longer, I’d like to make some adjustments as needed. I’m sure Tori’s abilities and yours are very different.”

“Wildly,” Madeline muttered.

“What can you do, exactly?”

Madeline shrugged. “Pull the souls out of people?”

Ivanoff stopped short. “What?”

“I’m not entirely sure how it works, that’s just how Dr. Strange explained it to me. And I can’t control it—it just happens.”

“How many times has it happened?”

She mentally recounted the incidents. “Three, now. But it’s gotten more frequent.”

“And on the quinjet? What happened there?”

Madeline’s memory flickered back to her last day at the compound. “I think that I can animate things. Mostly jets, it seems.”

Shuri sifted through the various items lying on her worktable, brows furrowed. “Like psychokinesis?”

She shook her head slowly. “I think it’s different than that.”

Shuri directed her towards a chair, holding her selected equipment. Madeline eyed it critically. A thermometer? A blood pressure monitor? This was starting to seem more like a doctor’s visit than anything. “Not gonna lie, I was expecting something a little more…” she hesitated, “probey.”

“Later we can run more extensive tests,” Shuri assured her, eyes bright, “MRIs, blood tests, cellular evaluation. But right now, you need to rest. And there are many ways to detect enhanced abilities. Even through something as simple as your heartrate.”

Shuri pressed the cold end of the thermometer, which looked more like a tiny handgun than anything, against her forehead. After a few seconds it beeped, and the young girl scribbled something on a chart that was on the table. As she was taking her blood pressure, Madeline took the opportunity to look around the lab.

Though the walls were mostly dark, and the windows peered into a dimly lit cave, the laboratory was still bright. But not in the harsh way she would have imagined a lab would like. This seemed more… welcoming, with a clutter of projects spread across the various workbenches. She made a mental note to ask Shuri all about them next time she was in the laboratory.

She was startled out of her admiring by an insistent beep. She looked down to her arm, but it wasn’t the blood pressure monitor. It was Ivanoff’s pager, and by the look on her face, it was something important. “That was Steve—he says we have to get back. Now.”

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mslupinetti · 4 years

Note

who are your favorite top ten black clover characters & ships? talk about them!

Oh wow I didn't expect this, sorry if it's a little late. I guess I do a bit more than lurk if I somehow got noticed.

1. Asta

What can I say I'm a simple woman. He's a very good son. 10/10 Would mother,

2. Yami

I think the moment I laid eyes on him I was in it for the long haul. Everything just works for me. Plus we share the same birthday, coincidence? Probably, but it's cool.

3. Noelle

This girl just really makes me proud for her. I adore her development and growth. I look forward for what's to come.

4. Gauche

Yeah he doesn't usually make these does he? What can he say, he's grumpy, and a little selfish, a little rude, but he cares a lot.

5. Grey

She's shy, I'm shy, it just works. So I mean I'm totally digging all this recent focus on her. I'm happy, and waiting for more.

6. Nero/Secré

What the hell do I call her now? Is it a Eugene/Flynn thing? Anyways I just really like her tragedy. Sometimes tragedy can be beautiful. I hope she's okay right now.

7. Yuno

Oh look at me finally stepping out of the bulls. A bit introverted, a bit reserved, I can relate. 10/10 Would comfort with a hug after the day he has had.

8. Charlotte

She demands respect, I like that. Actually overall I like her, and I'm waiting to see how exactly she reacts to the current state of things.

9. Charmy

She's a character of love, and well I'm sentimental. Also she's got a wolf, and I really like those. Oh, and I'm curious to see where the dwarf stuff goes.

10. Klaus

You ever see a hen who hatches like duck or goose eggs, and starts raising ducklings/goslings who quickly outgrow the hen, but the bird still sits atop of them keeping them warm. Klaus is the mother hen, and well chickens are great in their own right. Cluck away Klaus.

Why am I so slow are writing this all up? Anyways I don't think I have enough ships I actively excitedly ship to make it to ten I'll try, but let's see what happens.

1. Gauche x Grey

There is a lot of potential, and I'm a happy little shipper currently. Thanks Tabata. It all started down at the underwater temple, when we find out what Grey really looks like, and Gauche thinks his old reliable 'Golly my precious sister's photo will refresh me a huh a huh,' with his cheeks all flushed. He thinks he's slick. He's really not.

Now these recent chapters have got a lot going on, and the stakes are certainly raised where. Nonetheless me being me zoomed on Gauches's gentle 'Hey...Grey,' after her very desperate tackle. Mmm good stuff. That interlaced backstory of their's, good stuff. I think they can really bring out the best in each other.

2. Yami x Charlotte

Charlotte just loses any semblance of composure, and Yami bless his dense heart. I mean she spent years getting disappointed by all talk men, and along comes Yami effortlessly at her most vulnerable. He spent years just having to deal with all the nasty comments that he just expects that most people won't have a positive opinion of him anyway. They'll get there one day.

3. Asta x Noelle

Cute. Okay so I have a feeling he kinda already really likes her, but he just doesn't know it yet. He's so stuck on Sister Lily he doesn't realize what kind of feelings Noelle actually stirs in him. I say this because of his eyes. When Asta is at his most content, most joyful, just complete bliss his eyes are just, so big and round and bright full of happiness. At the star festival he officially says, 'I guess I like Noelle quite a bit,' but more importantly his eyes are just so big and bright. He also has the same big eyes when they're reunited in the shadow palace. It's there he just doesn't understand it's more than just a very good friend.

4. Nero/Secré x Lumiere

What's more romantic than a star crossed tragedy? How many times did they sit on the palace rooftops watching the sunrise/sunset discussing hopes and dreams and wishes and the future? What if it was futile because they'd never allow the prince to marry his servant? What if she was, so enamored with him, but he didn't notice because of his work? What if she couldn't bring herself to say that she always loved him before he was gone foever because it'd hurt even more? She was so willing to die with him to never be separated again, and in the end it would be the last time she'd hold his hand, or hear his voice after five hundred years of waiting and watching.

5. Nozel x Dorothy

This is admittedly high on speculation and I'm not really that serious about, but I mean you don't really blab to a total stranger about some super secret family uh secret that is hush hush practically no one knows the real cause of your mother's death because devil curse, right? There's gotta be a high degree of trust there especially when you send your youngest sister you've tried to protect in some discombobulated way to her, right? There's gotta be at least a friendship going on, but with such clashing personalities it seems interesting. Also you know how judgemental he is towards Yami and Jack, and stern with Rill, and you'd think he'd reprimand Dorothy for all that sleeping she does at all the important meetings too. Why is she the exception?

6. Yuno x Noelle

This is pretty much a crackship. I don't really expect much from it. They're intereaction was pretty interesting, and it kinda looks like we'll get some interaction if they work together, but with a lot more to prove this time around.

Hmmm I think that might be it. I kinda fizzled out in the end there, whoopsie sorry. Were these strange lists? It was pretty tough thinking about it all just because I kinda just accept things as they happen, and enjoy it all no matter what. Oh well, that's just how it goes, anyways thanks for the ask.

#black clover #Do I tag them all?#nah #asks

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tiny-maus-boots · 5 years

Text

The Howl pt 6

A/N: Nope totes didn’t edit it and I def didn’t read it back. So I’m just gonna have to rely on the judgement of my Beta to tell me what’s fucked up before she posts it to ao3. ilyan @chloes-yellow-cup

06.

If asked she would have said she rose on her own, but Aubrey knew that wasn't true. She'd felt...something. Something strong enough to rouse her from the depths of her slumber. Vampires didn't just sleep when the sun rose, they died. All semblance of true life leaving them as suddenly as a candle going out in a breeze. And while the elder vampires could stay awake past sunrise it wasn't for very long and they certainly didn't make a habit of waking before sunset. Even for her, rising while the sun was still high was difficult at best but here she was wide awake, sheet pooled around her waist as she sat up and searched the darkness around her for the source of her unrest.

It hit her hard and she was unprepared for the onslaught of so much grief and heartbreak. Aubrey gasped in shock at the force of so much...pain. And guilt. She wasn't immune to feelings, she had them no matter how deeply she buried them to protect herself. Deeply enough that the memory of them was only a dull ache in the back of her mind from time to time. So yes, Aubrey knew what loss felt like, but she had never felt this raw and broken before. It poured into her chest like a river of lava, burning and scorching her down to her bones.

Worst of all, in the maelstrom of emotion, she felt Stacie's presence in all of it. Something was very wrong. Aubrey flung the sheet aside and slid out of the heavy ebony hardwood bed. Another mournful stab made her knees weak and she leaned against the matching wardrobe, one hand pressed tenderly to her heart.

“Stacie...”

She didn't know why she was in so much of a hurry. It was still daylight out though she knew the sun would drop early and suddenly as it always did in this season. But for the moment it was still too light out, even for her dhampir blood to endure. That knowledge however didn't stop her from dressing in her usual hunting gear as quickly as she could. Something that was somewhat of a challenge when waves of anguish kept flooding her mind and heart.

Aubrey eased the harness over her shoulders and rolled them to settle her machete in place. The familiar weight of resting against her back was settling and helped her focus past the constant pressure of Stacie's emotional state. She opened the door to her rooms intending on leaving despite the early hour. She didn't intend to stay stuck underground while she was so desperately needed elsewhere. The vampire took a step out into the hall, the door clicking shut behind her almost too loud for the silence that pressed in around her.

She took three steps before the scent hit her. It was unusual, really. Not the scent, though that was unusual as well, it was the fact that she could smell anything beyond the damp cold earth they were all entombed in. Her nostrils flared delicately as she tipped her head up and scented the air, following the faint trail. Something shuffled near silently in the deepest shadow of the corridor and she tracked her gaze to it. Aubrey's fangs lengthened and a small growl of unease trickled past her lips.

The shadows moved silkily and the broad shouldered figure stepped into the soft lamp lit hall. She knew who it was immediately and retracted her fangs when she realized there was no threat. Erasmus stopped his movement and dipped his head respectfully. It made sense now what she had caught on the air before, why it seemed so out of place. It wasn't often that the human slave wandered the upper corridors.

Erasmus was one of a few kept slaves but he had lasted much longer than the the pathetic wraith like creatures that prostrated themselves at their masters' feet and were nothing more than ready meals. Those others only lasted a few years if that, passed around from vampire to vampire like party favors until they had been drained to a dry husk. Erasmus had been around longer than even she had, something she didn't understand but suspected it had to do with the vampire he belonged to.

He was special to the head of their coven and as such enjoyed certain privileges, like the freedom to move around unmolested...for most of the catacombs at least. He was much safer on the lower floors with vampires old enough to have excellent control of their appetites and enough fear to know better than to poach from The Lady. But up higher it was much riskier and she wondered what would make him venture so far up even during sleep hours.

“Good afternoon Aubrey.”

She dipped her head respectfully as she always did and he gave a gentle smile. If other vampires respected and feared The Lady they never extended it to Erasmus. Perhaps they didn't mistreat him, but they often ignored him to the point of open disdain. She was fairly certain none of them really knew his name simply choosing to refer to him as The Greek or not at all. Aubrey had understood all too well what a life alone among enemies was like. They were the same in a way, two small islands in a sea of violent hostility.

“Erasmus.”

“You're up early, even for you.”

Aubrey gave a shallow dip of her head in acknowledgment and looked back down the hall toward the stairs up. She should go now, she had to go now. Erasmus nodded silently though she had given no answer and sighed as if he knew something she did not.

“She wishes to see you, and the sun is still too bright for you to leave safely.”

“Why?” It had taken her off guard and she blinked in question at him.

He gave a slight shrug and Aubrey took that to mean that he wouldn't have told her if he did know. She gave the stairs a final look feeling her heart squeeze in her chest before following after his already silently retreating figure. It was never a good sign when when your coven leader was awake and waiting for you to rise and she wondered how long Erasmus had been standing in the hallway ready to deliver the summons. Her eyes already well accustomed to the dark didn't need to adjust as they marched deeper into the catacombs but her focus sharpened to search the shadows for anything else that might be laying in wait.

There was nothing but deeper shadow and cold silence as they reached the furthest end of the corridor. Erasmus stopped at the door and turned to look at her, offering a tight lipped smile that she could neither read as encouragement nor understanding pity. Aubrey straightened her shoulders, her spine going even more rigid than usual as she stalked into the large open chamber and dropped to a knee, head dipped respectfully. There was no sound but the reptilian slither of a long leather train dragging across the stone ground toward her.

It was dangerous to be there in front of the head of her coven with her heart so wild and her head so unfocused. Aubrey closed her eyes and forced her mantle of cold logic and reasoning to fill her body and drown out the distracting heat in her chest that came with all things Stacie. It settled her and a tiny echo of relief lapped at her awareness, relief that she knew was not her own. The Lady said nothing as she stood before Aubrey and the younger vampire forced herself not to twitch under the weighted gaze.

“I've had some troubling news dear niece.”

Aubrey raised her head quickly and glanced at the tall blonde woman looming over her. She dropped her head again without word. It hadn't occurred to her before that someone would know what had happened with Stacie. That someone would have seen her with the wolf. But now that she was kneeling in front of the oldest vampire she had ever known she wondered if someone had seen it all.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

She hesitated a moment too long and one slender finger slid under her chin to tip her head up and raising her to her feet. They stared at each other, matching pale green eyes bleeding to gray as their demons rose. One did not lie to The Lady and she was sure that if she tried that she would be staked immediately so she chose her words carefully.

“There have been a great many troubling events Mistress.”

A pale brow raised, deep red lips quirking slightly in amusement. “Always so careful. A skill that has served you well surviving among us.”

It was in no way an acknowledgment of Aubrey as a vampire. It was just another backhanded way of pointing out that she was less than by virtue of her blood. They may be related but there was no love between them. Aubrey could no sooner be worthy of the title of niece than she could sprout wings and fly. It was only duty to her father and Aubrey's usefulness as a hunter...and influencer that stayed her aunt's hand from a killing blow.

“I survive to serve, Mistress. That is my place in your coven and I know it well.”

It was toeing a line and she knew it and so did The Lady. Her chin was released and Aubrey felt her muscles relax. If she were going to die, it would have happened already. This...this was all just a game for The Lady. A test for Aubrey herself. One she seemed to have passed.

“Very well then, serve. Tell me of the revenant you were to capture.”

She watched her aunt pour two wine glasses of blood before handing her one casually. Aubrey took it and sipped cautiously as she considered what to say and what to leave out.

“I tracked it for a few days to a clearing a few miles out. I suspect whoever is creating them is one of our own.”

“I have no doubt that you're correct. Now tell me why you killed it.”

A chill ran down her spine though it was less fear and more anger. There was only one person outside of herself and Stacie that knew she had put the creature down. Aubrey tamped down on the rise of rage and sighed as she looked at the glass in her hand. Massimo would pay, and he would pay soon.

“I had no choice Tante.”

If her laugh was meant to be comforting, it wasn't. It was cold and calculating and everything that Aubrey feared in the world. She carefully kept her eyes averted and waited for the shift of air to let her know where The Lady was.

“Oh you are clever, niece, to remind me why you yet live.” Silence followed the statement and Aubrey carefully looked up to see her aunt watching her carefully from a seat that was nothing short of a throne. “Explain.”

Aubrey took a drink from the glass and drained it before boldly placing it on the sideboard with the crystal decanter. She purposefully eased the tension in her body and rolled one shoulder in a shrug. Lying was out of the question but that didn't mean she had to give every single detail of the event, careful editing would keep her alive another night.

“It was close to sunrise and I had hoped to find shelter as soon as it sought safety. I thought if I could track it to its den I could take it alive before the next moon rose and force it to lead me to its sire. I was ill prepared for someone to wander right into the damned thing's grasp.”

There was a soft hum from The Lady but she only gestured for Aubrey to continue. She was still on dangerous ground but at least her aunt was listening and not reacting. Yet.

“I had no choice. I couldn't let the infection spread and it was too close to light to track all the way back to town. Even I couldn't survive that.”

“And the human?”

“Escaped, likely assuming a bear had attacked her.”

“Her?” She realized her mistake too late to change it now. Aubrey nodded once but didn't elaborate. If she had said 'it' instead of 'her' it was likely that her aunt would have disregarded the fact that someone from the town survived the experience and could tell the tale to any that would listen. As it was that one small error let The Lady know that Aubrey had taken interest enough to differentiate. “Continue.”

“I was badly injured during the fight, I had to end it. It was unfortunate but necessary for our coven's survival and I would do it again without thought or question.” The truth rang out in her words and she raised her chin defiantly. She'd done the right thing by saving Stacie and killing the revenant. There wasn't one moment that she would have changed from that night her aunt nodded slowly in agreement. “It was too close to sunrise and I was too injured to find safety so I...buried myself.”

It was hard to get the words out past gritted teeth but she managed to swallow down her anger over it. She knew Stacie had saved her life and was grateful but the shame of being a born vampire having to crawl from the dirt of a shallow grave...the insult!

The Lady tipped her head back and let an entirely too amused laugh bubble up. Aubrey lowered her head and glanced away more to conceal the hated in her eyes. Her aunt stood, clapping in delight as she circled her. It was hard to let the other woman cross behind her without looking but Aubrey stood her ground, unconcerned and more than a hair aloof.

Her aunt gave another quiet hum then flicked her hand idly at some imaginary dirt on Aubrey's shoulder. She only just kept her lip from curling in response but her aunt seemed not to notice the twitch of muscle as she fought to control her expression. The Lady turned her back and strutted back to her throne, settling into it regally.

“You have enemies here, Aubrey. A great many. I can protect you only for so long if you continue to fail.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The Lady watched her unblinkingly for several long minutes, each second ticking by slowly. Whatever her aunt was thinking she couldn't begin to fathom but she assumed it was nothing good. It never was.

“There is something different about you today. I doubt you even realize it yourself and if you did you surely wouldn't tell me.” That much was true enough but she wasn't going to openly agree. “Whatever you're hiding, I'll find out. The truth always comes to light Aubrey. Always.”

A shadow flickered behind her aunt's eyes and she turned away from Aubrey and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. Aubrey turned and started for the door stopping only when her aunt called out for her at the last second.

“Oh and Aubrey, be a dear...kill the girl.”

Every muscle in her body tightened as she stopped in the door way with her hand still on the knob. Her head turned slowly to eye the other woman still watching her every move. To argue would only send someone else in search of Stacie. Someone more than willing to kill, and even more willing to reveal Stacie's secret. No. That she could not allow, and though it disturbed her deeply she bowed her head in acceptance.

“Yes, Mistress.”

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lunaserenade · 3 years

Text

Entangled

Gif by @dornish-queen

Masterlist

Part Eleven of the Meet Me at Sunrise Series

Previous Chapter: Haunted

Next Chapter: Exposed

Author’s Note: Thank you to @icanbeyourjedi , @reddead-trash and @sugarontherims for tolerating me while I overthought everything I wrote for this chapter.

Beta reading dream team: @violentcosmicsymphony and @briefgalaxycat <3

Paring: Marcus Pike x FBI Agent!Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of blood.

Summary: The team rallies together after a traumatic incident.

“I have an officer down, I need paramedics immediately.” Your voice shook as you rattled off your address to the 911 operator. Snatching a blanket from the couch you reapplied pressure to Marcus' wound, the pain bringing him back to consciousness with a yelp. You gave him a weak smile “Marcus I need you to stay awake. Paramedics are on the way. I-... I'm sorry, I should have disarmed him, I thought I had and I-”

“Baby, I'm okay.” Marcus let out a whine as he tried to sit up and gingerly reached to touch the back of his head, a faint smear of blood from when Pearce slammed him onto the floor. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Says the man bleeding in our living room.” You let out a slightly hysteric laugh at his lack of concern to his own wellbeing. The seven minutes it took for the paramedics to arrive were easily the longest minutes of your life, and you clung to Marcus' hand as they went to work. Once he was loaded on the stretcher, and you had waved off the medics who were trying to tend to your cut cheek, you followed them downstairs and into the ambulance.

“See honey? I'm going to be fine.” Marcus gave you a weak smile. “It was only a light stabbing.”

“... I'm going to let that slide on account of the blood loss.” You gave his hand a squeeze and pressed your lips to his knuckles, the sound of the ambulance siren ringing in your ears as it raced toward the hospital.

-------

Standing in the ER waiting room you knew you must look like something out of a horror film: hair wild, a shallow cut across your cheekbone, and your hands still covered in Marcus' blood. You could feel yourself trembling as you awaited Regina and Maddox's arrival, they had been your first call after Marcus' father. You had promised to keep him updated but it did look like Marcus would be fine as he had insisted the entire ride to the hospital. You heard your name, turning to see Regina, her wife Amber, and Maddox at the Emergency Room entrance. Regina was at your side in an instant, it wasn't until she wrapped her arms around you that the true gravity of the evening hit you, your chest heaving with sobs. You barely registered Amber attempting to clean the blood off your hands with wet wipes from her purse as Regina whispered soft reassurances into your hair.

“Mads, go see about getting us back there to see Pike. Flash your badge if you have to.” Regina said to the younger agent as she surveyed your face, the cut across your cheek had finally stopped bleeding. “Hon, what happened?”

“Ioan Pearce. He was waiting in our apartment when we got home. He must have been following us this week... I should've known... This is my fault, I brought Marcus undercover with me. If it wasn't fo-” You felt yourself spiraling quickly.

“No. You need to stop. This is Laurent and Pearce's fault, no one else's. Tonight, we make sure Marcus is alright. Tomorrow we tie up these loose ends and get Pearce in cuffs.” Regina reassured you.

“Cuffs... body bag, same difference.” You muttered.

“And that's why you probably shouldn't be joining us.” Regina laughed as a nurse came out calling for the group of you, you could finally see Marcus.

“I'd love to see you try and stop me.” You said with a smile, although your words were deadly serious.

-----

Marcus was sitting up on the edge of the bed in the ER, freshly stitched up, and he looked instantly relieved when his eyes met yours. You immediately rushed into his arms, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you saw the bandage on his abdomen and buried your face in his shoulder.

“-‘s my fault. It’s my fault you’re hurt. I can’t live without you.” You whispered against his neck and felt him shake his head.

“Sweetheart, I’m alright. They’re even going to discharge me soon.” Marcus looked up, noticing the rest of the crew for the first time and gave them a smile. “Ten stitches, nothing vital hit, and a bump on the head. All I really need is a change of clothes and sleep.”

Needing to see for yourself you peaked at his torso, your fingers ghosting over the dressing covering his stitches. Marcus pressed a reassuring kiss to your forehead, his hands drifting to your waist.

“We’re glad you’re alright, boss. We’ll catch this psychopath.” Maddox said from beside Amber and Regina, handing Marcus a fresh shirt to change into.

“I reached out to the office, let them know what happened. They posted officers outside your apartment, I told them they’d have to wait until tomorrow for a full statement. Tonight, the two of you need to rest.” Regina said, squeezing her wife’s hand, relieved to see Marcus relatively unharmed.

“Gina, thank you. For everything.” Marcus said sincerely.

“We’re family, we always take care of our own.” She said with a fond smile.

-----

The search for Ioan Pearce was on, and undeterred by push back from the higher ups you and Marcus insisted on being involved. Pouring over CCTV footage and any new leads on Pearce’s whereabouts. It'd been a week since the break in and though he wasn't fully healed yet Marcus was relentless in his pursuit, but they were getting close. Maddox and Regina had been staking out a location that was a possible safe house for Pearce and his associates, they were sure he would surface any day now. You were camped out on Marcus' office couch with Regina, Maddox was dozing off at his desk but none of you had the heart to wake him. The effort he was putting in tailing Pearce's associates was admirable, and he seemed to have a natural knack for going unnoticed while trailing a suspect.

“I think he'll finally give in and end up at that safe house any time now. He's assuming we've lost any trace of him and he's starting to get cocky. He'll let his guard down and that's when we'll strike. I've got people watching the safe house twenty-four hours a day now, so I think we should all be prepared to move as soon as he's spotted.” Marcus said from his desk, giving a small stretch and wincing lightly as it tugged at his stitches.

“I agree, I think Pearce is getting impatient. That’ll be his downfall.” Regina said, buried in Ioan Pearce’s file trying to see if there was anything she missed that could finally end this.

“I'm just ready to put this bastard behind bars like Laurent.” You said with a small huff as a half-asleep Maddox poked his head into the office.

“My CI just called. Pearce should be going to the safe house in the morning.” Maddox said as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Fantastic! Then I want everyone to head home and get some rest. We take this guy in, come morning.” Marcus said with a smile.

As everyone packed up and headed out for the night Marcus wrapped his arm around your waist. You stood on your tip toes to press a few soft kisses to his jaw. Finally, this nightmare was almost over.

—-

The early morning sun was beginning to creep across the sky as you prepared for the raid on Ioan Pearce’s safe house. Considering how deeply personal this mission had gotten for you and Marcus you both agreed to take a back seat and cover the back door. Regina, Maddox, and a small team would breach the front door to apprehend Pearce; You and Marcus would cover the back door in case he tried to make a break for it.

“I won’t lie, I’m a little disappointed I won’t get to lay hands on this creep.” You gave Marcus a small smile as you adjusted your earpiece.

“As long as we finally get this guy in cuffs, I'm happy.” Marcus said as he adjusted the Velcro straps of your bulletproof vest.

“Breaching door in 10 – 9 – 8” Regina counted down over the earpiece as she prepared to break into the front of the house. You planted your feet and held your gun loosely in your hand, Marcus at your side as you covered the rear entrance. The shouts and sound of the front door breaking echoed loudly in the otherwise silent neighborhood. You could hear scuffles coming from inside the house when suddenly Maddox's voice came through your earpiece.

“He's heading for the back! He's running!” Maddox shouted.

Ioan Pearce burst through the back door and putting your full body weight behind your shoulder you slammed into him, knocking him off balance and to the ground roughly. In an instant Marcus had him flipped onto his front, handcuffing him while reading him his rights. Marcus looked up at you and smiled. It was done, this insane case was conclusively solved and everyone involved in custody. Maybe now the two of you could finally relax.

------

That evening after an early celebratory dinner and drinks with the rest of the team you walked hand in hand with Marcus down the path alongside the Reflecting Pool on the National Mall. The stress of the last few months with this case hanging over both your heads was settled and maybe the two of you could relax, if only for a little while. You would have never thought you would be where you were today when Marcus had finally asked you out nine months ago, in this very spot no less. He was particularly contemplative tonight, but it was a comfortable kind of silence. Just happy to be in each other's company as the pair of you strolled quietly, the purples and pinks of the sunset streaked across the sky behind the Washington Monument as you reached the end of the Reflecting Pool. Tugging Marcus close, you snaked your arms around him and tucked your head against his chest. Marcus smiled down at you and pressed his lips to your hair, but his nerves were starting to get the better of him.

“Mmm I can't wait to get home. We can curl up on the couch with a movie.” You pulled back to look up at him and smile. “Maybe have a glass of wine and an early night.” Giving him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle you captured his lips in a lingering kiss.

“That sounds like a perfect night in.” Marcus said and paused for a second. “Before we head home, there is something I need to ask you.”

“Of course honey, anything.” You replied with an adoring smile.

“I know we haven't been together for a long time, but I do know that my life is better with you in it. I love you and I can't see a future without you next to me.” Marcus took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, and dropped to one knee. “Sweetheart, mi corazón, will you marry me?” He gently took your left hand and held out a simple but beautiful cushion cut engagement ring with a thin platinum band. Your heart was pounding, eyes welling up as you grinned down at Marcus. It was never a question; your heart truly was his and had been from the moment the pair of you had sat here that early morning watching the sunrise.

“Oh Marcus, yes! I can't think of anything I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you.” Your hand trembled slightly from excitement as he slid the ring onto your finger. Marcus stood up quickly and kissed you deeply, holding you tight to his chest.

“I love you. I love you so much.” He said reverently between kisses, you could feel his smile against your lips. You had both been through so much recently and now? Now a new and amazing chapter of your lives was about to begin, and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

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