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the-darklings · 4 years

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—𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆;

—PART XIV. | WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 10.4k+

summary: A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark.

warnings: aside from pain? none.

notes: well this will either be the saddest or the happiest chapter of COA so far. Let's roll!

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 12 | 13 | . . | 15 |

“My mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry. It rhymes.”

Inhale.

“I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.”

Exhale.

The silver viper ring between your fingers rotates for the hundredth time.

For the first time in days your hands are not shaking.

A stillness has fallen over you; a hush that has wiped away all else. A part of you has missed this quiet, this dark. It has given you back a sense of ease. You can’t even feel the pain in your body anymore. There is just…nothing.

Crisp footsteps approach the spot where you are sitting and you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

Winston sits down beside you with deliberate slowness but there is a heaviness to it. Distantly, you wonder if anything like this has ever happened before. The man next to you is unmerciful in enforcing the rules in his hotel and city at large. Such a violation must be a first.

You sit in silence for several minutes, neither of you moving. Your elbows keep digging into your thighs but all you can focus on is the ring between your fingers. On the faint traces of blood still lingering beneath your nails and cracks of your skin.

The stillness between you is the loudest thing you have ever experienced. Matched in magnitude only by the initial few seconds following the gunshot—

“What happens now?”

Your question is so steady, so calm—it surprises you. You might as well be asking him about the weather.

The older man doesn’t answer right away even though you feel his attention turn to you.

“The High Table has been informed,” he tells you flatly, his hands clasped in front of him. “This will…echo.”

There’s just enough trepidation in the final word for you to know that a more accurate expression would be a “shitstorm”. You wait for something—anything—to hit you but nothing comes. Panic, fear, dread that have always followed any possibility of invoking the Table’s wrath is absent. Winston’s words barely register. Maybe you can go into hysterics later. Maybe not.

“Is there anything I can do—”

“You could come to Paris with me. You still owe me a trip, carissima.”

The ring in your hand rotates again.

Winston focuses on the movement but doesn’t comment. You’re not quite sure if he knows the significants of the ring in your hand, if he’s ever even guessed it. He has certainly seen it before. He knows you’ve had it for years.

The silence stretches for what seems like hours.

“Are you—”

“No.”

It’s an empty answer to an empty question. You’re very not alright right now.

Your fingers still, folding around the ring till the viper disappears, devoured by your hand. By the prison of darkness.

Your head finally turns to look at the older man and his expression draws tighter at whatever he finds on your face.

“Will you—”

“Yes,” he cuts you off before you can finish, nodding his head just once with a pointed stare. “Even if it wasn’t a part of my job—and it certainly is—yes, of course. You need not ask.”

It’s one of those few, serene moments where you feel immensely grateful for having him in your life. To a point you doubt there are any words that could aptly express it. Neither of you is prone to displays of sentimentality though so you choose to say nothing. Still, you think he can read it on your face. See it in the way you blink just a little too fast and swallow thickly with a grateful dip of your head.

Your fingers stiffen into a fist, and you feel the metal ridges of the ring cut into your flesh. It’s a dull, vague discomfort and you turn to stare at the too-clean floor for another beat before you rise smoothly, your joints clicking.

Nothing hurts and the fingers of your other hand flex. Experimental. Deliberate.

Your turn to go.

“Where are you going?”

You pause, but don’t look at him. “I have unfinished business.”

More hollow, calm words that drag from somewhere deep down. From the abyss.

But because Winston is Winston, he doesn’t drop it like most would. “I know what Johnathan did was—”

Inhaling sharply at that name, you begin walking away.

“V,” Winston calls out, and you hear him rise. “(Name).”

It halts your feet, that tone. The authority in it.

But you don’t stop because you fear Winston. You stop because you respect him enough to do so. Care for him enough to at least hear what he has to say if he’s so insistent on saying it.

“If you do this,” he begins, and there is such worn heaviness in his voice that it almost makes you falter. Almost. “You will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Don’t go down this path again.

He doesn’t have to add it verbally for you to hear the words in the space between you. Be it because he doesn’t want a bigger mess than this has already become or because he wants to shield Jo—

Or maybe he just cares about you in his own way.

He knows what revenge does to a person. He knows how slippery of a slope hate can be. He has seen what resentment has turned you into once.

That, you think coldly, was child’s play compared to now.

You look back at him over your shoulder. His face is still drawn, his eyes narrowed, but you know that if you choose this, he will not stand in your way.

A man who believes that everyone is a master of their own fate. That one has to learn how to live with the consequences of one’s actions.

You are the father I wish I had. You taught me well.

It’s what you want to say but don’t.

Instead, something far less kind leaves your mouth, “The only thing I regret right now is not letting him bleed out on that platform.”

With that, you turn to go, and he doesn’t try to stop you again.

Kimber Super Carry.

A custom semi-automatic model with a good sturdy handle and sleek edges, making aiming easy and reloading smooth due to lightweight casing. The seven-round magazine is the smallest capacity it’s manufactured to as far as you know but it’s undoubtedly a weapon crafted for death all the same.

A gun that was fired on Continental grounds.

A gun that—

Your feet halt in the debris of a dream.

John’s home is now rubble.

You haven’t seen it since the news about its destruction reached you and you drag your eyes over the ruined space. Once upon a time, you think it would have made you sad to see this. Now, you don’t feel much besides an inkling of satisfaction.

Consequences.

The echoes of them are everywhere you look as you move through the ash and the dirt. Your footsteps crunch underneath you, and the charred remains still stink of smoke even with the heavy deluge of rain falling down on it.

Your grip on the pistol doesn’t loosen as you step slowly through John’s home.

As if there’s anywhere else he would go to mourn, to wait for what he already knows he will not escape.

Like a ghost, you move across the graveyard of John’s dream. Your eyes linger on the half-burned photograph of him and Helen that still sits on the crumbling mantelpiece. Half of John’s face is burned away, leaving an echo of a smile and love and you stare at it for longer than intended, your jaw set.

You find him minutes later, sitting alone and hunched over on a blackened armchair.

He doesn’t move.

Even though you know he’s aware of your presence.

Rain trails down your face and you blink the tiny droplets out of your lashes as you step into the room unhurriedly.

The dog suddenly appears, dashing towards you from behind the seat and wags his tail happily at the sight of you. He nudges your hand with his nose and your fingers absentmindedly play with his ear, patting him a few times.

Your eyes don’t leave John’s prone figure once.

A dark spectre haunting the ruins of his own life.

Lips parted, he lifts his head towards you eventually, a thin bracelet tangled in between his bloodied fingers—the same hand you injured with your blade only hours ago. His face is bruised just like yours, and through the space between you, the roar of rain washes away the would-be silence.

He doesn’t say anything.

Your lips curve.

“No apology this time?”

John with his sorrowful, dark eyes who is always quick to plead for forgiveness. As if you have the power to absolve him of his many sins. You are not his absolution. He has shown that time and time again.

There is, perhaps, no one left on your side now.

John’s shoulders slant backwards with a deep breath, his voice a rasp, “Not when I did something I know there will be no forgiveness for.”

You stare at him.

He’s not wrong.

He doesn’t look at the gun but you’re both intimately aware of it. His hand had forged your own after all. Right now all you can think about is those long months of work you had to put in just to barely keep up with him—too slow, too erratic, too rigid. His grip on your wrist and the low, measured words of instruction, of guidance.

Viggo Tarasov never made you. He gave you the tool to make yourself.

John Wick never made you. He guided the creation with his careful, deadly hands and an unspoken promise that he will be by your side, always.

Santino D’Antonio never made you, either.

You did it all yourself.

“I spent the journey here thinking how I’m going to put a bullet in your head,” you inform him calmly, amiably. “How far we have come, Jardani.”

His sad, worn expression goes rigid at your gentle murmur of his real name. A name you have held sacred in your heart and hidden so meticulously underneath your tongue for years.

This is not anger, or rage, or hurt.

This is just…nothing. The final stage perhaps.

“He had me hunted,” John mutters in defeat, his voice thick with pain as he stares up at you. “I gave you time, (Name). What was I supposed to do?”

“Stop, Jardani,” you whisper sadly. “You could have stopped for me. Like he did.”

John’s expression creases and you watch as rain trickles down his nose and lips. His confusion is palpable. You take a single step towards him and the dog whines, sensing the shift in the air.

“I was taken after we split apart,” you reveal to him and make sure that every word sinks in, your words slow and deliberate. “That trouble you wanted to help me with initially, remember? The Black Dragon and the Lovers. You won’t know much about the latter because it was after you left. But you know how it goes. Bad blood from years ago come back to haunt me. I was taken but managed to break out with some help. I rushed to the gallery. I got there only minutes before you did. And then I asked him to stop. Call the contract off. Do you know what he said to me?” you wonder bitterly and don’t wait for his reply. “That he’ll do it. You were minutes away from freedom, Jardani, and now look at you.”

Doomed.

One way or another.

Now, there will be no ticket back. No peace.

You watch the realisation sink in. The quiet agony that follows right after.

“I—”

“I don’t care that you didn’t know,” you choke out, pained, watching the planes of his face crease at your wet words. “I just wanted you to listen. How much more? How much more can you take from me?”

You wait for his answer but this time he has nothing to say. Nothing, at least, that won’t be empty words designed to make you forgiving and docile.

“I walked through your home and figured it would be symbolic to finish it here,” you continue through the thundering of rain and the dog whines again, quieter this time. “But then I realised something. You want this. You want it to be by my hand. The moment you pulled that trigger you knew exactly what would follow. All that carnage. An attack on Continental grounds. A forfeited life debt that makes your life mine. You knew that I would never forgive you for almost taking the people I consider my family away.”

Drawing a breath, you lift the gun in your hand but don’t aim it at him. The gleaming, silver surface greets you and in it, you see a blurred reflection of your eyes. The shadow of emptiness there. The hollowed out person staring back at you reminds you of a girl from years ago.

“You did love me,” you go on after another moment, still staring at the gun. Your body is soaked from the rain by now but you ignore the heavy weight of your clothes clinging to your skin. “I think a part of you still does. But the sad truth is that you never loved me more than this. This dream of a normal life. You leaving was never about a choice between Helen and I. It was always a choice between being John or being Baba Yaga. You didn’t stop for me because you couldn’t. Because you don’t know how to stop. Not even for yourself. I bet you used to wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and feel just as empty as I do. Maybe you thought that by running from this life—from yourself—you could be happy. And I think you were for a while. But Tarasov was right to say that we’re cursed, the three of us. We don’t get happy endings.”

You lower the gun and take another few steps closer towards him, watching his expression as you feet creak on the damaged floor. He looks accepting of whatever you will say or do next.

“You said…almost.”

A brief, harsh smile contorts your face. “Yeah,” you acknowledge quietly, viciously, your grip on the gun creaking. “You failed. I made you fail. Santino lived. I don’t know…I don’t know for how long…or if he will ever—”

You can’t continue because it hurts too much.

Because you remember a haze of blood and Winston pulling you back. You sobbing that Santino is still warm, that he’s still breathing.

A bullet that had hit the side of his head, creating what had appeared like a river of gushing blood.

Missed shattering his skull by 2 millimetres. You saved him, (Name).

Winston’s hand on your shoulder, gripping, gripping, trying to tug you back and over the edge with his words.

“Critical care,” you spit out and press your lips together to stop yourself from cracking now. “They don’t—he might still not make it and even if he does…there is a high chance of permanent damage. It’s too early to say yet.”

John exhales, staring up at you in wonder. Maybe even relief. You don’t care enough to search deeper than that.

You simply don’t care. About any of this.

Taking another step towards him, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the ring that’s been with you for years. Your only reminder of him.

The man in question goes as still as death at the sight of it.

You can still remember his muted disappointment at the fact that you no longer wore it. He no doubt thought that you had gotten rid of it.

“I wonder what it says about me that I still have it,” you mutter with a bitter chuckle and droplets of rain cover the metal in moments. “I kept it with me for years. And when Santino asked me if the fact that I still have it means that I love you, I told him no. But that was a fucking lie. I convinced myself that I wanted to mend our relationship because of what happened to Marcus. So I would never have regrets but that was only half the truth. I just…missed you. A tiny part of me never stopped loving you. Despite everything,” you exhale weakly, pausing, and your expression hardens with your next words. “Until you pulled that trigger I would have still forgiven you. I still loved you. Even after all these years. Now…Now I don’t know what you are to me. Not anymore.”

John’s breathing has picked up, his chest moving up and down as he stares up at you. For once, his calm has fled and his dark eyes are desperate, wilder.

“(Name)—”

“You will never stop,” you state frankly, knowingly, your tone wooden. “You will destroy yourself, Jardani. This vengeance will consume you till the man Helen and I both loved is long gone. I don’t hate you. I pity you for that. I pity you.”

The ring in your hand stills. It hovers against your skin. This familiar warmth of metal you’ve clung to for years.

The rain falls harder, beating against your skin, a distant rumbling of thunder echoing in your bones.

The girl who had needed this blanket of safety and comfort is gone now.

You don’t need anchors to the past.

You just need Santino to live. You need Roberto to recover.

You just need yourself.

No one else.

Your hand tips to the side and gravity does the rest.

The ring sails through the rush of falling rain and drops at John’s feet and into the ruin surrounding you both soundlessly.

Like a stroke of the sharpest blade, it cleaves the past from the present.

“I will not kill you,” you tell him simply, but you’re not sure if John is listening. He’s staring at the ground, at the ring, and you can no longer see his face. “You will live and reap the consequences of your decisions. Maybe one day I can find a way to forgive you for this. I…I don’t know. But know that if you ever touch the people I love and care about again…” you give him a grim, empty smile. “You’re as good as dead to me.”

Silence.

You’re not quite sure how much time passes.

Eventually, the downpour eases up, a few minutes of tranquillity following that.

There’s a dull crack of someone stepping onto burned wood and your head slants to the side.

Charon stands still and silent in the ruined doorway of the living room. His face is solemn and like a messenger of death, he chills the space at least a few degrees.

Behind his glasses, his eyes glow with quiet, unspoken regret as he looks at John.

The High Table has been informed. This will…echo.

This, you know then, is about to go South in the worst way possible.

His stare is full of relief when it meets yours though, and you know that he was prepared to find a very different sight.

John dead. Or maybe you dead, or even both of you. Destroyed by the others’ hand.

Won’t that be ironic?

“Mr Wick,” Charon begins and John’s head rises slightly at the call, just barely. “You have been summoned, Sir.”

There is a breath of quiet and then Charon’s eyes transfer to you. Something about the look on his face makes you release a slow breath.

“As have you, Miss.”

The dog naps draped across you both, seemingly the only one enjoying the heavy hush hanging over the car.

John doesn’t speak. You don’t either.

Charon knows better than to even begin and untangle this mess of a situation. So he does what he’s always done, and that’s obey his orders without comment.

You stare out of the window, taking in the scenery of your city and wonder if you are still living in a world that has Santino in it. You have no way to contact anyone and his condition—

“You’re right,” John’s voice slices through your thoughts and you almost flinch, your fingers stilling against the dog’s ribs. “Everything you said back there. You were right. I love Helen but a part of me…a part of me never let you go either, (Name).”

You don’t reply.

He’s not expecting it either because he no doubt realises that his confession is ill-timed.

You imagine it’s less about forgiveness and more about…

You’re not sure what it’s about. Not anymore.

What’s done is done.

It will not change anything now.

Your fingers play with the chain around your neck as you continue staring out of the window.

The quiet stretches on and by the time the car crawls to a stop just outside of Bethesda Fountain, you know that Winston is waiting for you. The fountain is the man’s favourite spot at Central Park and both of you have taken walks here several times over the years. As have—

As have you and Santino.

Cockiness in his step and a sly smirk on his face.

You rip the door open, gasping for breath, and try to blink away the phantom of him beside you, offering the crook of his arm to you.

Walk with me, cara mia?

He’s not dead.

Yet, adds Kishi’s cold voice inside your head.

No, let him live. Let him live even if I—

“It has been a pleasure, Mr Wick,” Charon says politely, offering his hand to John as you round the car. The two men shake hands and you can see John’s hesitation, his attempt to read the situation. Charon stares at him for a beat before adding a quieter, “Goodbye.”

John’s head lowers in understanding and he moves in the direction Charon extends his arm towards, leaving you behind.

For a few moments, you stare at the man who has been a part of your life for years. Who has seen you at some of your best and worst.

“Miss Vipress.”

Charon’s voice sounds defeated, a touch sad, and behind his glasses, you see a glimmer of remorse.

“Take care of the old man for me, would you?” you request softly, taking a step closer when you notice John pause, realising you’re not following him. “The safe in my room. There are two letters inside. One for Winston and one for Santino—”

You work your jaw, trying to bite back your emotion and Charon’s neutral expression strains, too.

“The combination is 29091942.”

For the first time since you’ve met him all those years ago when you were nothing more than a young naive girl, lost and alone, you see Charon’s expression crack. Just slightly. Just enough.

He knows what those numbers mean.

Winston’s birthday.

“Would you—” your wet whisper breaks off and he nods his head promptly.

“Of course, Miss,” he tells you quietly and offers his hand to you, his eyes sad. “It has truly been an honour and a joy.”

You grasp it firmly, squeezing the gloved fingers before leaning forward and wrapping one arm around him too. Charon is rigid but doesn’t push you away.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his woollen coat, scratchy and comforting and him. He smells like the Continental. Like home and you soak in that scent one last time. “Take care of them for me. Please.”

“I will.”

You step back but he doesn’t let go of your hand, giving it another gentle squeeze before releasing your digits.

You both know this is goodbye.

There is no other reason as to why you would be summoned.

With one last look, you turn to go, straightening your spine into a rigid, unyielding line. Whatever it is, you will face it as always.

There she is, a sly voice hums in your ear. My sea on a stormy night, hm?

John is still waiting for you a respectful distance away, his eyes downcast, and you move past him without a word. The dog trails after you, his tail wagging and you hear John follow moments later.

Winston is waiting for you by the fountain, his head tilted towards the sky like his thoughts are miles away, and the muted glow of the setting sun paints him in a golden light.

You come to a stop before him as always and his eyes go to you first before John halts at your side, too.

Your stare is desperate, you know that, but something in your heart eases when Winston simply dips his head in a tiny nod of reassurance.

Still alive.

Oh, Santino.

You cling to that knowledge with every shred of your being.

The older man takes you and John in, all limbs attached, and his eyes flicker to you again. He doesn’t say anything but you can’t help but think that perhaps some minute part of him is proud. Maybe just a little bit. If you’re foolish enough to allow yourself such a pathetic thought.

“Johnathan. V.”

“Winston.”

John’s voice is weary, guarded. There is subtle tension coiling those limbs that tells you he’s expecting an open attack at any given moment. But if that were a case it would have happened by now. Something else is going on and Winston’s thoughtful hum as he stares at his old friend only confirms it.

“What am I looking at?” John asks eventually when Winston does nothing more than gaze at him blankly.

The older man bobs his leg up and down, still staring, but the look in those blue eyes is cutting. It surprises you a touch—the lack of pity you see there.

“Camorra has doubled Santino’s open contract. It’s gone international.”

14 million.

Your blood chills in your veins.

Gianna dead. Santino clinging onto threads of life.

It surprises you it’s not more. For Camorra, that kind of money is pocket change.

John exhales. “The High Table,” he assumes.

Winston hums again, nodding. He looks no less weary, then, and something tells you that the worst is yet to come.

“And the Continental?”

Your muscles lock. For one, sluggish second you see red. Almost go for him with your bare hands alone.

After what he did—

Winston’s head snaps up, and this time something old and merciless stares back at you both. “You shot a member of the High Table on company grounds, Jonathan,” he reminds him coldly, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards. “You leave me no choice but to declare you Excommunicado. The doors to any service or provider in connection with the Continental are now closed to you.”

No weapons. No medicine. No supplies.

Every helping hand cut off and your body effectively tossed to the very bowels of the pit that is the underground world ready to be devoured.

You’re not surprised that it takes John a few moments to digest something like that.

Your eyes lower and you smile.

A sad, accepting thing.

“I am so sorry,” Winston says with an exhale.

Your eyes lift and his stare is on you.

“Winston,” John growls under his breath. “She had nothing to do with this.”

The man before you blinks, sparing his old friend a brief look before he nods his head. “Oh, I am well aware of that. The High Table, however, does not see it that way.”

You look towards the lake, towards the sky, towards the trees.

“Santino lived because of (Name) interference,” John insists, his voice growing colder, harder. “She saved his life.”

Winston rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he strolls closer. His steps are forceful though, and there is just a trace, a glint, of anger there as he stares at John flatly.

“Do you believe that I do not know that, Johnathan? The fact that Santino lives is the only reason why, unlike with you, there is no bounty on her head. Yet.”

“But—”

“There are no buts about this,” Winston cuts in, his calm words laced with ice. “The security footage from the museum was retrieved. Can you guess what it showed? V saving your life time and time again. The High Table believes that she should have shot you in the head the first chance she got and been done with it. Her inaction with Tarasov and subsequent saving of your life when you came after Santino—one of their own—has been deemed treasonous.”

John is quiet after that; a rolling, barely contained storm.

You’re still staring at the trees, silent.

In the far distance, kids screech happily as they chase pigeons.

You wonder if any of them belong to the Bowery King.

Winston steps closer and you meet his stare calmly, expectant. “I told you this would happen, my dear. I did warn you,” he remarks unhappily but his words lack accusation. They’re just…sad. “You can’t expect to walk this line between both sides forever and come away unscathed every time.”

Luck runs out. Consequences follow.

His words from your last summoning right after Tarasov’s death.

You should have known that it’s only a matter of time before they came back to haunt you.

“Keep him safe.”

It’s the only request you can think of.

The only one that matters right now.

Because the list of people that would rather see Santino D’Antonio dead is a long one.

Winston’s mouth thins into a hard line but he dips his head in agreement, his gaze solemn, and the relief that follows that is immense. He will keep his promise. Even if he doesn’t like the Italian. You would trust no one else with it.

“I’m sorry but both of your lives are now forfeited.”

There is regret there. Genuine and plain to hear and see.

The older man looks like he rather be doing anything but standing here with you and delivering this news.

“Then why are we not dead?” John wonders carefully, his words low.

Winston’s head tilts, almost insulted, and that ruthless man you have come to respect and rely on and even love over the years stares at John like he has said something incredibly funny.

“Because I deemed it not to be,” he replies bluntly, his head turning to nod at someone behind John.

You hear a faint command of “now” and every person in the Bethesda Fountain Square simply stops.

They turn to face you as one, and your eyes track over the crowd, taking in all the faces surrounding you.

Winston’s eyebrows arch, amused, and you think that on any other day you might have been both amazed and terrified by such a casual display of power. Of influence.

Winston is the beating iron heart of New York City.

He nods once, and every person in your line of sight turns around and walks away.

Dozens of people. Gone.

Just like that.

The older man pulls back his sleeve, checking his watch before calmly informing you, “You have one hour. Couldn’t delay it any longer.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out an all too familiar object and offers it to John. “You might need this. Down the road.”

A Marker.

Your jaw clenches subtly.

Another trap for someone.

Those wise blue eyes move towards you, and you force back a scornful smile. “Let me guess? Locked down?”

Winston sighs and slants his head in agreement. “Yes, any and all of your arsenal located at the Continental is hereby locked down and no longer accessible to you,” he informs you coolly. “They have forbidden anyone from so much as touching it. Everything is now under the Table’s jurisdiction.”

Your lips pull back but it’s not a smile. “Good luck to them,” you mutter tightly. “They will never get their hands on my work.”

You had made sure of it.

His lips twitch slightly, a gleam in his eyes. “But of course not,” he agrees easily, knowingly. “However, this was in my personal possession and as such I see no reason as to why the Table’s restriction rule should apply to it.”

A tiny box rests in his palm, even smaller than the Marker he offered John moments prior.

You know that dark gleaming surface well.

Your breath hitches, your wide-eyed stare flying up to his. “Is that…”

“Mhm.”

He offers it to you and you reach for it, having to draw a few deep breaths to keep your voice steady. “Thank you, Winston.”

A possible lifeline down the road. And a personal risk if anyone ever finds out he gave it to you.

His weathered, warm fingers linger against yours for a beat. “You know what you have to do,” he tells you pointedly, sternly.

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Yes, you do know.

You’ve always known.

Fight, Winston’s expression tells you and you straighten, your fingers clenching around the tiny box. Make me proud.

I will.

His mouth twitches again.

“I do.”

Here at the most critical time in your life—and even with the lingering, awful dread churning in your gut about Santino—you feel calm.

You feel the calmest you’ve ever been.

Santino will live and I will succeed.

You repeat it in your head. Over and over. In the beat with your usual counting.

Those words will be forged into reality and you don’t care who you have to go through to make it happen.

The significance of your exchange with Winston might have escaped John, but that doesn’t stop his next, icy words. “Winston, tell them, tell them all,” he starts and for the first time since his house, your look towards him. It isn’t John speaking, not right now. “Whoever comes, whoever it is, we’ll kill them all.”

We.

Before you can interject, Winston speaks with a faint smile, his previous coldness easing a touch. “Of course you will.”

For several moments, you all stand unmoving but you know you can’t delay any longer.

“Johnathan.”

“Winston.”

The man glances at you, a furrow between his brows accenting the deep lines of his face. “It’s a goodbye, my dear.”

You don’t so much as blink. “For now,” you note coolly.

“Coffee and brandy are 7pm sharp every night,” he remarks casually, seemingly pleased at the steel in your voice, and his hands slip into his coat pockets. “I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

You read his words for what they are.

I’ll be waiting for you back home.

Nodding your head once, you turn to go. You don’t look back, either. It would hurt too much. There is always a chance—

No, no chances. Not this time.

With every step, you repeat your new mantra in your head. Form a new plan.

Continental first. Not for weapons. But because you need—

“(Name).”

“Make it quick, John.”

His fingers brush over your hand and you pull back, halting on top of the stairs. He stands a few steps below and dog joins you at the top.

“We should stick together,” he tells you urgently, his voice soft, cautious. “If there are people out there who are after you then they will use this opportunity.”

“Let them.”

Let Lucien come. He wanted you over the edge.

Right now, you feel ready to rip his spine out with your bare hands.

Lucien. The pale-haired monster who robbed you of the precious hours that could have averted this entire mess in the first place.

He might not have pulled the trigger but he took from you the only chance of fixing this peacefully.

His name has joined the list of those who will be dead soon enough.

He wanted a dance. You will give him a hurricane.

“In an hour we’ll be hunted by at least half of this city.”

Your eyes sweep over the park before they drag back to him and your brief smile is cold. “No, John,” you disagree mildly and watch him blink. “What will happen is that you will be hunted by 90% of them because they’re money hungry and 14 million is a pretty price to pay for someone’s head. People will come for me, too, but they will be so eager to get to you first that I will be long gone from this city by then. Buy me at least an hour, would you?”

You turn to go but he grips your wrist and you tense, rotating your body back in his direction.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“(Name), please.”

Your eyes narrow and you tug your wrist back. “I don’t owe you anything, John. Good luck. And I mean that, but you’re on your own.”

It’s started raining again.

The harsh, cold liquid slides down your arms and clothes as you dash up the staircase of the Continental.

The doorman pauses when he sees you, inclining his head in polite greeting. You only spare him a brief smile before dashing inside. Ignoring the wet squelch of your shoes against the gleaming floor, you go straight for the elevator, not needing to look towards the reception to know that Charon is not back yet.

Your eyes track over the people in the lobby, watching for any threats. Even with 35min still on the clock, you’re not about to take chances.

Wiping the water from your face, your partially numb fingers press on the floor one level below the basement. The basement floor only Charon and Winston have access to. The vaults. But you know better than to tempt fate. You’re not here for your solutions or poison.

The door pings open and you pull the door to the side, pushing ahead as quickly as possible.

Continental’s medical floor is eerily still. Most visitors receive care in their own rooms. This floor is for emergencies only. For worst of the worst.

Hurrying along the hall, you stumble to stop at the sight of a lithe frame of a woman sitting alone on a bench ahead. Her tattooed fingers rest on her other heavily bandaged hand and you exhale slowly, approaching cautiously.

Ares looks up, her expression pinched. She doesn’t look surprised to see you.

The clinical, dim light makes her face look more gaunt and the usually fierce glow in her blue eyes is dimmed too.

She rises slowly and you can see the difficulty in the action.

Your paralyser, as always, has done its job well.

“Ares—”

It’s slow and clumsy and you see it coming but don’t try to dodge.

Her punch connects with your lower jaw and your head snaps to the side, the impact rattling your teeth.

You steady yourself with a wince, your fingers rising to nurse your tender skin and meet her raging eyes with a single, understanding nod.

“Yeah, I deserved that,” you mutter tiredly, wiping at your still damp skin. Your eyes lower for a second with a shaky swallow. “Can I see him?”

It’s a faint question, brimming with uncertainty.

For several minutes she only glowers at you, unmoving.

You’re about to plead with her that you have to see him but her hands lift before you can open your mouth again.

Alive. For now, she signs and her movements are more sluggish than usual. But no one is allowed to see him. Still in operation.

Swallowing, you glance towards the floor.

Few droplets of water have fallen to the floor from your dripping clothes.

“And the blood?”

They had enough.

The puncture wound in the crook of your arm twinges at those words.

An emergency transfusion had been a priority after the doctors just barely managed to stop the bleeding.

Noting the still furious twist of her features, you let your eyes flutter shut in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe quietly. “But what was I suppose to do?”

Ares doesn’t hesitate.

Shoot him in the face.

Your jaw clenches and you shake your head. “You know I couldn’t do that.”

And my friend and boss might die because you could not, is her angry reply and your throat closes up. I thought you cared about him more than that.

“I do care for him. I—” you shoot back immediately but your words twist around your tongue, halting you. “You have no idea just how much I care about him,” you add quietly, your voice thin, and something about the hard set of her features eases a smidge at that.

“I guess the punishment fits the crime,” you continue with a sardonic twist of your lips. Your eyes meet hers and the confusion you see on her face, in turn, confuses you. “I’m being made Excommunicado, Ares. I have 35 minutes before it goes live,” you explain slowly, your voice pinching with pain.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly.

The morose curve of your lips stretches. She knows full well what this means.

That’s why you move closer towards her even as your jaw still aches from her earlier punch. Reaching deep behind the layers of your clothing, you pull out an ordinary looking flip phone, holding it out to her.

“So please. I know you’re angry at me. I know, but—” you plead for her and tighten your grip on the burner phone. “I need to know. Whatever happens to him I—please, Ares. Please.”

After everything that’s just happened, she doesn’t have to do anything you’ve asked of her. She doesn’t owe you anything.

But her hand grasps yours, tightening her thin but worn fingers around your own. Your shoulders sag in relief as she pulls the phone from your hand and slips it into her pocket with a single, reluctant nod.

She still looks angry but—

“Thank you,” you whisper with a wobbly smile and focus on her bandaged hand. “Your hand?”

Roberto, you know, is recovering already.

She doesn’t get to answer though.

Because before she can do so, a door opens from behind you, and a group of purposeful footsteps approaches.

At least four pairs.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

Your expression slackens.

Ares doesn’t react fast enough.

Hector reacts just fast enough.

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline or that humming dark or desperation or just anger and poor timing on his part, but you slam the man twice your size against the wall with a strength that causes a bang to rip through the empty hallway.

“Where were you?” you snarl, furious and low, your blade against the curve of his throat as you other tangles in his silky, dark suit. “Where the fuck were you?”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Hector warns softly, his mouth twitching into a sneer, but something glints in those icy eyes for a brief second. Surprise. “I’ll give you one free pass given the circumstances but there won’t be a second.”

Bodies surround you, but you ignore them, still glaring at the man before you.

“V, stop!”

“Oh, let her beat his ass, Julian,” another familiar voice drawls, unconcerned, his voice full of amusement. “I’ve been waiting for a rematch for years.”

A frustrated sigh. “Shut up, Step, you’re not helping.”

Another tall figure comes to a stop beside you—one that towers even over Hector but neither of you looks away from the other. “Let’s cool it, everyone,” that deep rumble of a voice tries to ease the tension. Dario. If Julian fails to mediate, then the burden falls onto him. Some things truly never change. “Come now, bella. Ease it up. V.”

You ignore Ares. You ignore the other members of the Four who are watching you and Hector with clear worry.

“Where were you?” you wonder with a quiet exhale, your fury palpable.

Hector scowls at you and leans into your blade. The metal kisses those mighty wings but there is no fear in his eyes and your expression warps with rage. “Did you hit your head?” he mocks, annoyed. His grip on your hands constricts, his rings scoring your skin. “I was covering your slow ass and taking on a small army so you could get to Santino quicker but oopsie, am I right?”

You drop your hands away from him with disgust, breathing heavily and Hector rolls his eyes, fixing the cuffs of his suit with a bored expression.

“You failed him,” you whisper, choked, your voice soft with vicious sort of accusation. “You failed Camorra.”

The lowest insult you can offer him. His loyalty to Camorra is absolute. He may not follow the individual but this harms the entire family.

It goes so quiet at your words that you could hear a pin drop. Even Step’s not so subtle snickering ceases. Like they can all appreciate that this situation may take a turn for worse very quickly.

The last time you two fought, there was blood spilt.

This time, you imagine it might come down to more than just blood.

Hector straightens, his sharp features stony. “I know.”

But it’s not enough.

And you can’t stop the avalanche now that it’s been unleashed.

“He needed you to be there for him and where were you?” you continue on, spitting out every word out like a curse, an anathema. “You should have been faster getting to the gallery. You should have been better.”

Hector peers at you, unblinking.

“Are we still talking about me?”

You leap at him but this time he’s ready for you and catches you in his grip, his back hitting the wall again, quieter this time.

Julian and Dario are there at once, their hands trying to drive you apart but a cool, calm command freezes you all.

“Enough.”

Charon.

Others look towards the man at the other end of the hallway but you and Hector are unmoving, still glaring at each other. You’re practically shaking with fury.

He’s right.

Your words were directed more at yourself than they were ever directed at him.

And yet.

“This doesn’t concern you, butler,” Hector calls out coolly, his quicksilver stare drilling into you and his grip on you doesn’t loosen. Smart man. “This is a Camorra matter.”

“Miss Vipress is not, however, Camorra.”

The unspoken Get your hands off her is clear to anyone with any semblance of common sense.

Hector relaxes against the wall, his head tilting as he waits.

“If you’re done with your hissy fit, sweetheart,” he speaks gruffly after another tense few seconds and clicks his tongue. “We need to talk. In private.”

All eyes are on you.

Hector only blinks, bored.

You release your grip abruptly, your fingers flexing, and Ares practically materialises by your side while Dario partially places himself between you and the Camorra Devil.

Your eyes slide towards Charon who stands with his hands clasped behind him. He’s still clad in his coat and scarf from earlier, indicating that he’s just returned. Winston is nowhere to be seen. You incline your head in a silent thanks and cut a brief look at the Camorra Elite.

All four are rigged out in their typical dark suits. The deep burgundy you have also seen them wear is for Camorra’s special occasions only. Like births, deaths and coronations.

You suddenly recall that Julian and Dario never wore the typical Camorra wine red on Gianna’s coronation and your curiosity peaks. Except, of course, you have no time for a catch up with them now. No matter how welcomed the distraction would be.

“Fine,” you mutter, your muscles still taut. “Hurry it up.”

Hector brushes past Dario and the Four part for him, following his lead effortlessly. They move like a well-oiled machine. Dario shares a brief look with Julian, and the shorter man looks like he’s forcing back a sigh, his dark moustache twitching.

Hector wrenches the first door in the hallway open, slanting his head in your direction impatiently.

Ares, Dario and Julian walk in first; all of them varying degrees of uneasy.

Step moves to follow, too, but Hector raises his hand, stopping him halfway.

“Not you.”

Step with his thin, wiry frame and pale face looks like a kid picking a fight with a bull. Even though he’s the youngest from the guard, that makes him no less dangerous. You can’t quite see his eyes behind those customary round sunglasses he usually wears everywhere but you can see the irritated strain on his face.

“You’re joking.”

His voice is low and stark with bitter disbelief but Hector doesn’t so much as twitch.

“No,” Hector deadpans without missing a beat. “Guard the hallway. We don’t need ears.”

For a second, those pale eyes jump over your shoulder where Charon no doubt lingers.

“Fine,” Step forces out, forcefully cheerful and his head tips in your direction, his grin bright. His tattoos stretch across his neck and he wiggles his fingers at you, his own Camorra rings gleaming in the artificial light. “Would thy fair lady like anything from the vending machine? My treat.”

Your eyes go to Hector for a second.

“Skittles.”

Step grins even wider, if possible. “Only if you let me eat the yellow ones.”

You almost smile, then. If all this wasn’t going on, if Santino wasn’t clinging to life and you weren’t about to become one of the most wanted individuals in the world, you might have.

“Sure,” you agree before adding a deliberate, “I reckon I owe you after the last time.”

Hector’s eyes narrow at that, becoming two slits, and Step’s strained grin transforms into something slyer, more biting.

He always enjoys having something over Hector’s head.

He pushes the glasses up his nose and gives you a staged nod. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he gives Hector another stare before wandering off without a backwards glance.

The leader of the Elite’s gestures for you to get into the room and you push past him.

Julian is signing something to Ares when you enter, and Dario stands beside them, his hands burrowed deep into his suit pockets. His long hair is pulled back into a high bun as always and loose strands brush against his beard when he turns towards you.

Beneath their pitch-black jackets, you can just make out the gleam of their weapons.

They’re armed to the teeth.

Good.

The other two turn to you when you enter the room and you try for a smile, no matter how forced.

“It’s good to see you both,” you tell them and mean it and both men smile, too. Your attention swings back to Hector, however, just as the Devil closes the door behind him, sealing you all inside. “But whatever it is that you want from me make it quick.”

A subtle threat.

The man doesn’t outwardly react, simply lifting his arm.

“Catch.”

Your hand snaps out, your actions instinct alone, and grab the tiny object that sails through the air towards you.

It’s small and cool to the touch.

Your fingers loosen from a fist, blinking in confusion and something in your gut hardens at the realisation of what exactly you’re looking at.

“They—” your voice cracks and you pause, forcing calm back into your demeanour as you turn your attention to Hector who only stares at you emotionless. “They will not follow me. I’m an outsider. Half of them don’t even like me.”

The ring of Camorra sits in your outstretched palm.

The ring only the Head of Camorra is permitted to wear.

Or, in this case, the Acting Boss appointed prior.

Your stomach churns.

You have seen this ring on Giovanni’s hand many times. The golden metal that gleams like new even though you know it’s been in the D’Antonio family for generations. The blood-red ruby the size of your thumb nail glimmers in the light and you stare at it in disbelief. You can’t even begin to imagine this ring’s worth.

“You’re right,” Hector retorts blankly, unfeeling, and crosses his arms over his chest. A ripple of his muscles teases the deadly strength there. In dimmer light, his pale eyes seem to almost glow with wry mirth as he addresses you. “Frankly, they rather shoot you dead than follow you. But there are still those who value what that ring represents. That believe the order and the command that comes with it. Those who answer to that ring will obey. Princeling at least had enough foresight to prepare for the worst case scenario. Little Saint has made you his heir, sweetheart. And until he either dies or revokes the title himself, it’s binding.”

Binding because it came from Hector himself and no one would ever question his loyalty or integrity towards Camorra.

Santino has outmanoeuvred everyone by giving away his symbol of power. The very ring he’s been desperate to wear since he was a little boy.

A safety net in case he dies.

The realisation makes your heart hurt.

The families of Camorra will not obey you because, to them, you are nothing. You have not been sworn in, do not answer to their laws and their authority. But they cannot harm you either. And anyone who does, Camorra or not, risk invoking the wrath of the entire family if they do.

But above all that—

Those who answer to that ring will obey.

Your head turns towards the other two Elites’ and Ares. They’re already looking at you and not one of them looks surprised by this turn of events. Either they already knew beforehand or know Santino well enough to not put a gamble like that past him.

Almost in sync, the three of them bow their heads.

A show of respect. An unspoken promise that what you command, they will do.

A shuddering breath rushes out of your lungs that has nothing to do with your damp hair or clothes.

Clenching your jaw, your eyes drag towards Hector who hasn’t moved from his spot by the door.

He doesn’t budge, his arms still crossed over his chest, stretching the seams of his suit.

The Devil of Camorra does not bow his head to you.

He bows to no one.

The only man he’s ever respected enough for such a gesture is rotting six feet under the dirt and his ring is now in your hands. You don’t think there will ever be another individual alive that Hector will ever respect enough to bow his head to them. Oh, if only Giovanni had known years ago that one day you will be bestowed the most valuable heirloom in his family’s possession.

You imagine he would have killed you on the spot.

He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’

Gianna’s words echo at the back of your mind, and a part of you wonders if perhaps Giovanni always did know. If perhaps he always suspected that due to whatever circumstances you might reach this moment in time one day.

You think about your brief conversation on that snowy balcony at Prague and know that you’re right.

“Stay here,” you tell the trio on the other side of the room. Your words sound far away, distant, but strong too. Focused. “No one who isn’t us or the doctor comes near him, understood?”

Your stare drifts to the far off wall in a daze, and you know that somewhere in this building, Santino is out there fighting.

As will you.

Nodding your head at them, you turn to go.

Hector’s arms loosen across his chest and he steps after you when you move in the direction of the door.

You halt at once, your head snapping to face him.

“What are you doing?”

A slow, lazy roll of his eyes as he fishes for a cigarette.

“Coming with you. Were you not listening? I go where that ring goes,” he informs you dully, and lights a cigarette with expert ease. He takes a deep drag, savouring it, and frowns at you, the deep curve of his eyebrows pinching together. “Drop the fucking scowl, sweetheart. I know you think that just because you’re in New York and your connections here run deep, you’re untouchable or some shit but you’re wrong.”

Smoke rolls from between his lips as he talks and your scowl only deepens. In return, he looks amused at best. “In twenty minutes half the scum of this city will come for you just to prove a point,” he reminds you, tapping the glass of his expensive watch, and the bird tattoo on the back of his hand flutters like your slipping time. “Don’t let your over-inflated sense of self-importance cloud your common sense.”

Your turn towards him fully, your chin tilting.

“You will stay here,” you tell him calmly, ignoring the way his eyes narrow and every strong muscle in his body quivers as if in anticipation. “And you will guard him with your life.”

You think you hear Julian curse under this breath. Dario takes a step towards you both.

“Are you ordering me?”

A dark, silky snarl of a question.

Your expression is as rigid as your body. Your fingers around the Camorra ring tighten. “I’m asking you. And I only do that once out of respect.”

A glint of something in his eyes that’s gone too quickly for you to examine.

He retreats and it feels like missing disaster by a breath.

The cigarette returns to his mouth and he grins around it. It’s a callous, mocking thing.

��Fine. Enjoy being hunted, sweetheart.”

You stare at him for a beat, too aware of your time constraint.

Camorra ring rolls in your damp palm again. Grasping it, you drag the heavy metal onto the middle finger of your left hand. Your fist clenches, the skin under your knuckles straining. The ring glimmers in the light, filling your veins with…purpose.

I will see you again, Santino.

Inclining your head in an equally disdainful manner, you only offer the man before you an aloof, “Blood for blood.”

Camorra’s words.

D’Antonio family words.

This time Hector’s version of a smile reveals teeth, almost pleased.

“Blood for blood.”

Streets blur around you.

Stumbling through the rain and the puddles drowning the New York streets, you count every breath you take, focusing on both not exerting too much energy but also your surroundings.

Everyone is an enemy.

In 7 minutes that will become a painful reality.

No one has tried anything yet. But you have seen and felt far too many eyes on you already. Many are no doubt weighing the risks. There is no reward for killing you, and most know the danger that shadows your every step.

You don’t need to touch them to kill them.

Ducking into a narrow alleyway, you slam your body weight against the sturdy metal door. Your fists follow, slamming against the door over and over again.

“Doc! Let me in! It’s me!” you shout over the pour of rain and slam your fist against the metal a few more times. “Doc!”

The door swings open suddenly and you brace yourself against the door frame.

Doc’s frantic stare meets yours and all he forces out is a shaky, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Bowing your head in respect, you push past him. “Yeah, I know,” you mutter under your breath, working on steadying your breathing. “I just need a few things. I still have time so—”

Your words die on your tongue and you halt, your eyes narrowing.

John sits on the patient chair, his white shirt undone and a lamp shining over his bloodied shoulder.

Fresh blood.

He grips a gun in his hand but doesn’t raise it in your direction.

You hate the fact that he looks relieved—happy, even—to see you.

Blinking, you swipe your forearm over your face and move towards the shelves. Doc rushes back towards John and you glance at the clock on the wall.

4 minutes.

“What happened?” you question coldly and start opening different drawers and pulling ingredients apart.

“Ernest.”

“Funny guy but always lacked common sense,” you drone without looking at him and rip another drawer open, rummaging through the content inside. “Did you know that he tried to ask me out on a date once?”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

3 minutes.

Grabbing a familiar-looking vial, you give it a shake, lifting it to the light before you unscrew the top and drown the liquid inside.

The taste is bitter and numbs your tongue a little. You allow your face to scrunch up in disgust and shake your head harshly.

“I’m going to pay you back, Doc,” you wheeze, continuing your frantic search.

The older man huffs and you hear the fatigue there. “Just try and not make a mess.”

A few beats of quiet follow aside from your hurried rooting around Doc’s supply closet.

“Where is it, Doc?”

“Indonesian Green Erla—”

“I’ve found the plant,” you cut him off, glancing at the clock on the wall again. “Where is it?”

2 minutes.

Doc works with nimble, experienced fingers but he’s meticulous and his focus remains on John’s wound. The man in question looks bewildered by your exchange but doesn’t interject.

“Doc—”

“You gave it to me because you told me that you were afraid of what it can do—”

“Where is it?”

You have never dared to take that tone with him. Because you like him and respect him too much. But your frayed temper strains and the coldness in your voice stills both Doc and John.

“Doc, I need it.”

The clock keeps ticking.

Your head snaps towards the wall for the hundredth time.

1 minute.

“Floorboards. Under the table by the wall.”

You rush towards it, pushing the table aside roughly, and ignore the clatter of glass as vials and medical supplies fall.

Slipping free a blade, you wedge it between floorboards, trying to rip it open.

John is urging the Doc to hurry but you focus only on your task.

“Five.”

John counts and your breathing kicks up a notch.

The wood creaks, finally coming loose and you rip it away, dropping it unceremoniously beside you.

“Four.”

You pull different boxes and packages apart. You know what you’re looking for.

“Three.”

Your eyes snag onto a tiny box and you grab it. It’s a twin—the same dark, smooth material that fits into your palm—to another tiny box already sitting in your pocket courtesy of Winston.

“Two.”

Your two deadliest creations. One created out of hate and malice and another out of hope for a better future.

One finished. One incomplete.

“One.”

Your gaze snaps to John’s just as the clock above head strikes 6pm.

Time’s up.

. . .

an: And so everyones’ favourite Italian lives. For now. :) also the man really said “fuck tradition, I do what I want” and we love to see it!!!

Fun fact, I was planning to do Chicago (finally) right after C13 but since Chicago will be a 2 parter, I imagined that waiting for six weeks to know if Santino lives might not have been that much fun for you lot lol.

Also a few people really worried about Team John after C13 and were like “Team J is ded” and actually as you can see from the events of this chapter the exact opposite is true. Now, you may be reading this and be like “how is this positive for them?” but this had to happen. V needed to realise that she still clung to John and loved him but it wasn’t the right kind of love. A love for a man gone, a spectre, a dream. Her dropping the ring represents her letting go of the past and starting completely fresh. Their mend after Marcus was just a prelude oppose to actual break. This is the break. All these years, V has blamed herself for John leaving by assuming that she wasn’t good enough or that John loved Helen more. Neither is true. The choice was always between who John was and who he wanted to be. He loved both V and Helen the same and it really could have gone either way. Now, at this juncture, they can start again on the same page. Now, this is not to say he’s magically forgiven for all the shit he did. He isn’t. A lot still hinges on Santino and how he will get on in the upcoming chapters. But a lot of you were like “um kat wtf?” and I hope this chapter proves that I do things for a reason and that this build up has been coming for a while now.

There’s been a lot of things set up that are yet to be revealed.

As always, all my love to all of you for your support and encouraging comments <33 and love for my dumb OCs, too! Love you guys and hope you’re all staying safe!

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fic #john wick fanfic #riccardo scamarcio #keanu reeves #fanfic #fic: children of ares

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chaptersofnow · 4 years

Photo

the royal kiddos of Chrysalis, Cadance and Shining armor

Flurry Heart, Skyla, Instar Pale and Crimson Sweet

Bios under the cut

Name: Flurry Heart Nickname(s): Age: 26 Pronouns: She/her, They/Them Identity: Nonbinary Lesbian crush/relationship: Dating Pumpkin Cake Parents: Cadance, Shining Armor, Chrysalis Sibling: Skyla, Crimson Sweet, Instar Pale Special Talent: Magical blacksmith, Love magic Occupation: Princess Location: Crystal Kingdom Likes: Heavy metal, wrist bands, doing make up, teddy bears Dislikes: annoying men, people who think she isnt working hard as a princess Bio: Flurry Heart, oldest child to Shining armor and Cadance and heir to the crystal empire. she was an absolute sweet heart, curly pigtails absolutely beloved by the kingdom. However when she entered her teen years she went into a hard goth phase and never got out of it. a real 180 on her personality. none the less she still works hard to work on her hobbies often, keeping up with her princess duties and making her family proud. At the end of the day she happily cuddles up with her girlfriend Pumpkin as they show each other funny pictures on their phones and watch stupid movies until they pass out. Growing up Flurry heart and Cozy Glow were good friends,when Cozy Glow had to come along with Celestia and Luna for trips to the empire for Flurry heart to cantorlot the two got to spend time together. it took a bit of warming up as Cozy glow was a few years older than the royal princes, but when the two started hanging out they were best friends. Cozy glow would often sneak her to cool places, steal snacks from the royal kitchen and so on. Cozy also was the one who introduce her to heavy metal saying quote "I don't know if you'll like this you seem like the type to like classy music like the nutcracker of sumthin'" the next visit Flurry heart had dyed her whole mane black and had on the messiest smudgiest make up. it was a real kicker to watch this 15 year old walk is like she was hot shit. Cozy glow gave her more CD, taught her to style her hair, put on makeup and the whole thing. When they got older Flurry returned favor by custom making Cozy Glow her armor when she was officially made a guard of cantorlot. Flurry heart tries to not let the comments of the citizens and visiting dignitaries get to her, and it helps to have her parents supporting her . She met her girlfriend Pumpkin Cake when the mare began to take on Sugarcube corner deliveries herself, like Flurry heart recalls knowing her when they were real little, and seeing her at gatherings where pinkie brings the cake twins to come have fun. but they never really got to talk. but with the constant deliveries and Flurry Hearts development for a sweet tooth Pumpkin cake was around often. at some point the two started dating and Pumpkin moved to the Crystal empire and lives with flurry heart. Pumpkin works in the royal kitchen and Flurry heart is a black smith specializing is creating magic infused armor.

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Name: Skyla Nickname(s): Age: 24 Pronouns: She/her Identity: Agender Bi pony crush/relationship: Parents: Cadance, Shining Armor, Chrysalis Sibling: Flurry Heart, Crimson Sweet, Instar Pale Special Talent: Love Magic Occupation: Princess Location: Crystal Kingdom Likes: keeping on schedual, looking good, being looked up to, tradition Dislikes: not receiving recognition for her work, physical labor Bio: Second born to the empire, Skyla is defiantly the most cookie cutter princess of the four crystal heirs. She takes after her mother but is a lot of uptight in keeping tradition, making sure everything is set to be on scheduled and so forth. she may have picked this up from her aunt twilight more or less. while her family around her tries to keep her grounded and calm she can't help but get in a big tilly over not having control over things. its gone from not being able to control her pretend play dates as a filly to making sure the daily happening don't get off course. Her older sister Flurry Heart, while working hard and still making sure to get her work done, is a lot more laze in things and is ok with letting things slide if they don't go according to plan. Which tends to lead Skyla to try and follow after her and fix these things even if they don't need to be fixed. Skyla puts on a nice happy face for the people but all her siblings know she holds quite the temper when no one is looking, especially when Flurry tries to tell her to calm down. Flurry was originally the one being trained to take over Cadance's spot as queen of the empire one day, training in the use of her magic. However when Flurry found her true calling as a black smith the honor was passed down to Skyla who has happily worked hard to catch up. Skyla see's herself as bearing a torch for the future of the empire and that she has to be perfect and so must everything else around her. Fearing things to be able to fall apart at any moment. after the big war against darkness Skyla had begun to realize for a few years, realizing no great danger would ruining the kingdom. But after the Queen Erroria incident where her and her family had been captured she has brought back up her walls and has become more uptight then before.

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Name: Crimson Sweet Nickname(s): Stripes Age: 11 Pronouns: They/Them Identity: Nonbinary Girl crush/relationship: Parents: Cadance, Shining Armor, Chrysalis Sibling: Flurry Heart, Skyla, Instar Pale Special Talent: helping people make friends Occupation: Princess, student Location: Crystal Kingdom Likes: friends, beetles, small notebooks, the beach Dislikes: Mirrors, thunder, rotten food Bio: Oldest of the two kids born after the marriage of Chrysalis to the crystal family. a marriage made out of many years of apologies, forgiveness and new found friendship. After Chrysalis accepted the friendship of twilight and equestria she spent many years making up for what she did, so her people and everyone else. She was blinded by anger and sadness, when she ruled she truly believed the only way to feed her people was to take their love, and when shown a new way she felt foolish for never realizing and having let her people starve that she denied the change at all. After the Hive came to accept her as their own again she led beside Thorax and his council. Thorax had always been too young to rule all by himself so with a queen with years of experience around to help him things in the Hive improved in new ways. now with her relationship with the Hive repaired Chrysalis slowly made progress to apologize for what she did to Candace and Shining armor. it took awhile to move past the day she invaded and tried to ruin their wedding, but in time over years of forming bonds they had a new wedding. introducing Chrysalis to their family. Chrysalis still lived in the Hive and though their wedding was official for the time it more stood for political alliance between the two, as chrysalis wasn't ready to let thorax stand alone as leader yet. Her staying ended up being what saved the colony, when the war of darkness arose through equestria the entity tried to reclaim the changlings once again as is minons. Had chrysalis not been there to protect them they would have surely been corrupted once again. After the war ended Chrysalis felt safe leaving Thorax as ruler, chrysalis now lives in the crystal empire with Cadance and Shining armor. over the years they have had two children, Crimson Sweet and later Instar Pale. Crimson sweet is still of the younger royal kids, they are quite rambunctious and love to run around with all the other kids in the kingdom. they love to eat and their favorite thing to do is make picnics, they take outings with their school friends almost every week. Bringing along cute snacks that Pumpkin Cake has made for them.

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Name: Instar Pale Nickname(s): Age: 10 Pronouns: He/him, Any Identity: Genderfuild bi pony crush/relationship: Parents: Cadance, Shining Armor, Chrysalis Sibling: Flurry Heart, Crimson Sweet, Skyla Special Talent: Studying Occupation: Royality, student Location: Crystal Kingdom Likes: cool weapons, books with cool covers, drawings, collecting things Dislikes: loud noises, making decisions, strangers Bio: Youngest of four, Instar is the quiet baby of the family. Growing up in a family as big as his everyone around him babied him, saying he was always so sweet and cuddly. Which led to an amount of coddling that turned him into a very antisocial pony. he struggles to talk to new people and wont go anywhere unless he is with someone he knows so he can duck behind them to avoid conversations. hes a total hypochondriac, believing to be constantly sick and feeling weak all the time dispute his health being fine. Instar likes to spend time with Flurry heart and shining armor the most, Flurry heart because she is quite and they get to just sit around listening to music and reading. and his father because he gets to sit on the side line and watch him work. Instar doesn't think they'd make much for a guard but they love to read all about the different weapons, armors and Technics taught through history and the country. watching his father display these things, or Flurry heart MAKE them is right up his ally. If you do manage to get him to talk to you he is an info dumping machine and will talk your ear off about some obscure history thing he's learned recently.

#mlp #next gen #flurry heart #princess skyla #crimson sweet #instar pale

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ichigo-daifuku · 4 years

Text

Desiderium

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Diavolo/Female!MC

As the exchange program comes to an end, she spends her final evening with Diavolo, the demon she has become enamored by, the man she shares a romantic affair with, and the one she is most reluctant to leave. With both of them disinclined with her departure, she states the condition which will make her stay: a pact with him, the Devildom's Prince.

But how can a human he has known for a mere year compare to the legacy passed on to him that is worth thousands of years?

Explicit | Oral Sex, Possessiveness, Mild Praise Kink, Goodbye Sex, Heavy Angst

I really wanted Diavolo content, but there isn't much in the game itself (right now, at least), so I wrote this story. This was inspired by some of Diavolo's lines in Lesson 19-12 Normal and Lesson 20-15 Hard ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

Word Count: 6k

Humans had warned her.

It was something she heard in passing; a matter seemingly insignificant, yet for some reason, still echoed in her mind up until this moment. She couldn’t even pinpoint who, but she recalled being told that the demon; the embodiment of sin, temptation, and evil; would come in the most beautiful form, one that would surely seduce a human to do their bidding, make them fall from grace, and succumb to sin themselves.

As she sat in front of Diavolo, the Prince of the Devildom, she couldn’t help but remember this little detail, and in silence, she took the stem of the wineglass between fingers, moved it in a circular motion to swirl the liquor, and agreed.

He was a dangerous creature—perhaps, the most dangerous she could ever come across—and to an average human, it would be utter madness how she was far from terrified. Since the moment she laid her eyes on him in the student council room, she was inexplicably drawn. Diavolo had sat in the court judge seat like it was a bejeweled throne, stood tall as he introduced himself, his voice sonorous as he welcomed her to the Devildom and stated his name and title. The year she spent in this realm had been a whirlwind, but her memory of him remained crystal clear. Each time Diavolo entered the same room, his presence commanded her attention, and like a lovestruck fool, she would hang onto every word he spoke and laugh at every joke he cracked. In every meeting, she snuck furtive glances at him with desire, a longing she believed was futile and would never attain fulfillment. She assumed he was merely looking out for her because of her status as an exchange student, a springboard to turning his vision into reality, but to her disbelief and satisfaction, he looked her way in the same manner she gazed at him, and nothing was ever the same again.

It was her final night in the Devildom. She could’ve left earlier—her fellow human exchange student, Solomon, as well as the angels, Simeon and Luke, had returned to their respective worlds. However, an unfinished business plagued her mind. Unprepared to leave due to it, she asked to stay for one more night.

To no one’s surprise, she was spending it with Diavolo.

In the Demon Lord’s Castle, the two of them met for dinner. The veranda of his chambers offered the most magnificent view of the Devildom, the wind cool from the altitude and the neon lights below surreal and mystical.

Diavolo sat across the ornate table, the sleeves of his black button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. He wore no tie, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. She liked him like this: informal, relaxed, and carefree. It was a sight very few had the privilege to witness, and it pleased her that he could be this way in her company.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like the food? We can ask for something else if you’d like.” Diavolo set his fork and knife down, his eyes flickering to her and her plate, a worried furrow visible on his brows. He had chosen tonight’s menu, a five-course meal consisting of her favorites, all of them being food from the human world which he had queried her in one of their earlier conversations. It was one of the things she admired about him: his open mind. His down to earth nature, the quirks in his personality she never expected—she could go on and on about these things, but she would still feel like it wasn’t enough to express how strongly she felt for him.

“No, I like everything that’s in front of me,” she assured him as she set the wineglass down, picking up her utensils to cut the steak. It was no secret that Barbatos was the most skilled in cooking in all the three worlds, so much so that having him in Diavolo’s service was something many envied. She savored the burst of flavor on her tongue, uncertain if she would ever encounter a quality that could rival or come close to it from a human world restaurant, even from a Michelin-rated one.

“That’s good to hear.” Diavolo smiled and resumed his meal. The candle illuminated his features and graceful movements, and once again, she remembered the warning about the devil, the one she failed to take heed of.

The two of them enjoyed their dinner as if it was one of their usual nights at Ristorante Six, except it was more private; intimate. The sense of finality hung in the air yet remained unspoken. As the lighthearted conversation about her stay in this world came to a close, she did the honors and addressed the elephant in the room, opening the sensitive subject of her departure.

“By the way, I have something for you.” She took three small boxes from the paper bag beside her seat and handed it to him.

“What is it?”

“A parting gift, if you may.”

The first box contained hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies, his favorite, and a small container of flaming gecko sauce on the side. It was the most unlikely pair, yet those two together suited his palate well. It surprised her when she found out, but it was something very Diavolo to like something many would consider an oddity. Through trial and error, she made multiple batches and requested a very willing Beelzebub to taste test the samples in search of the perfect flavor she hoped Diavolo would enjoy, even if they weren’t going to be on the same level as the ones baked by Barbatos. The second box was the one she was proudest of: rolled butter cigar cookies, the special recipe from the human world. Out of the three, these were the ones she was most acquainted with, and she felt happy to be able to introduce them to Diavolo. The final box contained the Celestial Realm’s version of the rolled cigar cookies which she asked Luke to assist her in making. Luke had frowned about it at first when she told him of her plan, but like the angel and friend that he was, he obliged, happy to share his hobby of baking pastries with her.

“I was the one who made them, not Lucifer, so you have nothing to worry about,” she informed him, making both of them remember the time when they discovered Lucifer’s melancholy.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Diavolo’s lips quirked into a fond smile. “Three versions from the three realms! That’s impressive. I truly feel like a king now.”

“I don’t do things half-baked, literally and figuratively,” she quipped, a chuckle bubbling from her lips. “Either I go big, or I go home.”

It was time for dessert. The server arrived and placed a slice of decadent chocolate cake in front of her and was about to do the same to Diavolo. However, Diavolo shook his head and dismissed the server, in a happy mood as he said he would opt for the rolled cigar cookies as his dessert for tonight.

“Hm, it’s similar but different… but delicious, nonetheless,” he commented after finishing a rolled butter cigar cookie, his radiant expression growing forlorn the next moment. He paused and took the cover in his hand, sealing the box again. “On second thought, I don’t want to finish them all right away. They’re from you. I may never get the same opportunity to have them again.”

“They’ll get ruined if you do that.”

“That would make you sad, wouldn’t it?”

She took a bite of the cake, letting the taste sit on her tongue before swallowing. Bittersweet. Diavolo was correct: it would make her sad, but she didn’t want to make him feel terrible for that, especially with his reason being so sentimental of her. “I made them for you. Please go and indulge.”

“I… I guess I will. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I’ve had the most wonderful year with you.” Diavolo heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow, you won’t be here anymore, and that makes me really sad. I’m going to miss you.”

His straightforward nature was one of his many charms. She admired how easy it was for him to speak what was on his mind and heart, how he spoke freely about topics he was passionate about, and how he sought after his dreams and goals with a grit unlike any she has ever seen from anyone else. Still, there were facets of him she has yet to uncover. Once she returned to the human world, he would remain a mystery she would never have the opportunity to completely unravel, the answers within her grasp but still out of reach. This was why she stayed for one more night; to ask him one more question and receive a final answer.

“I can stay longer if you’d like,” she began the proposition in the most innocent way possible, wondering if he already knew and if he did, why he did nothing to prevent it.

“You’d be willing?”

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod, “but under one condition.”

“Tell me.”

“Make a pact with me, Diavolo.”

She was playing with fire, and she knew it. With those words, she could be lighting the fuse to their inevitable ending, but the chance he would agree with the idea existed, as slim as it was, and she would never forgive herself if she didn’t seize it. The thrill from the anticipation made her pulse quicken, the tension palpable from the short distance of their connected gazes.

Diavolo grew quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable as he stacked her gifts together and pointed out, “You already have pacts with the seven brothers of the House of Lamentation.”

“I do.”

“And you want to make a pact with me as well?”

“That is correct.”

He broke into a smile. “Are you trying to give Solomon a run for his money?”

The turn of the conversation made her laugh, the silent trepidation inside her subsiding, though infinitesimally. “No, I don’t intend to forge pacts with over seventy demons. I only want you.”

Diavolo set the boxes aside, his hand reaching out to clasp hers. “I would love nothing more if we could be together longer, of course, but is there no other way to persuade you?”

“Surely, you are aware that everything comes with a price.” She took her hand out of his grasp, reached for the wineglass, and took another much-needed sip of the liquid courage. “I’ll give up everything I have in the human world and stay in the Devildom beside you for as long as my human life will let me. That is no small feat, and so is what I am asking of you, I know, but I’ll do it if you agree to make a pact with me.”

Even in this world, it was a give and take. In this dangerous game they played, she was ready to go all-in if he was willing to do the same. A sacrifice too extreme on her end, the rational part of her mind insisted; a selfish act, her human conscience chided. The idea had plagued her mind for weeks. Diavolo had made a deal with Lucifer before, not a pact but something similar, could he not do the same for her, a human he would outlive by many lifetimes? If it meant that she would stay by his side, would it not be worth it? Would she not be worth it?

“I want to stay with you, Diavolo. I really do, but I will only do it under this condition,” she declared, her voice calm yet laced with conviction.

“The Devildom comes as my first priority. Always. I’m sure you know this.”

With his father resting and disinterested in the affairs of the existing realms, Diavolo was the de-facto ruler of all demons. He was always confident, charismatic, and sagacious; the epitome of a responsible royal. Steadfast loyalty to the Devildom flowed in his veins. As its future king, he had no room for errors, including in this circumstance.

The thin ray of hope she clung onto slowly faded, for how could a human he has known for a mere year compare to the legacy passed on to him that was worth thousands of years?

The harsh reality that dawned on her made her lightheaded, and she reached for the glass of water and downed it in one go. Their differences made their situation more difficult, but it was the understanding of his perspective and responsibilities that made everything severely painful on her part. In the end, she was a speck in his immortal existence while he had made an enduring impact on her transient one. It began to feel as if every second she had spent with him was a stolen moment. Her bravado threatening to crumble, she dabbed her lips with a napkin and stood, turning from him and making her way toward the side of the veranda.

“Do you think I will wreak havoc in the three worlds and betray you?” The discovery of her latent magical power had come as a surprise to everyone, including herself, but more than anything else, she had no qualms about how deeply she cared about him. To her, the question of the possibility of her betrayal was rhetorical.

“It’s not that. A pact will put me under the full control of an individual. As the future king of the Devildom, it’s simply a danger I can’t risk,” Diavolo replied, his voice firm and his resolve absolute.

They had reached an impasse. With her palms over the banister, her eyes drifted over to the land he exacted his rule over, her mind reflecting on his ambition of peace and coexistence among the three worlds; a dream she was a part of, a dream that in a small way, she was able to assist him with. “Your answer is ‘no’, then.”

Diavolo stood and made his way to her. His answer was ‘no’, yet he was embracing her from behind and bending his head to press a kiss on her neck like an unspoken apology.

She has received her answer. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, her shoulder slumping in both the relief of being able to express her terms and the blow of her defeat. She had the courage, and though scathed, she was proud of herself for making it through. Her body relaxed against him as she laughed bitterly. “Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, never. It’s one of the things that I adore about you, your ambitious streak. You know exactly what you want and go after it. You have a beautiful mind and an equally beautiful heart. I am so lucky to have space in them.”

“I’m going to miss you, Diavolo.” She faced him and returned his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face on his chest. She battled to suppress the rising grief in her chest, but her eyes refused to lie and glazed with tears. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

His hand reached to stroke her hair for a few moments before tilting her head so he could see her face, the tears she couldn’t stifle streaming down her cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb, his expression growing sorrowful and worried.

“I’m sorry for making you cry. I know we intended to spend the night together, but would you like me to take you home instead?” he asked, yet his arm around her waist grew tighter as if he didn’t want to let her go.

It was indeed her final night in the Devildom, and she wanted to spend it with no one but him. “No. I don’t want to go home tonight. I want to stay with you.”

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his softly, but he captured them in a ferocious kiss, the passion and hunger they had for each other still burning brightly even though they were on the final page of their romantic affair. This was the last time she would have the privilege of calling him her lover, she thought as her fingers moved from the nape of his neck to thread through his hair. In an attempt to banish those thoughts, she ran the tip of her tongue over his lips, and he gently sucked on it and swirled his tongue around hers, the kisses growing urgent by the second. The feel of his mouth and the hard planes of his body against hers made it easy for her to succumb to the consuming desire ignited by him. Her knees buckled, but his arms and body trapped her by the banister and steadied her.

She leaned back, catching her breath and giving him a challenging stare. “You keep on saying that you’ll miss me. Will you miss this, too, when I’m gone? Or will you find someone else to do these things with?”

Diavolo frowned. “Do you really think that way?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, honestly.”

With a sigh, she took his hand and led him inside his chambers. The moment they passed through the threshold, he drew her back in his arms and kissed her again. It took her off-guard, but his advances were most welcome; she needed to be close to him and responded in kind. Neither of them broke the fierce caresses of their lips as she led him to his bed, his arousal unmistakable through the proximity of their bodies. Without missing a beat, she placed her palms on his shoulders and urged him to sit on the mattress. He obliged and scanned her from her head to her toes, taking in her form while keeping his hands on the sides of her waist.

“Go on,” Diavolo commanded and stroked the fabric of her dress with his thumb. “Do as you wish.”

He released her as she sank to her knees, waiting for her to act upon her desires. The tip of her tongue brushed across her rosy lips while her hands landed on his knees and slid to his thighs. Her fingers sought after his belt and unbuckled it, releasing his cock from the confines of his clothing. She proceeded to take his hardening length in her grasp, her fingertips unable to meet her thumb as she encircled it. With a glance at him and through her parted lips, she inhaled and exhaled, her warm breaths sensually teasing him, though unintentionally. She gazed at him from below as she ran the tip of her tongue over the slit, earning a groan from him, his eyes turning half-lidded. Languidly, she ran her tongue over his shaft and explored, and more sounds of approval fell past his lips, his arousal growing at her ministrations. She parted her lips and engulfed him by the tip, sucking gently before moving further, growing accustomed to the weight inside her mouth. Her hand twisted around the base of his shaft as her lips moved up and down, satisfied by the way he was reacting to her.

With the back of her head cradled by his palm, he took her tresses in his fist but did nothing to guide her as he did during their previous times together. He let her move at her own pace and allowed her to have her way with him. Diavolo closed his eyes and moaned. “That feels really good, yes, just like that. Keep going.”

His praises were music to her ears; every word urged her to continue pleasuring him. He was a sight to behold, and again, the reality that it was the final time she would see him in this light raced inside her mind. The nature of demons was tied to temptation; they were unable to resist them, having the need to possess what they wanted. Diavolo had her, but he was willing to let her go. She wondered if it was a matter of him not desiring her enough or if the goals of Diavolo, the future king of the Devildom, simply outweighed whatever it was Diavolo, the demon, wanted. Still, it hardly mattered. After this, Diavolo could have anyone he desired, and the certainty of the thought sparked envy within her. But tonight, for the last time, he was hers. She released him from her lips and continued to stroke him, her fist running up and down his rigid length as she wiped the saliva that dripped from the corner of her mouth with the back of her other hand.

“How would you feel if I took another lover? Have you thought of that?” she asked and was confronted by his carnal gaze, an unmistakable spark of fury surging within them.

The remark she made led his mind to race with images of her sharing a bed with another, a mortal man, and the self-restraint he had hanging by a thread snapped. A squeak escaped her lips when he hauled her over his lap with her back facing him. His body trembled, and the golden markings on his wrists appeared, making her assume that he would shift into his demon form until he buried his face on her shoulder. His hair tickled her cheek as he breathed in and calmed himself. Soon, the golden markings on his wrists disappeared, and to her surprise, he chuckled.

“You think you can? Please,” he mocked, his hand sliding over her thighs to her knees. He removed her high-heeled shoes and hiked the fabric of her skirt. The trail of his fingers made her shiver, her breath hitching as he undid the garter of her black stockings and peeled them from her skin. The lace panties she wore were discarded next, and he caressed her bare skin and parted her legs over his lap, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

She bit back a moan, and her skin prickled with anticipation. “W-What? You don’t believe I can?”

“No one will be able to satisfy you the way I do,” he rasped, running a finger over her entrance and making her shudder at the initial contact. He began to stroke up and down her slit, taking his time before slipping a finger inside her with ease. “Look at you. You’re drenched.”

“D-Diavolo…”

“Hm?” He was still irate that she would suggest such a thing, but despite the dismissive response, he gave her his utmost attention. His thumb stimulated her clit as he sought the places where she could feel the most gratification and slipped another digit past her entrance.

Overcome with the accompanying desire of him and the intoxicating sensations he was giving her, she forgot what she wanted to say next. Her hand shifted back to his shoulder to steady herself as her hips undulated to pleasure herself faster with his fingers. He let her do as she liked, pressing a kiss behind her ear and brushing his lips over the shell.

“You’re mine. Don’t you forget that,” he whispered, curling his fingers inside her.

Like a beautiful curse that no one would be able to undo, she would never forget it. She tensed and met her release, trembling for a moment before collapsing against him. Her mind was in a haze, her breaths came out in huffs, and her body felt warm all over. She was spent.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

“What—”

Before she could form a coherent response, Diavolo had hooked his arms under her knees and around her waist and moved her over the plush bed. She blinked a few times, the bounce from the mattress startling her. He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed the taut muscles of his back, crouching down to discard his shoes and socks, his trousers and underwear following suit, baring himself completely, unashamedly.

“Let me see you,” he told her as he faced her again and shifted his body over to the bed.

His hands found the buttons and ribbons of her dress, undoing them and stripping her. For tonight, she had chosen to wear his gifts, the knowledge that it would please him delightful to her, and though the ribbons of this particular ensemble were intricate, he had somehow memorized how to remove them, much to her initial surprise. He guided her down the mattress with his body, his lips seeking her own and moving down her neck. His teeth grazed it for a moment and nipped at it, focusing on a spot and sucking at the skin, marking her as his, as though lovebites weren’t something temporary.

“Diavolo,” she cried out, her yearning for him impossible to ignore.

He grasped her chin and met her gaze. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she answered without needing to think. It was him, he was all she wanted, and he was the one she could never truly have no matter how much she needed him.

“Hm, you’re so beautiful.”

She least expected it, but the subsequent kisses he covered her breasts, neck, and lips with didn’t give her enough room to dwell on the thought. He pumped his shaft a few times before he aligned himself over her and slid past her entrance. Eyes shut at the blissful sensation, she whimpered as he gradually eased himself further inside her. Once she had taken him fully, he paused and peered at her face, waiting for her to adjust and accommodate his size. She squirmed and clenched around him, in need of more friction, more of him.

“That feels so good, doesn’t it? You think someone else can make you feel that way?”

Her breaths ragged, she could only moan in response, but Diavolo wasn’t having it.

“Answer me.”

“No… No one else,” she breathed, “Only you.”

He brushed his lips over the lovebites he had made on her neck, satisfied with her response. “That’s right.”

“Diavolo, please,” she begged.

He leaned back, his gaze softening as he ran his palm over her hair down to her cheek. “Relax for me, my princess.”

She nodded. He pressed a light kiss on her lips which she returned passionately, the gentle moment turning heated in a second. Strands of her hair stuck to the sides of her forehead due to sweat, and her nails dug on his back as he began to move, unsheathing and burying himself inside her again and again. The moment their bodies found their rhythm, her legs encircled his waist and pulled him even closer, meeting his every thrust with the shifting of her hips.

The increase in the pace made her aware that Diavolo was close to his limit. Guided by his emotions and instincts, he slammed inside her frantically, his hands grasping the sides of her waist to guide her in taking him in, the bed creaking at the intensity of their movements.

As the familiar ripple of fire took over her body, her back arched and her toes curled. She climaxed so intensely that her ears rang, and he let her ride her peak as he chased his own release. She clung to him desperately in a silent persuasion to change his mind and make her stay, yet it was hopeless; this was the last time she was going to be with him. It was strikingly different from the first time, yet the raw affection was the very same, and all that she felt about him in the past year flooded her mind in these moments. With one last thrust, he grunted, his eyes fluttered shut, and his jaw slackened as he filled her with his essence. Tears blurred her vision as she etched this moment in her imperfect mind; the time she knew that no one could ever compare to him in every aspect of her life and the tragedy that she was a different matter when it came to his own.

Diavolo brushed her tears away and kissed her lips so tenderly that she has never felt so cherished, but like a paradox, it was these simple gestures that tore her heart apart and made her cry harder.

The warmth from the fireplace soothed her cool skin from the bath as she and Diavolo huddled in front of it. The flames were their main source of light as Diavolo read a book about the origins of the Devildom with her in his arms, a thick blanket draped over his broad shoulders, his skin against her skin, and their shadows one. Aside from the occasional crackling from the hearth, the only sound she heard was Diavolo’s voice. It was still the same, but he spoke in a low tone only she could hear. It was so serene and affectionate, and she could spend all night hearing him talk like this.

He paused reading as the clock struck midnight, each chime reminding her of her impending return to the human world. As quietness took over once again, he asked, “Why did you want me to read this to you?”

“I love hearing your voice,” she answered, “and I enjoy hearing you talk about the things most important to you.”

“I’d prefer hearing your voice more.”

She took the book from his hands, closed it, and set it aside, reaching for another book in the stack next to it. As she browsed the table of contents, she asked, “Shall I read the story of Queen Rose to you?”

Diavolo responded with a nod against her hair and placed his chin on her shoulder. She cleared her throat and began, the sentiment that she would miss the way he wrapped his arms around her at the back of her mind. He kept silent and followed the text with his eyes as she began her tale.

In the middle of the night, she woke up in Diavolo’s arms. He was sound asleep. She disentangled herself from his embrace, slipped away, and got dressed. Her bag rested on his desk together with the gifts she made for him. All traces of sleep left her body as she sat down and grabbed the fountain pen on the side, writing a letter and spilling her deepest thoughts and feelings for him through the ink. When she reached the closing salutations, she signed the paper with her name and folded it, securing it with a paperweight in the middle of the table to make sure Diavolo wouldn’t miss it in the morning. She cast a lingering glance over the expanse of Diavolo’s chambers, a strange sense of nostalgia heavy in her chest though she was still living in this moment.

It was time for her to go.

She stood and made her way to his bed, her footsteps muted by the carpet. As she gazed at his sleeping form, she wondered what his reign would be like; if it would be anything like how he cared for the Devildom right now, then it would be long and fruitful, she believed so.

“Farewell,” she whispered and left a chaste kiss on his lips, a silent wish for all the best things in life for him. With a final glimpse of Diavolo, she strode to the door and shut it as quietly as she could.

Despite doing her best not to run into Barbatos or anyone, the moment she made a turn in the corridor, a maid who recognized her bowed in greeting. “Is there anything you need, Miss?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m just heading to the garden for some fresh air.”

The maid nodded and went on her way.

There was no way she would be able to slip out of the castle unnoticed, but she knew what she needed to do and rummaged inside her bag for her D.D.D., dialing the only one she could count on in this situation.

“Why are you calling at this hour? Did something happen?”

“I…” she began, the question sending her to the verge of bursting into tears. “Come pick me up, please.”

Along the deserted street, the eternal magic seal that served as a passage among the three worlds laid beneath her feet.

Beside her, Lucifer stood. Confusion and worry had filled him when he headed to the Demon Lord’s Castle, but upon seeing her weariness as she waited for him in the garden, he had taken heed of her request, both of them slipping out of the castle grounds without suspicion thanks to Lucifer’s status as Diavolo’s right-hand man. He said nothing as he took her to the place where the eternal magic seal was located and left her to process what happened and what was bound to happen, and for that, she was grateful.

Relieved, she turned to him, “Thank you for picking me up and bringing my luggage.”

He nodded. “Do you want to say goodbye to my brothers?”

She had said her goodbyes to them yesterday, and she wouldn’t be able to take any more goodbyes. “I’ve said everything I needed to say to everyone. I’m ready to go.”

“You two were never subtle, you know?”

She and Diavolo must have given him quite the headache. “Well, we did try… but I guess we weren’t.”

“You look lonely.”

“Do I?” She smiled. “Maybe, I am.”

Lucifer sighed. He was blaming himself for the turn of the events, thinking of what could’ve been if he had done something to prevent this from happening. It was too late now.

“No, it’s not your fault. Please don’t think that way,” she assured him with a shake of her head. Yes, he was close to her and Diavolo, but that didn’t mean he was responsible for what happened. It was no one’s fault, least of all Lucifer’s. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if he blamed himself for what happened. “It’s just… time for me to go home.”

“I take it Diavolo doesn’t know yet. He’ll get angry.”

“He’ll understand.” At least, she hoped he would. “Let’s go, please, before he realizes I’m gone.”

It wasn’t as if she and Diavolo could never see each other again, but she would prefer not to for a long, long time—for both their sakes. Right now, she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he were to send her off. She would beg him to make her stay, and she couldn’t do that. The ounce of pride she had left wouldn’t allow her to do something so foolish, and perhaps, Lucifer knew and understood.

“You owe me,” Lucifer said.

She wondered if an opportunity to return the favor would ever come her way.

He outstretched a gloved hand, and without hesitation, she took it. With his power, the magic circle glowed underneath their feet, and the next thing she knew, they were standing inside her house, in the living room she hasn’t returned to in a year.

She squeezed his hand and let go. “Thank you for everything, Lucy.”

“And who told you that you can call me that?”

“No one. I just thought you’d let me off the hook since I’m going home and all,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile. “Thank you.”

Lucifer shook his head and smiled back genuinely. “Take care.”

She closed her eyes as the blinding light engulfed him, and in a flash, he disappeared and returned to the Devildom.

As silence took over the room, the smile she had been forcing herself to wear faded into oblivion, the reality catching up to her by the second. Birds chirped outside the window while sunlight passed through the clear glass, its heat familiar yet foreign on her skin. Emptiness filled her being. Her life would never be the same or idyllic or as colorful as the neon lights in the world she left behind.

The road to hell was paved with good intentions. Now that she has returned to the human world, she has also stepped foot on her personal brand of hell, one without Diavolo in it, and it was a life sentence she must bear on her shoulders. Alone.

A very special thank you to @photoproses for editing this work and listening to my ramblings about Diavolo!

And thank you very much for reading this story! ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ

Obey Me! Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#obey me #obey me!#obey me diavolo #obey me! diavolo #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #shall we date #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me one master to rule them all #swd obey me #shall we date obey me #LordDiavolo

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monchikyun · 4 years

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15. I cannot save you

So many people have tried to save Gavin, tried to make him into a well-oiled machine that could work without breaking every few days, and not a single one of them has ever been successful at turning him into something he could never be. And not because he isn’t able to, it just isn’t something that he would be willing to sacrifice. The corrupted parts of him that keep him together, the flaws that are too familiar to discard - he can’t even imagine his life without them. It would feel incomplete and empty, and he wouldn’t be able to recognise himself. He spent most of his youth running away from those holding repair kits in their hands ready to carve out the core of his being, like a kid too afraid of a surgery that could make him just a little healthier. But Gavin isn’t broken or sick, he’s just different. And that by itself isn’t deemed a crime. Or at least it wouldn’t be if it didn’t involve hurting others. Not always, but often. He makes himself believe that it doesn’t matter as long as he’s the one who suffers the most from it.

Now, when he’s old enough to decide how much he wants to ruin his life without an authority looking over his shoulder, he chooses not to think about his faults and the self-destructive traits that make him contemplate whether his existence is really worth all this. He wears the ignorance like a plate of armour, not afraid of anything coming his way. Exerting all his energy at work, because that’s about the only thing that he admits to caring about. At first, it was about righting his wrongs, making amends for all the damage he’d caused to the innocent, but never to become a better person. Just a way to be able to sleep at night. And he did keep his cruelty to a minimum, hid his poisonous insult under his skin, but that was before he met the bane of his existence. He really hates everything about androids, mostly the fact that he fell in love with one.

It took him over a year to come to this realisation, and it will take even more to accept that his feelings will never be reciprocated. Connor can barely stand him, which is more than fair. He treated him like a piece of garbage and no amount of apologies could ever erase his guilt. Even despite the forgiveness being shoved his way and the soft smiles that shouldn’t belong to him, the two of them becoming something more is impossible. Because he doesn’t want to be saved, not by Connor, not by anyone else.

And that’s why he’s crying in the bathroom like a little girl who lost her precious doll. Only because Connor touched his hand in the gentlest way possible and all these feelings came rushing through him, leaving him to his weakness’s mercy. It’s not like he’s afraid of tears, but they have no business showing their pesky heads during work hours, in front of his colleagues who are supposed to see him as a confident tough guy who gives no shit, the prime example of toxic masculinity. There are only two people who he’s revealed his real face to - Tina, the girl serving as his best friend and the one who put him in this state of emotional distress. He falls apart every time he gets to be alone with the android, closer than is safe. He even invited him home one day, granted they were chaperoned by his trusty female companion, but still, he felt light and free back then, surrounded by the only human beings that he values more than life.

He has to breathe and there isn’t enough air to satisfy his lungs here, so he makes to leave the building as furtively as he can, not considering the futility of his attempts. Not even the devil himself could stop him now.

It has been snowing again, the brilliant white that hasn’t yet had the chance to be tainted by the grime of the city eases his mind, if only just a bit. He lights his cigarette and waits for the condescending prick he loves so much to come and ruin his day with his questions and soothing words. But even after finishing his smoke, there’s no one here bothering him, and suddenly he doesn’t know if he’s overjoyed or utterly disappointed.

The walk back inside the building is one of shame and regret. He’s embarrassed for letting himself be affected to this extent, angry that he isn’t strong enough to control what’s going on inside of him. Connor assaults him with the look of worry right when he enters the warm office, and he signs for him to meet him in the break room, which is very fortunately deserted at this time of the day. In fact, there are only about five people milling about in the whole area, which he couldn’t be more grateful for at this time.

“Why do you sometimes act like you care and then you don’t show up when I want to yell at you for having treated me so… softly.” He isn’t sure what he wants the stupid bot to do, as long as it’s something that puts an end to the ache that managed to infect his reasoning.

“Oh.. I didn’t… you looked like you needed space.” It should be illegal to look this flustered because Connor’s current expression is compelling him to say things only reserved for late-night dreams.

“I just wanted you to…”

“…save you from yourself?” The evil android takes a hold of his hand again, so he makes it into an excuse for the mess his mind and body is in. “I cannot save you, Gavin. No one can.”

This is something he’s been happily claiming as the truth for most of his life, so why does hearing it come from Connor’s mouth stab his fragile heart.

“What you need to do is to let someone in, to have them show you that you’re not the worst person in the world.”

Those words melt him into a pliable statue of gratefulness. It’s like he’s been given the gift he’s hopelessly wished from since he was a small child.

“Who do you have in mind?” He can sense a telling blush dying his cheeks red, but it’s not something to fear anymore, for he isn’t the only one reacting this way.

“There is a rumour that the most handsome android in the precinct likes you.”

“Really? I’d like to meet that misguided weirdo.”

“He wants to ask you out. Would you consider indulging him?”

The sweet lightness has chased away the tension and he feels like his insides have been hollowed out and replaced with fondness.

“Like I’d ever refuse such a tempting proposition.”

@convinseptember hope my writing isn’t too repetitive xD

#convinseptember #convin #this isn't as angsty as it could have been :D #a big jumble of words xD

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mytrashs-blog · 5 years

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Movie Star

Pairing: BFF! Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Angst, SO MUCH ANGST, swearing, Tom being an asshole, there’s a mention of an injury...

Summary: Tom is your best friend, but fame can change a lot of things.

Word Count: 2,609 (Probably the longest one piece I’ve done)

A/N: So! This is an entry for @unholyhaz and @spidey-waffles11 #marvellouswafflescelebration writing challenge. I am actually quite proud of this baby and how freaking painful it is. I was having a hard time with the prompt because I kept wanting to write it the same way it happened in the movie, so yeah, I’m very happy with this. Enjoy! (Please if you do like it, reblog it so it can be read by more and more people).

Part two

(This pic doesn’t belong to me, I took it off google, but I did edit it a little)

You never thought your friendship with Tom would end up like this. Ruined. Potentially forever, and the worst part is that you can’t even be mad about it. He’s been dreaming about becoming big in the movie industry since you were like 7 and dancing ballet at the studio everyday, so him getting big should be something to be happy about, right?

Only it isn’t. And not because he’s always busy and barely even texts back, not even because he never has time to hang out anymore, nor is it because he seems to always be in the other side of the world either filming another damn Marvel movie or any other movie, or promoting his work. No, all of those reasons were not enough to wreck your friendship. What finally did it was the fact that he became so full of himself that you couldn’t stand hearing him talking when you did get to see him. He’s kind of an asshole now.

So you snapped. You were out in a pub with him, Harrison, the twins and a couple of your friends, Tom was telling you about how unacceptable it was that his manager tried to get him, to spend a night in LA in a 4 star hotel instead of a 5 star or a damn Airbnb apartment, how he was tired of this neglecting behaviour from a person that eats from the 5% of his paycheck, and you lost it.

You may be bestfriends with this guy, but you definetely didn’t have the same economical status, and you have to work a normal job like everybody else, you don’t get 5 star hotels ever, for gods sake you don’t even get to travel that often, the only time you’ve been out of the country was when Tom took you to Atlanta to do some reshoots back when the first Spider-Man happened, so you made well sure to tell him he was behaving like a brat, posh and whiny rich kid. And he didn’t like it, so he called you a jealous uptight bitch that’s bitter because an ankle injury killed off her career, which was a low blow. So you stormed out of the place.

It was a pretty public scene and there were a few videos from different angles of nearby tables at the pub and a few pictures of both of you screaming at each other, and of you getting out of the place while fuming, and of Tom getting his car a driving off while visibly pissed. It’s been the story of the moment (at least in your life). All your social media was full of Tom’s fans calling you a fake friend, a bitch, a brat, whore, slut… some even sent death threats, which was a bit disturbing, but not surprising.

Of course Tom wasn’t helping at all either, he stopped following you, but didn’t block you so you could see him liking all the rude messages directed to you, and he was being very very vocal about the importance of having real friends and how loyalty is a very important thing and how he had to learn that the hard way very recently. So yeah, like a whiny rich boy.

You were scrolling down instagram, trying to focus on something else, but the notifications were still blowing with comments and tags on rude posts, so decided enough was enough and you started an Instagram Live, not even 1 minute in and you already had a handful of people watching and commenting snake emojis and very strong language words, but you ignored it as you started talking.

“Hello everyone, thanks for all the lovely wishes, I apreciate them a lot, you don’t wanna know. So, I’m here because, since I don’t go around doing interviews for a job, I have to find an outlet to let out my side of the story, because all stories have more than one side and one shouldn’t decide on a side unless you’ve heard all sides of it- the story, I mean.

Tom and I became best friends since day one of us meeting, that was 16 years ago, we were always inseparable and I always knew I had someone to rely on and he had someone to rely on in me. Pretty strong bond. I always knew he wanted to be an actor, the best actor he could be, and I always knew he would make it, because he’s always been so incredibly talented and dedicated and he was very determined, so when he finally got his big chance being casted as Spider-Man I was the first one to celebrate him. As his fame and recognition started growing, he started hanging out with a lot more celebrities and he started picking up on personality traits that aren’t that cool, but at the beggining it was so minimal that I’d just ignore it.

By the time he was filming Far from Home, I think, he was a full on movie star. Every place we’d go, a few cameras would follow and fans would show up, and he loved putting on a show for everyone, to the point where he’d ignore anyone that’s with him. But that’s no the worst part. I can forgive him for having an ego, we all have one, some are bigger than others and that’s cool, but what’s not cool is being condescending to the people who work with or for you. I dont’t believe in people from first or second class, for me everyone is equal and everyone’s work is just as dignified and worthy as anyone else’s, that’s why I finally lost my respect for Tom, because he started treating people that don’t have the same level of privilege as him like they’re less than him. That’s not the way we were raised, those are not the values that my best friend has and I know it’s all because of all the media attention he has.

You all give everything to him in a silver platter, so he now became a bratty movie star, another self centered celebrity that feels entitled. So congratulations. You have created a celebrity, but you have wrecked a human being inside. And I don’t feel like I deserved to be attacked this way for not wanting to put up with being belittled and treated like a peasant. Thanks.”

You finished the live and you broke crying, of course. It hurts to know that your best friend is no longer, that you’re never gonna have all those amazing midnight adventures. Like when you escaped from your houses at 15 to go to that crazy party all the school was attending but your mothers wouldn’t let you go. You remember how you got drunk after just one or two beers and ended up walking and giggling back home at 3am. You were in so much trouble the next day.

Or when he got casted as Peter Parker and you were so happy that you spent the whole night laying in his bed talking about all the hard work you both had done to make your dreams come true. That night he told you how he was proud of you for working so hard on your dancing career and how you were his favourite dancer ever. And you told him that you always knew he’d make it. You promised each other to always be there for the other.

He was the first to arrive to the hospital when you had the accident onstage that ended your career, he held you on those long nights when you’d cry and cry, he was there when you were angry at the world for not letting you have your dream. He helped through everything and never left your side until you were back on your feet and you had a new plan for your life.

He’s not here now though. He’s the one holding the gun on your back and you were the one that threw the first punch. You feel guilty. You ruined everything. You should’ve told him that he shouldn’t behave that way. Of all people, it should’ve been you holding his feet on the ground, and now it all went to shit because of you. It’s all your fault and maybe you do deserve the furious fans and the creepy reporters jumping on you every now and then, and maybe you deserve all those messages because maybe you were a fake friend.

You really don’t have the evergy to get out of bed for the days that followed. It could’ve been just two days, or a week, maybe even months for all you knew; but you stayed in bed, you would cry, eat and sleep and nothing more. Your phone was in some unknown place of your house, you hadn’t even attempted to find it and maybe it ran out of battery long ago, but who cares? definetely not you. You were walking around in your pajamas, looking for ice cream in your freezer or maybe some chocolate bars, or chips… or whatever came to view first, but you were interrupted by the ring of your doorbell and then a knock on your door, you thought about ignoring it, but then they knocked again so you brought yourself to the door and opened it.

You froze when you saw Tom on the other side of your door, looking probably just as destroyed as you do, red puffy eyes, messy hair, he was wearing sweatpants and an old shirt, an unusual look since now he’s always trying to look his absolute best. This guy in front of you resembled your best friend since childhood more than any of the high fashion versions of Tom, but it still ached in your heart that he was in this state in your front door unannounced.

“Tom… w-what are you doing h-here?”

“I uh… read a rumor and I needed to see it wasn’t true.”

“What?” You suddenly feel your blood boiling. The only reason he came was because of some rumor he read, he doesn’t regret anything, he doesn’t miss you, he just wants to see if some stupid rumor is true. You go to close the door in his face but he pushes the door.

“You wanna know what it was? Y/N listen to me, please!” You try to push harder, but he’s way stronger than you are so you give in and let him in, but the frown never leaves your face and you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m listening.” You really don’t want to get your guard down, but the way Tom is looking at you right now makes it really hard. He looks at you the way one looks at a youth treasure you found after years of longing. The way you look at a flower that grows against all odds in the middle of a desserted field. And it’s making you feel very aware of him. You notice how the bags under his eyes are deeper than ever, his skin doesn’t look as flawless and polished as it did the last time you saw him, you can even see some spots around his forehead, you notice how he’s still unable to tame that eyebrow and how they also look a little unplucked, you can also see the tarce of a beard, the kind that tells you that maybe he didn’t shave this morning and even the day before that, and his hair is not only messier but it’s also longer. And it’s grounding to see him look so human, vulnerable and real right in front of you.

“There were some rumors going around that you might’ve… that you maybe… y-you had..” For some reason he was unable to look you in the eye, and every time he tried to speak he’d take a small step closer to you. “That you maybe had… comitted… suicide…”

You froze where you stood, and maybe your jaw fell slack, and maybe you even stopped breathing, where the fuck did he read that? What the actual fuck are people saying? your blood started boiling with rage, not even at Tom anymore, but at the world, why does everyone suddenly feel entitled to say those terrible things and why? Because you haven’t been on social media in a long time? People seriously need to understand that other people exist outside the internet and the have lives outside social media.

“I seriously hate people. Well… here I am, alive and well, is that everything?” you ask as you raise a brow, expecting him to say something else, but he looks at you taken a back, he’s at a loss of words because he was expecting this to fix things.

“Umh… yeah?”

“Okay then, I’ll walk you to the door.” You say flatly and start making your way back to your front door.

“Y/N wait… I do need to say something else” He grabs you by the wrist and turns you around, you end up mere inches away from him, his hand still holding you. His gaze roams all over your face, he looks down at your lips while licking his, but then he looks up to your eyes. “I’m sorry. About everything. I was a dick, and maybe I am an idiot for realizing I don’t want to lose you until I read those terrible things and it hurt as hell to even imagine a world without you in it. I don’t want to live the rest of my life without your surprise texts when I’m away filming, or your weird gif replies, or our film nights and crazy getaways. You’re the best friend that I have. And I love you, Y/N. I really, really do, and I’m sorry it took me so long to admit that to you.” If this had happened a few months ago, you would have kissed him already. You loved him for such a long time, it almost hurt you, you had all those feelings for him stored inside you and at times it felt like they couldn’t fit anymore and you’d just explode, but that changed. You changed. And so did he.

“I accept your apology, Tom.” you took a long pause before speaking again, and you could see in Tom’s eyes that it was killing him to wait, every second feeling longer than the previous, until you spoke again. “But it’s gonna take a lot more than that to fix our friendship. I’m sorry I don’t share your feelings, but I received death threats over twitter, so many hate comments coming to me everyday… and you were liking them, encouraging people to keep attacking me! You expect me to just forget about that and act like it never happened? And you expect me to just throw myself at your arms and live happily ever after? It really doesn’t work like that, Tom. You have to go now.” He stayed looking at you for a moment, and you could see the heartbreak in his eyes, but your own heart was breaking aswell. Maybe you could fix this, but it would take more than this, and right now you could not see him in your apartment.

“Please leave Tom” Your voice was just a pleading whisper at this point, but Tom did let go of your wrist and you sighed when you felt the cold breeze hit the skin where his hand had been. He walked past you and opened the door, taking one last look at you as one single tear fell from your eyes. And the door closed.

---

Tagging a few people that might be interested so it doesn’t flop :)

@caeruleum-in-caritate-lupus, @softstarkk, @peterparkerbabyy, @dottirose, @legit-fandom-trash, @carostar2020, @appreciating-chase-brody, @mvmakki @madmadmilk @hollandrecs @starksparker @sunshinehollandd

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caracalfeather · 4 years

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WARNING- Cats and Birds is a mob AU fanfiction of the Arcana game, and is not meant for young audiences and is not meant to offend anyone. Some writing choices were made so characters are out of their canon way of acting and thinking. Please do not be offended by character choices made by the authors and content creators, this story was made for fun and in the way we wanted it to be. The story was not hijacked by any of the authors to make any ships or characters overshadow any other. All content contained in this story has been agreed upon and accepted by all parties in it’s creation.

TW- Cats and Birds contains scenes that may not be suitable with some readers, including themes of violence, smoking/drug use, sex, cursing and various other strong themes. Special warnings for scenes will be posted with chapters. Proceed with caution and Reader’s discretion is advised.

The next morning, Rose shivered against ilya, waking up to a cold room. She wrapped herself in the blanket.

Julian stirred awake, he just laid there and didn’t bother to move, the barking had stopped sometime in the night so Julian wasn’t completely sleepless.

Morning darling.” Rose purred and kissed his neck, smiling “You were rough last night.”

“Hmmmm….you think?” He sighed, caressing her face.

“It was good. But that nickname wasnt your best idea. It was cute though.” She sighed

Julian blushed and hid underneath his pillow. Damn her. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?!??” He groaned into his mattress, her haunting was becoming increasingly annoying as long as that goddamned photo wasn’t burned to ash.

“D-did i do something again?” she looked at him, her smile dropping from her face.

Julian sat up in a hurry and cupped Rose’s face. “No! No darling! It’s not you! God it could never be you.” He sighed, “I think I’m being haunted is all.”

“.......” She looked at him, skeptical and stood up “Im...going to shower…” She picked up her clothes and mumbled.

With rage boiling in his blood Julian dug through the waste basket and tore the photo up. “Good riddance to you, you're ruining everything!” He shouted, the pieces fluttering to the floor. He tore the photo in a few big chunks but Julian was more disappointed in himself more than anyone.

As Rose showered, Plume was downstairs making plans for Rose's next trip heist. It would be a little longer than her last.

Julian was on torture that morning, he slipped on his black gloves, and faced the cell. His mind was not in the right place but a job had to be done.

“Alright. Our queen is heading out for a month or two to chicago. She’s going on a supply run and needs a companion.” Plume set down the map of the route as a few guys volunteered. Meanwhile, Rose was toweling off and packing her bags, mumbling to herself and trying to think if she’d done something to upset ilya. She hurt on the inside and wished she could just disappear into her bed.

He opened the cell and was met by two brown eyes. The woman who was handcuffed was big and she looked….really familiar.

The woman looked up, “look….if you’re here to torture me I already told the big fella that it was all a misunderstanding-“ her eyes flashed and she laughed. “Noooooo…..yes? It can’t be???”

Julian looked into the eyes of...Bèatrice.

“Bèa….what the hell are you doing here?” Julian growled.

Bea spat blood into the concrete. “I could say the same to you, you son of a bitch. We all thought you DIED.”

Julian could not handle this today, he rubbed his temples, “but that’s not why you're here.”

“Right…..I’m here because I was looking for Madeve your dog.” She explained, “he’s been getting out a lot recently and I’ve been helping get him home.”

He nodded and Bèa continued.

“What would she say if she knew you were here? Would she ever forgive you-“

Her words were cut short by a bullet to the head. Julian held the gun with shaking hands and stepped out from the cell. He was probably going to get a scolding from Plume, but it was worth not having to deal with this matter anymore.

Plume looked up from the map at the sound and growled “Damn it. Alright everyone, prep the queen and get ilya.”

Like clockwork Ilya was dragged to Plume. Julian with a blood splattered face was so done with everything and everyone.

“Who the fuck did you kill now you usesless dog?” Plume hissed, tossing the map into a bag and glaring at him.

“A trespasser.” Julian hissed crossing his arms over his chest.

“Whatever. Rose is leaving for a few months.” He pushed Julian into a chair “We’re getting her things ready.”

“I take it, I'm going with her.” He sighed, “I am pretty sure I’m the last person she wants to see currently.”

“It's up to you. She’s getting her clothes from your room right now.” He mumbled. Upstairs, rose was bending down to grab her shirt, pausing as she noticed torn pieces of paper on the floor. Carefully she looked at them, her heart sinking slightly as she saw a beautiful face she’d only seen in magazines. Her mind began to wander as she put the paper in her pocket. What was he doing with her torn picture? Was it an infatuation? Maybe it was just remnants of an old magazine…

Julian found Rose in his room. He smiled, wiping some stray blood from his cheek. “Well, I took care of the trespasser.”

“Huh? Oh...thanks.” Rose put her jacket on and fixed her hair, unimpressed.

“Did I piss you off again?” Julian frowned, “Rose, this is becoming a pattern and I would like for it not too.”

“No, I'm just busy and sore...sorry.” She sighed, going to the door, the ripped pieces in her pocket.

Julian sighed and began packing himself, meeting Rose out in the garage when he was done. “So we’re going all the way across the country. For supplies. “

“We? You're coming with me?” She put her bags in the back as plume nodded “Yes. and You two are fetching more artillery from our Chicago pride since we can't ship them anymore.”

“Perfect.” He smiled, tossing his bag in along with Rose’s. “Are we going in disguise this time?” His smile widened into a mischievous grin.

“Yep. Once you're in the city rose will be dressed as Mistress thorne and you” Plume tossed lingerie looking close at him “Will be her collared sub Thomas.” Plume laughed “No one questions the mistress.” It was a joke, but he didn't doubt ilya would play the part anyway.

Julian laughed, “ha! Good thing it’s a long drive it will give me plenty of time to get into character.”

“You'll keep your mouth shut.” Rose mumbled and got into the driver's seat.

“As my Mistress commands.” Julian bowed dramatically and got into the car.

Blasting music, rose took off to the highway, opening the window as they began the trip.

“The city seems strangely quiet today.” Julian sighed staring out the window, “we haven’t gone on a long trip together in a very long time.”

“Yeah… almost a year now.” she mumbled and glanced at him “New york last time.”

Julian chuckled, “That’s Right! That mission was an absolute disaster….but it was fun. And you had fun fucking me into oblivion.”

“Mhm. next time i'll gag and peg you with a strap.” She weaved her way through the streets, listening to an old rock song.

He unbuttoned his shirt slightly, his charismatic smirk on full display. “Just hearing you say that makes me hungry and excited.” He traced a gentle line from her cheek down her neck.

She slapped his hand away and huffed “I'm not touching you until we get to chicago.” Her voice growled “Then I'm going to make sure you submit and learn your place.”

Julian held up his hands in full surrender, shutting up. He instead brought his attention to the passing streets.

The ride was a long 10 hours until they finally stopped at an inn. It was pitch black outside as they got a room, Rose spent another hour nursing a blunt on the balcony. Her mind was full of memories of old lovers. Each had ended up leaving her for Hollywood models and performers, saying they were better than her. They had called her an alley cat, a mangy stray. And after finding that picture, rose was sure ilya was fantasizing about being with a performer. Someone prettier and more talented. She finished smoking and dropped her head, looking at old scars on her arms.

Julian wrapped his arms around her and hummed into her neck. “Someone is in the pits of despair” he chuckled, “ I thought I was going to get punished once we arrived.”

“In chicago. You have 15 more hours.” She looked at him “Cant a girl smoke in the night in peace?” She looked at the dark night.

He let her go, “alright I get it. You're upset I’ll leave you be.” He retreated back into the room. Mulling over what he did this time. Each answer leading to the one thing he had been fighting these past 2 weeks.

“It doesn't feel good, does it?” She whispered and looked at the moon “Gods, my papi would kill me for being this petty.”

Julian heavily sighed, “you think I haven’t been suffering? Your suffering makes me suffer! And aside from that, I’m still just suffering.”

Rose went into the bathroom to shower, sitting on the tiles as warm water hit her back. She got lost in thought, a few tears mixing with the water.

Julian flopped back on the bed. Rubbing his eyes in frustration. He wished that bullet had killed him, it would spare a lot of feelings and memories that were now causing issues.

Rose came back to the bed, laying down with her back to ilya, browsing her phone quietly and yawning.

He looked over at her, “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“For what?” She mumbled, setting down her phone on the nightstand.

“For everything.” He sighed, “I’m sorry I stumbled upon your branch in Spain, I’m sorry you had to save me while I was bleeding out. I’m sorry I have made life so much worse for you. Rose I love you, but there are things that….haunt me. They have come back and it has affected our relationship, and I’m sorry!!! So so sorry!!”

“....Believe it or not… You're the best thing that's happened to me ilya.” She mumbled, looking at the wall “And i know there's shit that both of us deal with…. But i don't regret saving you. Or falling in love.”

Julian shook his head, “what if I regret being saved?”

“NO.” she sat up and glared at him “You shut the fuck up right now ilya. Don't ever say that.”

“...I CAN’T HELP IT ROSE!” He shouted sitting up. “I have been suppressing so much pain!”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET IT OUT?! IF NOT TO ME THEN TO SOMEONE OR SOMETHING ELSE?!” She got out of bed, her eyes stinging as she went and locked herself in the bathroom.

Julian punched the wall and fell back into the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he tore his eye patch off and rubbed his bad eye. Trying to prevent everything from coming out.

#the arcane game #arcana apprentice #the arcana #the arcane julian #julian devorak #arcana #the arcane mc #the arcana julian #rose sagenea #rose the apprentice #lyra the apprentice #cats and birds #mob au #caracaltalks

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xladyxfatex · 4 years

Text

Chapter Nineteen (FMITN Book 1)

Warning-Includes smut

While Finn sat in the main room his mind was flooded with memories of the past year, how he and Balor decided it was best to not be romantically involved with Jess. Balor and even Finn agreed Jessica was like a shining light, hope, something good with her kind caring heart. Balor and Finn, they were darkness, a void, evil, no matter their feelings towards the hybrid girl they wouldn’t taint her. The nights he spent at the Hardys’ house watching over Jess at the request of her brothers, he spent those nights watching her sleep, her peaceful face the aura of sweet innocents that surrounded her. Many times after leaving her room, they’d fantasize about her being theirs, touching her, tasting her, watching her come undone under their touch. That was when Finn went after Rosemary, she had a reputation of being easy, he didn’t feel shit for the girl and he was sure he never would, but having someone he use and pretend was Jessica that’s all he needed. However the rumors weren’t as true as it would seem. So he turned to Jessica to plan a date that would end in “fun” as he put it, He didn’t miss the fact that it looked like she was about vomit when he asked her, but he brushed it off and she helped plan the night, which in the end he got what he wanted. Though the thought of sharing the details with Jessica was something he did, he felt guilty. He saw the look of hurt in her eyes, though didn’t understand it, Balor, on the other hand was quick to figure it out and tried to explain and warn him if he kept it up they’d lose her. Finn ignored the warning and everytime something new happened sexual with Rosemary, the first person he told was Jess. With in a week Jessica was gone, she was no longer at the normal meetups, and for almost another two weeks no one had seen her. He finally had gotten a call from the brothers asking Finn to bring the missed school work to the house because Jessica was sick. Though the brothers were sure it wasn’t sick that she was but she wouldn’t tell them what it was. That night Finn brought all the missed work and copies of notes from each class. Matt thanked him and had him leave. Three days later Jessica returned to school, but Finn didn’t miss the way she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. Balor scuffed in Finn’s head ‘I told you you stop telling her that shit, now look she wants nothing to do with us. Five months of work and you ruined it cause you got laid and had to tell her, had to tell her EVERY FUCKING TIME!” It was true Jess ignored him completely unless having to work in classes with him.

It was two months to the day that Jessica had just left them, Balor noticed it first the shift in her demeanor, how much colder she’d become, how she kept everyone away from her, and he knew it was their fault. It was the same day that Finn had walked into an empty classroom to have a talk with Balor about how to fix things, when he discovered his girlfriend bent over a desk being fucked by one of the jocks. Rosemary just smiled and informed Finn this wasn’t the first guy in the last two months she’d been with behind his back. The realization that he lost his friend because of his stupidity broke him more than finding out just how big of slut his now ex girlfriend was. But word quickly made its way around the school. It took about another three weeks before he could even bring himself to talk to try and talk to Jess. When he did he asked forgiveness not thinking she’d give it, but she did. He knew damn well he had a lot to make up for and he was damn well determined to. He was broken from his thoughts when the bathroom door opened and Jessica stood there, body shaking and even Balor could smell the need coming from her. In a trembling voice she spoke.

“Were you serious when you basically said you’d fuck me?” The need, the want the desire it was becoming far too much for her to handle, and she’d be damned, if he wanted her he would have her, for tonight at least. Finn stood, his own transformation coming and going, his voice echoing both human and demon.

“You have no idea how long we’ve wanted you, Jessica. We just don’t want to lose you, to taint you.” He walked slowly towards her, and once in front of her cupped her cheek.her skin was soft and supple it felt nearly like slik under his fingertips. She leaned into his touch, sighing at the feeling of his skin. It was taking everything within himself not to just throw her down and please her. She reached up placing her hand on his chest, and gently pressed her fingertips into the skin.

“Finn ...Balor, please, take me. Have your way with me, I need you, I want you. I have since I meet you” She spoke in such a sweet voice. They were well aware they’d be her first, and here she was fulfilling one of their desires of begging him, no them both of them to take her. His left hand pulled Jess closer, leaning down and kissing her lips. They were plump, and soft and tasted sweet. Their lips nearly moved in sync. She moaned against his lips, sliding both hands up his body around his neck deepening the kiss. He sucked her bottom lip causing her to open her mouth and allow his tongue into her. He explored every inch twice over leaving nothing untouched. Her moans driving them further, cracking and breaking what small amount of reserve he had left. Her hands roamed over his body, tracing the curves of his muscular chest and back, she felt him shiver under her touch and prayed that was a good sign. Her hands slid lower the waistline of his jeans, gliding softly against it. Finn’s hands slipped down around her waist pulling her closer than possible. Gently sliding his hand up her tank top his fingers left trails of goosebumps, and made her already heated skin hotter. As his hand went to cup her breast, hers palmed the bulge in his jeans. Both pulling away from the kiss, breathless, eyes darkened by lust and desire. He moaned as Jessica slid her hand over the bulge back up to his waist. He nuzzled her ear and whispered.

“Tell me to stop and I will, but tell me to keep going, and I will show you everything Balor and I both know. We will show your body such heights of pleasure you may never want to go back. Can you handle that? Will you take all we have to give you?” Jessica didn’t verbally respond, instead she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down in a fluid motion, along with his dark green boxers. Her tiny hand wrapped around his long, thick length and began to stroke him. Slowly with barely any pressure at first, as he groaned she tightened her grip and moved faster. Finn’s hips bucked at the feeling, this was more than they ever imagined. Lost in the unbelievable sensation of her jerking him off, he hadn’t realized that she dropped to her knees. She finally got a look at his cock and swallowed the lump forming in her throat, this may be all new to her, but she heard the girls in school talk, she had a general idea of what to do and she was going to at least try.

A shocked moan was pulled from Finn’s lips when he felt Jessica’s soft lips enclose around the head of his penis and her tongue lick the precum that was there, she looked up at Finn keeping holding his gaze as she slowly slid her mouth down his shaft, she went to almost the base before coming back up and repeating the process, each time getting a little closer to having him fully in her mouth. The third time down she flattened her tongue pressing it against the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft, finally able to take the last inch in her mouth as his tip hit the back of her throat. Finn let out a string of curses and praise, Holding her hair in a makeshift ponytail. She countied bobbing up and down on his cock, when she felt him twitch and was suddenly pulled off.

Shock and confusion crossed Jessica’s face as she looked at Finn for answer.

“Not that way, the first time I cum for you will be inside you.” Jessica swallowed hard but was grateful for the fact that when she turned 15 she went and had the birth control implant placed, something oddly enough her brothers advised her to do. Shaking that thought from her head, Jessica moved closer to Finn his blue eyes flickering black, She kissed up just chest, to his neck, kissing, nipping, suckiing. She finally found a spot that made him shiver and she gladly attacked it with reckless abandonment. She bite, sucked, and kissed that spot until she was happy with her handy work, and moved on to nipping at his earlobe. She sweetly whispered in his ear as she dragged her fingernails over his thighs to his hips.

“Then what are you waiting for?” A rumble left Finn’s chest as his hands glided to the hem of Jessica’s tank top, and pulled it up and over her head, exposing her breasts and toned body. This was the first time they’d ever seen Jessica exposed, her soft, pale, unmared skin, covered in a light sheen of sweat, begging to be touched, marked. Their fingertips pushing into each of her hips, ghosting up her sides, to her breasts. At first cupping both, fondling them, while their thumbs rubbed over the nipples. Causing whimpers to spill from Jessica’s mouth. Kissing from the corner of her mouth, to her jaw, down her collarbone, he moved his right hand to her back, pushing her chest further out before taking her right nipple into his mouth, flicking and swirling his tongue around the already hardened bud, causing her body to tremble in need, as a wanton moan left her lips. His hand sliding down and removing her shorts, breaking away from her mound, he tapped her the back of her thigh.

“Jump.” A simple command all too well followed as Jessica jumped and wrapped her legs around Finn’s waist. He moved his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses down her neck, until he kissed a spot that had her mewl, and he sucked and bite the area, leaving a lovely mark just as she had done to them. Walking forward Finn stopped when the bed came into view. He gently laid her down admiring her body, and the very nice pink lace boy shorts she was wearing. He looked at her once more, and asked.

“You’re positive this is what you want?” Honestly they were past the point of stopping but they’d be damned if they didn’t give her the option to stop now. Propping herself on her elbows she looked into the almost now fully black eyes of Finn, and smiled.

“I’m sure I want this, please, please Balor take me.” He didn’t need to hear anymore as he hooked his fingers into the top of her panties, and slipped them off her, exposing every part of her, he licked his lips as he saw how soaked she was, he knew it was partly the heat, but he also knew he had caused it, and now, oh now it was time to taste. He worked his way up from her ankles, one hand gliding its nails up while on the other side he kissed and nipt, Slowly taking his time, feeling her body convulse, and hearing her pant. Every reaction was better than anything they dreamed up. Every breathy moan and cry, the smell of her arousal causing his head to spin and throwing his desire into overdrive. The tip of his nose barely grazing her sensitive clit, sending another tremble throughout her body as she began to beg him.

“Please Balor, please please touch me, I need you please.” He smiled against her core and locked his gaze on hers.

“Eyes open little gem, I want you to see what I’m doing to you.” Balor’s mouth attached to the small never bundle sucking and licking. Her taste was like none others and and it left him craving more. His tongue moved and licked and prodded along her opening, causing her moans to get louder. His tongue slipped into her and her hips bucked, he placed his arm across her pelvis to hold her in place. Sliding his finger into her soaking slit, he pumped in and out of her tightness. He had to make sure she was prepared to take him, he needed to stretch her out, but Gods was she tight. He slipped a second finger inside, cureling it as she called out his name He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to have her, and he knew she wanted him. Lifting from his kneeled position, and settled between her legs. Kissing her deeply as he used one hand to press the head of his cock to her entrance. Pulling back he looked into her eyes, as she nodded signaling she was ready. Resting his forehead to hers, and began to push further in. Jessica’s face scrunched up in pain as tears brimmed in her eyes. Balor whispered.

“Breath Jessica, deep breath. I’m sorry it hurts, but it won’t for long, I need you to relax the best you can. You’re doing so good my little gem, so good.” The parise helped her to relax and he kissed the tears from her cheek. With one final thrust he was completely inside her, filling her to the hilt. He gave her time to adjust to not only his size but the overall new feeling. Moments later she rolled her hips, showing she was ready for him to continue. He started with a slow methodical pace, feeling every each of himself slid in and out, feeling her walls expand and contract around his hard cock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed deep, another wanton moan leaving her. She breathlessly whispered against his lips for him to go faster, harder. She said she wanted all he had to give, and be complied fully. Placing her right leg over his shoulder and began a faster pace, the moans leaving both of them were like a symphony written only for them.

Balor groaned feeling Jessica’s walls spasm and tighten. She felt the coil in her stomach again but this time she knew it would snap. Without warning she came, hard, screaming his as a wave of ecstasy washing over her as her vision whited out. It took Balor a moment to regain himself, He wasn’t done with her not yet, and switched their position, flipping her over to and position her toned ass in the air, he placed kisses down her spine and gave words of encouragement. Before sliding his still hardened member back between her folds. Pushing in once again finding it was still just as tight, she whimpered at the feeling of being filled again, and he began a steady rhythm making sure to allow her to adjust to the new position. Her whimpers turned to cries and pleads for more, picking up the pace he held on to her hips tightly, most likely leaving bruises, as he brutally pumped in and out of her. She chanted his name as if reciting some unholy prayer, breathlessly praising him and how he was making her feel. He felt himself getting close but needed her to cum once more this time with him. He bent down to the shell of her ear, his hot breath ghosting over it, and in a growled whispered spoke.

I’m close, I want you to cum with me.” He removed one hand from her hip and began to vigorously rub her clit, while pounding into her, he felt her wall flutter and clench. “Yes that’s it cum with me little gem” A few more thrusts and Jessica was cumming again, her body shook her scream silent, Balor came harder than he ever had before, his own body trembling as he filled her with his seed. He braced himself to keep from falling on top of her. Moments later he removed himself from her, and a cry of protest left Jessica’s lips. He got up from the bed and went to the bathroom, bring back a damp cloth to clean between her legs. He smiled at her. Never in his wildest dreams about her did he think she’d feel that wonderful taste that sweet, or react with such need. It made him regret trying to force her into a role she shouldn’t have been in.

Once both were cleaned up, Finn wrapped his arms around Jessica as she placed her head on his chest. Smiling but sleepy she looked up at Finn.

“You know this changes nothing, we’re still best friends, I’ll always be there for you.” She kissed his chest as he carded his fingers through her hair.

“I know Little gem, I know. Now get some rest, we still have a decent drive ahead of us tomorrow.” He places a kiss to her temple while cuddling into her backside. The night was spent in each others arms, sleeping.

#wwe #wwe fanfic #jeff hardy #matt hardy #magical #werewolves #the demon king #finn balor #original character #my writing #wwe au #supernatural au #smut

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xweofmanyfaces · 5 years

Text

Coming Back To You

Lily knew that this would be a bad idea, that it was dangerous and it would blow their cover completely. But she had to see him, she didn’t feel like she had any other option. She felt like something was clawing at her from the inside, something that was leaving scratch marks on her rib cage and scars on her muscles, something that would eventually tear open her skin and crawl out through her chest. She hadn’t seen him in six months, they agreed not to. They agreed that for the safety of Harry and Aldora, the children would stay with her while she was living with Remus until everything could be sorted out. They had no end to their timeline, no final step in their plan, just the continuous motion of “what if‘s“ and “maybes“.

As far as the rest of the world knew, Lily and Severus had decided to split up six months ago. The separation hadn’t been legalized, mostly because Lily didn’t know how she would handle divorce even in times like this. But they were officially separated in the eyes of everyone else. She and her children had moved their things out of their house, moving in with her best friend, while her husband moved back to Spinners End, a house he clearly so loathed. But she could understand why, there was any reason in the world why he moved. Maybe he could not stand to be in their home without them, maybe he didn’t want to get caught living a happy life if death eaters should stop by the house and see the pictures of them with their children or them as a happily married couple. That was a part of the reason that she had moved out as well, though the house still existed and was still technically there’s, though now it gathered dust and no one lived there. It still held there furniture, other pictures on the walls, but most of their belongings had been removed. They made a promise that one day when the war was over and everything was safe they would all moved back, but today was not that day.

Lily was sitting in her room in Remus’s house, playing with her wedding ring and her engagement ring between her fingers. She wasn’t allowed to wear them in public anymore, so she kept them in a small box on her nightstand where she kept the rings that were given to her by James, all of it now hidden in shame. She missed Severus so much, the split absolutely life ruining. Everything had been so perfect for such a long time. After they got married everything seemed to fit perfectly. They had moved into their own house, one with a big enough yard for Harry, one with an office for both of them where they could work and make potions, and an extra room that eventually belonged to Aldora once she was born. It seemed like so long ago. Harry was 15 now, almost to man, and Aldora was almost 8 years old. Where had the time gone? Where did their happy life go? It all came tumbling down in the Dark Lord came back and ripped their family apart.

She didn’t think she would ever be able to forgive Albus for insisting that Severus go back to working for the Dark Lord. Logically, she understood why it had to happen. The Order of the Phoenix needed their in, needed their spy, and she knew what the death eaters would do to him if they found out he was a traitor and a double agent. She knew that he had to lie about the reason for their marriage, make it seem as if they had only been married for his self preservation and that he held no love for her son, she wondered if perhaps he lied about loving his own daughter. She never asked him that. She never wanted to hurt him that way by asking. With the return of the Dark Lord, Lily’s fear returned as well, causing her to eventually start waking up several times a night to check the locks again, checking on her children as they slept even though they were no longer babies and were perfectly capable of sleeping in their rooms by themselves without a bodyguard. Sudden noises began to startle her again, even so much as the phone ringing. And then… Her nightmares came back.

Her mind was once more flooded with images of Halloween, her first husband dying in front of her. It had made her restless, it made her sick, and her life was beginning to dwindle miserably. Severus had noticed the change, and noticed how worried she had become about their children. She spent all of her time worrying about Harry whenever he would go back to school, almost hovering over Aldora in fear that she would wander off and get taken by death eaters. They both knew that she would never feel like they were truly safe with Voldemort around, especially if he and his followers would continue to call upon her husband. They never wanted to take the chance that perhaps one of them would come by the house, that the children would see, that their lives will be put in danger. So they had to make the most painful decision possible, and they had to separate. As far as the world knew, the two of them had been in an unhappy marriage for a long time, that they no longer fit together. Even their children had been lied to, telling them that sometimes people just don’t work out. If only they knew.

She knew the rumors had begun to fly, that several people had whispered within the wizarding community that she simply got tired of being with someone who wasn’t the perfect James Potter, several other people saying she had finally come to her senses and divorced a death eater, so many rumors that seem to keep quite a few witches and wizards busy. She did her best to ignore them, did her best to hide her children from them, but she can only do so much for Severus. They had said their last goodbye in private, promising not to see each other unless they absolutely had to. Any contact they had between the two of them was had through Albus, the only one who knew the truth now. Even Sirius and Remus were under the impression that she had truly left him, she couldn’t risk bringing them into it and putting them in more danger, no matter how much she trusted them. And whatever contact was had with Albus as their middleman was usually about business or the children. Letting Severus know that they were safe and well, letting him know that Lily was fine. And Albus would do the same, letting her know the Severus was safe. There was only so much communication they could have through another person, especially when she partially blamed him for losing her husband to begin with. He seemed to have that effect on her life, putting her husbands in dangerous situations. He had put James in a situation where he had become a target, both of them had, along with her son. And it landed her first husband dead. She would be damned if that happened to Severus, she would be damned if she lost him because of another man’s fight. But she knew it wasn’t just another man’s fight, it was all of their fight. Voldemort had killed James, took her sons father away from him, and she would rather die here and now than let Severus be taken away as James had been.

Her thoughts of Severus had brought tears to her eyes, swallowing thickly as she thought about the last time she saw him. They had not so much as called each other on the phone or written a letter, not wishing to get caught. It had been six months now, six long and lonely months of trying to learn to sleep in bed alone again, so her nightmares had only gotten worse once she was sleeping in bed alone. She held the rings tightly in her hand before walking over to her dresser, putting the rings back in their box and sliding on her shoes. She couldn’t take this anymore. She knew that she had to keep up with the illusion of the separation, she knew that. But she had to see him, just this once. She had already bent or broken so many rules in life as it was, wasn’t he worth bending and breaking a few more?

She wrote a note for Remus, who she sure was out with Sirius or out on order business, telling him that she needed some air and some time to herself. She wrote him not to worry and that the children were asleep in their room, the two of them having to share since he didn’t have a big enough house for all of them to have rooms of their own. He had already been such a sweetheart that he gave his room to her, choosing to sleep on the couch. Back when James had died, they used to sleep in the same bed. All three of them actually, Harry would lay on his chest or between them and she would curl up to his side as if seeking warmth and protection, and it was during that year after James‘s death, that the two of them truly began to grow close. But he knew that it was different now, it was over a decade later and she had been married since then, they couldn’t sleep in a bed together anymore. It wasn’t that either of them thought anything would happen between them, they had no sexual or romantic chemistry whatsoever. But he could tell that she was still in love with Severus, even if she didn’t voice it. And he knew that if he got close with her, even platonically, it would only make her miss him more. So he slept on the couch like a gentleman, letting her put her things in his room and make it her own, while her children slept in his guest bedroom. He was a good friend, a great one actually. And she loved him dearly for his kindness.

After writing her letter to Remus, Lily threw on her coat and made her way down the hallway, having left the letter on her dresser. She stood quietly outside the door at the front of the hall, listening to see if she could hear anything inside. She could hear are the telltale signs that her kids were sleeping, even and gentle breathing from Harry and light snoring from Aldora, little Dora was the only one of the two that snored. She smiled softly to herself, hopeful that one day the world would be a safer place for her children. She hoped that the war would be won by the right side and her family could be brought back together again, and seeing her husband wouldn’t happen every six months under the cover of darkness, that her love would not be buried away in lies and she wouldn’t be sleeping in someone else’s house. While she may have been filled with anxiety and pain, above all things She was filled with a hope and bravery that was very very Gryffindor of her. She knew that she would fight until her very last breath to make this world safer for her children and to be able to go home to her husband, to get them all out alive. She would die before she ever gave up on any of them, she knew that to be true.

She pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head, zipping it up as she quietly made her way to the front door. She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and she unlocked the door and made her way out, using magic to quietly lock it behind her. She slid the wooden rod back up her sleeve as she began to slowly walk down the street, as if having a quiet mental argument with herself. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat and quietly wrestled with herself as she made it to the end of the driveway. This was the right thing wasn’t it? This was what they should be doing? Was she doing the wrong thing here? Was he right when he said any contact at all was wrong? But really, she knew that he was right, that this was dangerous. But what was life worth without a little bit of danger? What was life worth if she couldn’t even see him just this one time? She had held out for six months already, did that mean anything at all?

Next thing she knew, she had pulled her wand out of her sleeve and had apparated from the end of the driveway of her temporary home to the end of the dark alleyway of Spinners End. She never liked it here, it was dark and creepy, even during the daylight somehow it always was. But even more so, it was terrifying at night. The last time she had looked at the clock it had been almost midnight, so she knew it must be almost 12:30 by now, she wondered if he would be sleeping. She wouldn’t put it past him to be up all night, sitting in thought or drowning himself in potions and spells. He always worked too hard. As she slid her wand back up her sleeve, stuffing her hands inside of her pockets and making sure to keep her head down low, she wondered if he was taking care of himself. He was always bad at taking care of himself, remembering to eat when he should or to drink enough water, to take proper care of himself when he was sick or go to sleep when he needed rest. She wondered if he was bothering to clean his house, if he was wallowing in filth that matched his sadness. She wondered if he missed her taking care of him, she wondered if he noticed the difference.

When she finally made it outside of the house, she simply stood there in the darkness, staring at the front door. Her eyes were full of tears as she stared at the door, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. A more logical part of her brain told her that even after six months of not speaking, that he would still love her. If they once went years without speaking after their fall out as teenagers and he still loved her even then, the six months wouldn’t change that. But she couldn’t help wondering, couldn’t help being afraid. She couldn’t help being afraid that six months around death eaters and without her and their children around, that he had changed. She found herself afraid that maybe in that time he had stopped loving her, that he didn’t miss her. She knew he would be upset to see her, because it was dangerous. But would he be upset to see her because he didn’t really want to see her at all? Because he hadn’t been thinking of her, because he was glad to be rid of her? If she knocked on the door, would she find a husband who missed her and still loved her or would she find a man who was angry she bothered to come back at all?

She sniffled, reaching out to wipe at her eyes where tears had already started to slowly escape. She couldn’t think like that, she owed him more than that, more credit than that. She had to give him a chance, to see how he felt instead of just assuming. She took a deep breath, summoning all of her Gryffindor bravery and walked up to the front door, raising her hand as if to knock on it but hesitating in the air, clenching her fist a little bit tighter as she knocked on the door, hard enough to be heard through the house but not so hard the neighbors would hear her in the night. She closed her eyes tightly as she pulled her hand away from the door, rubbing her fingertips against her empty ring finger where her wedding ring had one sat, her hand still missing the familiar feeling. She had to hope, she had to pray, that when he opened the door, she would see the man who loved her and not one who regretted her.

#theacerbicprince #thread: coming back to you #c; Lily #v; What If #x: queue of many faces

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dnkaus · 5 years

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Fateful Visions | Chapter 33: Closure

Namjoon x Reader (OC)

Summary: We learn about the villian of this story. Maya and Namjoon face the mental repercussions of experiencing trauma and come in terms with their own selves and their relationship.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Previous Part: Chapter 32

2 years after Maya’s Kidnapping

It had been a few years since the kidnapping. The case had closed about a year and a half ago and the decision was that Maya’s infamous kidnapper would go to jail for 15 years. But there are two sides to each story. Up till this point, you had gotten to learn a lot about Maya and Namjoon. But you may be wondering, who was Maya’s kidnapper? Who would be so cruel to hurt another human in such a way? Why did the previous chapter end the way it did? Well, it’s time for this story to shift attention. Let’s meet the villain of this story. Let’s meet Kim Ree-Mi, the woman with the red dress that Namjoon met in that dark room.

Kim Ree-Mi is the daughter of a well-known businessman in Korea. She has an MBA from Harvard. But besides being very well-educated. Ree-Mi is also quite generous. She volunteers at the homeless shelter every Saturday and donated a considerable amount of money to BTS’s #EndViolence campaign. Ree-Mi also used to have a fansite before the kidnapping incident. Yes, her fansite was dedicated to Namjoon. As mentioned in her conversation with Namjoon, she had known about BTS’s music even before they debuted. She went to almost every event and dedicated her life to BTS. You can say, she was in love. A love that was so strong that she often couldn’t understand how to process her feelings. Every second of her life belonged to Namjoon and BTS. She barely slept at times, making sure Namjoon was sound asleep.

You may be wondering, how did she know whether Namjoon was asleep? Well, these things are so easy to find out nowadays. Tracking phones, cameras, and easily influenced staff members, all helped Ree-Mi keep her eye on Namjoon at all times. No matter what part of the world Namjoon was in, Ree-Mi was there too. Money can get you anything in this world...well, almost anything.

Some consider Ree-Mi as a saesang. And she would proudly admit that she was. Her love for Namjoon wasn’t the stupid superficial type like the other saesangs. Her love was real. And there was nothing in this world that could change her mind about that. She did stop keeping an eye on Namjoon after going to prison. But even during that time, she would often write letters to Namjoon asking how he was doing. He never responded. But that’s okay.

To get to the point, Ree-Mi only had one motive to kidnap Maya. Ree-Mi wanted to see how real Maya’s love was for Namjoon. Was Maya even capable enough to be with Namjoon? To find out Ree-Mi had kept an eye on Maya’s every move since Maya and Namjoon went on their first date and in the end she had concluded that Maya and Namjoon had some deep connection. That would be the only possible explanation of why Namjoon would risk so much for someone so ordinary such as Maya.

Ree-Mi wasn’t jealous of Maya...Okay, maybe she was a little jealous. But honestly, she was mostly intrigued by Maya. She was intrigued by the way Namjoon would look at Maya. Ree-Mi often imagined what it would have been like if Namjoon had looked at her the same way he looked at Maya.

But alas, he never did. So, in pure frustration and anger, Ree-Mi began to bother Maya with those threats. Initially, those threats weren’t meant as anything. They were just meant to ruin Maya’s day. However, one day when Maya and Namjoon did an interview for the Huempathy campaign and Ree-Mi saw the way Namjoon defended Maya, a part of Ree-Mi sort of collapsed and she gave in to her urge of hurting Maya. That afternoon when Maya went back to her dressing room, Ree-Mi had left her a note.

“You have two choices. You can either leave this campaign and Namjoon right now or suffer the consequences”

Maya stupidly chose to run to Namjoon and she forgave him for hurting her. In fact, Maya and Namjoon even spent the night together after that press conference because Maya was afraid she would die soon, if the threats were true, and wanted to spend whatever time she had left with the love of her life. But at the time, Ree-Mi thought, by choosing to become closer to Namjoon, Maya was asking for a war.

And so the war began. A war that had a very dissatisfactory ending. Ree-Mi ended up hurting the one person she wanted to protect. Her weapons ended up hurting Namjoon more than anyone else. She can never forgive herself for that. She will never forget the pain she caused Namjoon and the guilt that she knew would eventually consume her.

To cope with the guilt, Ree-Mi spent the first few months in prison thinking about ways to apologize to Namjoon. That was why she had written the letters. But when she didn’t receive a response, she knew she had to choose another way of dealing with the guilt. During her time in prison, Ree-Mi also reflected on her actions towards Maya and realized that if she truly loved Namjoon, she would also respect his love for Maya.

That’s why Ree-Mi decided to write a story.

The story that Ree-Mi wrote was about a woman and man that were meant to be together and they would have visions about the future when they touched and looked at each other. But due to fate, they suffered various obstacles to be together. Ree-Mi hoped that Namjoon would read this story and realize that Ree-Mi had come to the realized that she had no place in Namjoon’s life and that was okay. Ree-Mi will always view Namjoon and Maya as prime examples of soulmate.

With that, I announce that I am Kim Ree-Mi, the writer of this story.

Each and every word of this story is just my perception of Maya and Namjoon. This story represents my love for Namjoon and the love of his life, Maya. Everything you read so far was just my take on Maya and Namjoon’s relationship. Me, a saesang and also the villain of the story. You must be wondering what I gained out of writing this story. Well, actually I gained a lot.

These past several months have really made me question what it means to be a fan. Do I hold even a little space in my idol’s heart? Does it even matter whether my idol knows who I am in the grand scheme of life? If the idol and fan relationship means nothing, then what is the meaning of everything I worked for these past several years? Is it Namjoon’s fault that he didn’t fall in love with me even though I was there in front of him this whole time? Or, is it my fault for believing that I could be with him without ever truly knowing him? Who is Kim Namjoon? Who is Kim Ree-Mi? What is my identity outside of being a terrible saesang that almost killed her own idol? I thought I would ponder these questions until my last breath. But writing this story made me realize, there was no right answer. I started as a fan of Namjoon’s music, but along the way, I forgot my own identity in the process of loving him. This story made me realize, I was only an outsider in Namjoon’s life. That is what we’ll all always be. Only Namjoon and Maya would know themselves.

In the end, Namjoon and I could not be together in this life, but maybe in another, we’ll end up together. I hope Namjoon and Maya both live a peaceful life and I apologize for the trouble I have caused. May they both live happily ever after.

Publisher’s note: Kim Ree-Mi passed away right after submitting her final draft of this story to us. Please note that we did not know she would take her life when she had began writing the story. We pray she rests in peace.

———--END OF FATEFUL VISIONS————

Epilogue

Note: This portion of the story is not written from Kim Ree-Mi’s perspective and is not a part of “Fateful Visions.” This is the real Maya and Namjoon.

6 Months after Namjoon was released from the Hospital

It had been some time since the incident. It had been a while since Namjoon had been inside that dark room where Maya was kept. But those images still felt fresh inside his head. Namjoon held on to his desktop mouse tightly as he felt a sense of panic come over him suddenly. He was just sitting at his computer, working on a song, when a random melody triggered the panic. For some reason, the melody reminded him of the incident and that elicited the stress. Namjoon gripped the mouse tightly, trying to take deep breaths. The images of Maya being stuck in the room, the feeling of getting shot, both kept lingering inside his head. Namjoon felt like he couldn't breathe.

He felt like he was about to faint. His back brace, from the physical rehabilitation center, was starting to feel tight suddenly. Like he was suffocating in his own skin. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight the feeling, fight himself, and turned off the speaker. The melody stopped playing and suddenly felt a wave of relief. He tried to breathe again. Soaking in the silence.

All of a sudden he heard the door to his studio open and heard footsteps followed by someone setting something on the table behind him and suddenly someone covered his eyes. Namjoon was about to panic again until he realized the softness of those hands belonged to none other than Maya.

“--Maya” Namjoon mumbled.

“Happy Birthday, Joon” Maya tenderly replied.

“Thanks...sorry, I was just working on a—” Namjoon’s sentence was cut off as Maya held up the object she had placed earlier on the table behind him. It was a small cake.

“Don’t be sorry...I am sorry for barging in like this, but I wanted to get here earlier before our appointment so I can give this to you.”

Maya handed Namjoon the cake with a small candle on it. Namjoon smiled and took the cake into his hands.

“Didn’t we already celebrate last night?” Namjoon asked in confusion. Last night Maya had kept Namjoon awake, so that as soon as the clock had struck 12, Maya and the other BTS members could surprise Namjoon with a small party. It was just in BTS’s apartment and it was really just them, but still, the party had gone on till the early morning.

“Well, that party was more for the boys. They planned that whole thing and I was just a device to keep you distracted.” Maya laughed. “You can say I am selfish and I wanted us to have our own little celebration,” Maya added. “That’s hardly selfish…I wanted to spend time with you too.” Namjoon nodded and calmly responded.

“Okay now blow out your candle before the candle wax ruins the cake!” Maya urged.

Namjoon closed his eyes and blew out the candle, making a small wish.

“...Happy Birthday to you!!! Yayyy!” Maya sang the birthday song with just as much enthusiasm as she did last night.

Maya took the cake from Namjoon’s hand and handed him the knife so he can cut the cake. Then they both shifted over to the couch in his studio, feeding each other a bite of the cake.

“This is nice…” Namjoon stated suddenly.

“Yeah, it is…” Maya replied. “So, should we head out for our appointment?” Maya continued.

Namjoon sighed. “yeah, let’s just get it over with”

“You are still afraid…” Maya responded.

“I just hope you don’t leave me after talking to the therapist.” Namjoon was only half-joking.

“That’s not how it works, Joon!” Maya retorted with a slight eye roll.

“Good!” Namjoon said.

Maya helped Namjoon settle into his wheelchair and rolled him out of the studio. Namjoon was still recovering and so he was still using a wheelchair to get around. For the past 6 months, he had been visiting multiple physical and occupational therapists, learning to walk and move around again. Maya was also recovering. Physically she was in much better shape than Namjoon, but mentally both Namjoon and Maya were not doing as well. Things like this change people and their relationship.

A couple of weeks ago, Maya’s younger sister had come to visit Maya in Seoul. Through conversations, she suggested that both Maya and Namjoon go see a therapist. Not only for themselves but for each other. At first, both Namjoon and Maya were hesitant but eventually agreed to give it a try. Han Bi recommended the name of a therapist and both Namjoon and Maya decided to make an appointment.

As Namjoon and Maya arrived, Namjoon was asked to wait in the lobby by the assistant and Maya was led to the doctor’s office first. Maya paused and stared at the door of the therapist and noted the name. Dr. Park Jia was written on the door. Maya took a deep breath and knocked lightly. She was not ready for any of this. But she also knew if she didn’t do this now, the emotional and mental wounds would fester even more.

“Come in” someone inside replied.

Maya opened the door and walked inside. First thing Maya saw was dark wooden furniture and an enormous bookshelf that was filled with what seemed like textbooks.

“Hi…” the lady sitting at the desk replied. The woman was beautiful. She looked like she could be an idol or a model. Her eyes were warm and friendly, yet if one looked closely the may see some sort of sadness within them. Perhaps, it was listening to other people’s sadness, that had impacted the woman to this extent. The woman smiled as she made eye contact with Maya. Her smile seemed familiar to Maya.

“...I am Dr. Park. But you can call me Jia…” Jia, the woman at the desk continued. She spoke in fluent English.

Maya smiled in return and made her way to the desk and responded in English. “Hi, I am Maya.”

“Nice to meet you Maya, please have a seat,” Jia replied.

“You speak English?” Maya asked as she sat down and noticed that Jia barely had an accent.

Jia blushed slightly and replied. “Uh...yeah, I studied Psychology in America...plus I wanted to make you feel more comfortable and thought it would be easier if I spoke in your native language.”

Maya laughed. “At this point, I feel like my Korean is better than my English, to be honest. But thank you for being so considerate.”

“Well, that must be true, since you also wrote your book in Korean.” Jia laughed as well while speaking in Korean.

“Where in America did you study Psychology?” Maya asked.

“I went to UC Berkley” Jia responded.

“Wow, California huh? I am from there too.”

“Oh really? I always heard you were from Arkansas.” “Well, no, that’s where I did my graduate degree.”

“Ah! I see.”

Both became silent for a second.

“How do you know so much about me?” Maya suddenly asked.

Jia laughed again. “BTS and Maya Shroff are pretty famous in Korea. I don’t think there is anyone that doesn’t know you all.”

“Ah... yeah... you are right. I guess I am still not used it...” Maya slowly responded, suddenly remembering the cost she had paid for this fame.

Jia awkwardly cleared her throat. “So, anyways, today, I wanted to sort of create a structure for how we want to do this. I can help you as much as you help yourself and so the question is really what would you like to attain from your time with me? Or, what are you having trouble with?”

Maya was surprised by the question. She had no idea what she wanted from her therapy sessions. She hadn’t given much thought.

“Honestly...I am not sure.” Maya responded after a few seconds.

“That’s okay. We can figure that out today. But for that, I may have to ask you some questions that you might feel uncomfortable answering. Is that okay?” Jia smiled again. It was strange, but every time Jia smiled, her smile reminded Maya of someone she knew. She couldn’t pinpoint who.

Maya nodded.

“So, let me ask you, what do you usually do nowadays? Are you working on another book?” Jia asked.

“Uh, no...I have just been I guess resting recently. My family visited recently, so I have been spending time with them as well.”

“Ah, yes do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have 2 brothers and 3 sisters” Maya stared at her hands in her lap as she responded.

“Woah, that’s a big family. Are they all in America?”

“Right now, yes…”

“Hmm, do you miss them sometimes?”

“Sometimes, yes…”

“I always wondered, how did you get interested in Korean literature?”

“I think the language is beautiful and the stories are always fascinating. I guess I just feel like I can express myself better in Korean.”

“In what ways?” Jia probed.

“I am not sure...it’s just easier for me to write in Korean and sort of articulate my emotions through Korean words. I guess I never thought about why that is. Maybe I was meant to come here so my heart always gravitated towards the language.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Does that mean you believe in fate?”

Maya didn’t respond at first. She turned towards the small window in the office that was on her left.

“I think I do.”

“Does this mean you believe that your experiences are your fate?”

Jia’s words sort of rung inside Maya’s ears. The last time she had really thought about fate was when she was receiving the threats.

“I mean it has to be some form of fate for me to meet Namjoon or to have my blog become so big or to...even experience what happened six months ago, don’t you think? A tear escaped Maya’s eyes. She quickly wiped it.

“What about your choices? Don’t they play a role in your outcome?” Jia asked.

“It’s not like I chose to fall in love with an idol or have a stalker following my every move”

“No, you didn’t. And you definitely did not choose to experience the pain you are feeling right now.” Jia replied. “...But, it does not mean you do not have a choice now.”

“What do you mean?” Maya asked.

“I guess we don’t choose the outcomes, but we choose our path that leads to different outcomes. And we can choose our responses to those outcomes. When I asked you if you believe your experiences are due to your fate, your first response was to jump to the conclusion that I was referring to your relationship with Namjoon or the kidnapping incident. But honestly, I was just referring to your experiences in general.” Jia replied.

“Maya, you have suffered through something that is beyond traumatic and your feelings and your pain are absolutely valid and normal. But you have your whole life ahead of you. You can either choose to define the word ‘experiences’ with your kidnapping or you can change your definition of the word ‘experience’. I think we have found your goal. What do you think?” Jia asked.

Maya paused to think about Jia’s words for a second. For the past six months, everyone around Maya talked about the same things, the same incident, and the same problems. The police, the media, the company, the fans, everyone wanted to remind Maya of those few days in that dark room. But the truth was, Maya couldn’t remember much from those few days. She was always drowsy and tired and numb. The things she did remember were just the weapons that they used to hit her and the hands that had touched her body. Even in those moments, the sensation of pain was almost foreign, as her body would freeze, almost working as an anesthetic.

“Yeah...that would be nice,” Maya answered.

“It might be a lot of work though. Will you be willing to do the work?” Jia asked.

Maya nodded.

“Good. So let me ask you, have you felt anything different since coming out of the hospital?”

“Like what?”

“Like do you feel safe? Do you feel in control of your body?”

Maya thought back to the previous night. She was sitting and watching TV with Namjoon, but she flinched when she heard the doorbell. It was just Seokjin dropping off some food, but even that doorbell had forced Maya to break into a sweat. She knew that was not a normal reaction.

“Sometimes, I get scared by the most trivial things. It used to be that I was only afraid of someone raising their voice with me or when someone made sudden movements towards me. But nowadays, I get scared even by a doorbell.”

“Oh really? Since when did you become scared of people raising their voice around you?” Jia noted something down in a notebook.

“I guess ever since I was little, but more so after I met my ex...he was...not the nicest person…”

“Do your parents know about this?”

“Ummm...no, not really…”

“Why do you think this started when you were little?”

“I am not sure... I guess my family and friends say I was always a scared little girl. I remember I was so nervous to move to Arkansas.”

“Sometimes fear is really just a mechanism to protect us from more danger. We can help alleviate the fear by showing you instances where sudden movements, doorbells, and loud sounds don’t always mean danger.”

Maya nodded.

“I have a question for you, Maya. Please feel free to say you don’t want to answer it right now. But I must ask, why do you think you didn’t tell the police earlier about the threats?”

Maya pursed her lips. This was a question that everyone had been asking her for the past several months.

“I had received my first threat after I went on the first date with Namjoon. I have never told this to him because I know he would feel even more upset if he ever found out...And then the threats stopped for a long time. But then they started again when I got back in contact with Namjoon. Also, I decided to do the Huempathy campaign because I felt like women like me don’t have a voice sometimes. Honestly, Namjoon and I were not on good terms when we started the campaign. We weren’t even together at the time, we were just pretending. I had told Namjoon about the first threat, and that’s why I had the...the bodyguards. But then, I felt like if I told him about the other threats, he would have forced me to step back. And I didn’t want to step back. So I didn’t. Besides, I didn’t think something would actually happen.”

“Wow, you seem to have a lot of thoughts about this. Have many people asked this question?”

“It was the only question that I have been getting these past few months.”

“Well, I have a task for you. I want you to think of all the times in your life that you remember feeling unsafe or you flinched and write it down, that way we can talk about it and process it together. You might have started to associate everyday things with fear or you may have started to associate Namjoon with feelings of unsafety. We can try to work through that together so you can change your thoughts about it.” Jia replied.

“It’s not that I associate Namjoon with feelings of unsafety. He is the only person I feel safe around, to be honest...I just notice that something feels strange between us ever since the incident.” Maya admitted.

“How so?” Jia wanted clarification.

“We haven’t talked about the incident with each other since it happened. I mean at least not one on one.”

“Hmmm...do you think you are afraid of having the conversation? Or do you think he is afraid?”

“I think it’s both of us.”

“Do you think you are afraid this incident has taken a toll on your relationship?”

“It has. But I don’t know how to fix it.” Maya finally broke down.

“How about you write down what you want to say to him. Sometimes writing it out is easier than talking and if that doesn’t work, you can practice talking to me. What do you think about that?”

Maya nodded. She hadn’t written a single word in the past six months, but hearing Jia saying this gave Maya at least some motivation to open up her laptop again.

“Yeah, I will try writing it down.”

“Alright, Maya our time is coming to an end today. But I do want to say that you are already doing an amazing job handling this. You know what to work on now, and that’s the best place to start. It won’t be easy, but I think you can do this. You can do anything. Right?”

Jia handed Maya a kleenex and smiled. It was strange but looking at Jia comforted Maya. Maya stood up from her seat.

“Thanks Jia. It was nice meeting you.” Maya bowed and prepared to leave the room.

“Yeah, same here,” Jia replied and stood up from her seat, following Maya to the door.

Jia came outside with Maya and followed her to the lobby where Namjoon was sitting with a notebook and a pen in his hand. He was writing something.

When Maya went up to Namjoon, Namjoon looked up. Namjoon gave Maya a smile and put his notebook in his pocket. Then Namjoon’s gaze shifted towards Jia.

“Hi, I am Dr. Park Jia...you can call me Jia.” Jia introduced herself and bowed.

Namjoon was still in his wheelchair and still wearing his back brace so he bowed only slightly.

“I am Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you,” Namjoon replied.

“Shall we go in?” Jia suggested.

Namjoon nodded and tried to wheel himself towards the office. However, Jia went behind him and helped him instead. “I can help.” She said.

Maya sat down in a chair in the lobby while Jia helped Namjoon with the wheelchair and rolled him into her office.

When he got inside the office, the first thing Namjoon saw was the bookshelf. It was massive and was filled what seemed like textbooks. He also noticed that there were 3 copies of Maya’s book Wan Blue Night. Namjoon felt a surge of guilt. It had been months since Maya’s book came out, and to be honest, he had not read it. He should have read it. But he couldn’t. Every time he looked at the book, a sense of pain would take over him. Seeing Jia have 3 copies of his girlfriend’s book made him feel even more guilty.

Jia noticed Namjoon looking at the books, so she went over and held up one of the copies.

“Ah, I can’t believe Maya Shroff was in my office just now and I forgot to get her to sign my copy! I can’t believe myself! I’ll have to remember it next time I see her.” Jia took the book over at her desk and set it on the corner and looked over at Namjoon.

“Uh yeah...it’s okay, I am sure Maya would be happy to sign the copy for you,” Namjoon replied.

“Yeah, she is quite sweet.” Jia agreed.

Namjoon finally looked over at his therapist, Jia. And it was crazy but he felt like he had met her before. Jia’s face and smile were abnormally familiar. It was like he was experiencing Deja Vu. Or, perhaps it was Jamais Vu.

“I am sorry but have we met before?” Namjoon suddenly asked.

Jia was taken aback by Namjoon’s sudden question. She laughed. “Uh well, if being at your last year’s stadium concert counts, then yeah I guess we’ve met…”

“Oh, you came to our concert?” Namjoon blushed and asked. All these years and he was still not used to having fans in the most ordinary places.

“Yeah, I have only been to one of your concerts, but it was great! I thoroughly enjoyed it!” Jia exclaimed.

“...but to answer your question, I don’t think we’ve met. And don’t worry, I am not an ARMY by any means. I am definitely Maya’s fan.”

“Oh it’s...it’s not a big deal. I mean…” Namjoon didn’t know how to word his concern.

“No, it’s okay... I know it would have been uncomfortable if I was an ARMY. But I assure you, I only know as much as an average person might know about you and Maya.” Jia assured.

Jia’s guess was right. Namjoon was worried that if Jia was an ARMY, that would completely change his dynamic with her. In the past few months, Namjoon was feeling quite unsure how to react around fans, considering everything that had happened with Ree-Mi.

Jia saw this as a way for her to find an in towards Namjoon’s feelings.

“How are you doing Mr. Kim Namjoon?” Jia asked directly.

“I...I am doing okay.”

“I am asking Namjoon how he is doing, not RM.” Jia clarified.

Namjoon looked towards Jia, her eyes were warm and comforting, but Namjoon also noticed some form of sadness in her eyes. He wondered what the sadness was about.

“ I am not sure what you mean…” Namjoon asked.

“I am asking how you as a human being outside of idol life are doing? What have you been up to? Any hobbies? Or plans?”

Namjoon knew what Jia was asking, but truth be told, he still didn’t have much of an answer.

“I am doing okay. Just recovering and working on music. It’s really hard to do anything with this back brace and wheelchair…”

“That’s understandable. What activities did you use to do before…?”

“Before I got shot?” Namjoon was direct. Unlike Maya, he hated when people tried to beat around the bush about the kidnapping incident. He didn’t want sympathy from people. Namjoon and his girlfriend had enough of that already. He wanted justice. He was still angry.

“Yeah...before you got shot.” Jia picked up on Namjoon’s anger from the way he said the phrase.

“I mean I used to like going to the Han River and biking. I also liked going to exhibits, but I honestly never really had time to do much of that once we started doing more tours and albums.”

“Do you think you as Namjoon would like to do that now?”

“I am not sure. I feel like things are just different now.” Namjoon replied.

“Why is that?” Jia probed.

“...I think I just don’t find those things as much fun anymore.”

“That’s okay. People change and we start developing new hobbies. But for that, we have to give ourselves some time. You mentioned you started working on music again? How is that going?”

Namjoon remembered the panic attack he had experienced earlier in the day. His motivation to produce music had depleted. He was only using music as a distraction from his own thoughts, and he knew that.

“It’s going well I guess…”

“Oh really? Music is really powerful. It can be healing at times, but it can also actually be quite painful at times if you start listening to the wrong songs.”

“I have never heard that before…” Namjoon gave Jia a puzzled look. “I don’t know if this is true in your case, but I know that for a lot of people listening to some melodies can create panic. Has that happened to you before?”

Namjoon sighed. “Yeah, it has.”

“Do you know why you feel this panic?”

“I don’t know. Every time I hear the melody I am working on it reminds me of that woman. Maybe the intonation of her voice that my brain sort of associates with this melody.”

“This might not be something you want to hear, but have you thought about just taking a break from music.”

“I mean I can’t just quit music. I have obligations that I am already not fulfilling. I can’t perform for a year at least...It’s unfair to my members how much time I am taking away from performing. I have put them through so much already…”

“Yes, maybe...but don’t you think it’s more of an inconvenience for them to see you in pain?”

“I feel terrible seeing them having to perform without me. They already have so much going on and on top of that, I am not there…” Namjoon sighed.

“What kind of relationship would you say you have with your group members?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you talk to your members about your personal life?”

“Oh...of course, I remember when I first considered dating Maya, the first person I told was Yoongi hyung…they are the most important people in my life. They are my family.”

“Okay, well here is another question, what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“A man with a terribly broken body,” Namjoon responded bitterly.

“Well, I see a miracle. I wasn’t aware of what was going on at the time when you were shot. But I remember the morning they took you to the hospital, the news were saying you were dying or would be dead soon. And they were showing millions of messages on SNS and other fans crying in videos. It felt terrible to think that we would never see you…and I barely even know you”, Jia paused and folded her hands together, adjusting her posture.

“...Since you were direct with me earlier, I will be direct with you. Namjoon you just came out of a near-death experience. Your family, your girlfriend, your parents, all almost lost you. But all those things aside, you didn’t die. You are alive and well, sitting in front of me, against all odds. If you had died, there would not have been a BTS leader RM or Kim Namjoon. But you didn’t. So now what? You are getting a second chance. So what do you want to do with this chance?”

Namjoon thought about it for a second. “I am not sure…”

“And that’s okay. That’s what we are here to figure out. Your body might heal quicker than your mental wounds. In a year maybe you might physically feel better and think you are ready to perform, but mentally you might not feel ready, and that’s okay. If your members are your family, they’ll understand. Because you would understand too if they had been going through the same thing, right?”

Namjoon nodded. Jia wasn’t scolding Namjoon, but the way she was talking to him made him feel like he was talking to an old friend, rather than a therapist. He needed someone to talk to him so candidly. Someone who wasn’t going to sugar coat things or try to show sympathy.

“I guess I am just worried because I am the leader…”

“Or, maybe you are afraid they won’t need you if you are gone too long…” Jia had hit a sensitive nerve inside Namjoon that he had never even noticed he had. “Your biggest pride is being the leader of BTS. Without it maybe you don’t see yourself as valuable…”

Namjoon pursed his lips. He was not ready to hear that. Was he so easy to figure out? How had Jia figured him out so easily?

“I am proud of BTS. I am proud of RM.” Namjoon clenched his jaw and responded. He knew that the answer was terribly superficial, but that’s all he could say.

“And what about Namjoon?” Jia asked.

“RM is part of Namjoon. A very important part.” Namjoon responded.

“But it’s not the whole picture. From what I am seeing, you have mentioned your music and your obligation as the leader. But have failed to mention your other aspects...such as yourself and even your relationship with your parents or your girlfriend.”

Namjoon was irritated because he knew Jia was right. He thought back to the night at the Grammys when he found out that Maya was missing. He stayed there at the event, and for what?

“Are you saying I am not a good son or boyfriend?” Namjoon asked in between short sobs that erupted out of nowhere.

“No...I am saying you are too good of an idol and leader. You are so good that you forgot that you are also a human.” Jia got up from her seat and walked up towards her bookshelf again. This time she picked up a small picture that was inside a photo frame.

“This is my dad. He is the CEO of Fortune Entertainment.” Jia handed Namjoon the picture. Namjoon looked at it was shocked. He had no idea about Jia’s background. “When I was young, I wanted to be an idol, but I decided to become a therapist after my mom passed away in an accident. My dad still wishes I had taken over his business, but I grew up in that environment and after my mom passed away, I was severely affected and realized that I needed to go down a different path.” Jia paused and went back to her seat.

“...The reason I am saying all of this is that I understand what it is like to be an idol. I understand the demands of this industry. But I think you are in a position to change that mindset, just like you and Maya are doing with racism. You could be the idol that promotes mental well-being.” Jia looked at Namjoon, hoping he would say something.

But his response was not what Jia expected. “I didn’t know you were the heir to Fortune Entertainment.” Namjoon tried to change the topic.

“No, I have already given up rights to the business...but you know that’s not the point”

“What I am saying is...I feel like your love for music and your love for your members has stopped you from loving yourself...despite that being your campaign slogan.Your map of the soul currently consists of 90% RM, and that little 10% Namjoon wants a second chance.”

This was when Namjoon finally burst into tears. Jia’s words stung deep inside Namjoon. And to be honest, it felt terrible. It’s not like he hadn’t tried to keep his Namjoon side alive. But when BTS started gaining popularity, it had become harder and harder for him to be Namjoon. Even that night when Maya went missing, his RM side had won. He had almost lost Maya because of that. He almost lost himself.

“What should I do? Tell me...how do I keep this side of me alive without giving up RM?” Namjoon pleaded.

“Get to know yourself and go spend time with yourself and family and people outside of the company. You can also always come to see me. I promise I am not always this headstrong.” Jia laughed as she offered Namjoon a kleenex.

“I feel like I have to share this with you because I don’t have the courage to talk to Maya about this…” Namjoon replied.

“Sure, what is it?” Jia asked.

“After finding out that Maya was missing, I went on with the Grammys even though I should have gone and looked for her.” Namjoon felt almost relieved to say those words out loud.

“Do you think Maya doesn’t know that?” Jia asked.

“Hmmm?” Namjoon was confused.

“Have you wondered why Maya didn’t tell you about the threats?” Jia asked in return.

“Wait, did she tell you?” Namjoon was suddenly curious.

“I can’t tell you what she told me. But as far as I got to know her today and what I have read about her, I can say, she knows you Namjoon. She knows your map of the soul and she knows you will always pick BTS over her.”

“That’s not fair. She should be mad at me. This is absolutely terrible” Namjoon clenched his fist in utter disappointment.

“She can’t be mad at you when she doesn’t even choose herself,” Jia replied.

Namjoon was awestruck by Jia’s sentence. It had never occurred to him that Maya was in the same conundrum that he himself was in. Both were putting everything else above themselves.

Jia suddenly brought Namjoon out of his thoughts as she handed him Maya’s book that she had set on her desk. “But I think you can both change that. Change your fate. You know?”

“Yeah...I know.” Namjoon took the book and opened the page with the acknowledgments where Maya had dedicated a section to Namjoon.

2 Years Later - 2 Months after Ree-Mi’s book “Fateful Visions” was published

Namjoon and Maya continued their therapy sessions for over a year. During that time they learned to heal themselves and they learned to heal each other. Some things were harder to heal than others. Soon, Namjoon was able to start performing again. BTS revamped their whole identity and began promoting themselves a music group, rather than a boy group. With this new identity, Namjoon and Maya also launched their own duo with the title “Wan Blue Sounds.” Under this name, they released their first song that Namjoon began working on before the incident and Maya ended up writing the lyrics for the song.

Ree-Mi’s book “Fateful Visions” was released posthumously (after her death). The book created a great roar in the world, but it did not fulfill Ree-Mi’s last wish because Namjoon never read it. Namjoon did, however, read “Wan Blue Night,” multiple times. It became one of his favorites of all time, not just because Maya wrote it, but because he was in love with the story itself.

Namjoon began reorganizing his life and started to create boundaries between his role as RM and his role as Namjoon. BTS started taking longer breaks to spend time with their families and friends and to give themselves space. BigHit also filed complaints against saesangs or any fan that crossed boundaries. Plus, they did strict background checks from any security professional that they hired, making sure they were trustworthy. Maya also started her own self-development journey. She began writing again, but this time for herself. She also started taking self-defense classes, wanting to build her own self-confidence.

In February of 2022, Maya and Namjoon finally attended the Grammys again. This time not only was BTS nominated, but also the song that was released by Wan Blue Sounds. The media and world watched as Maya accompanied Namjoon to their seat, and later when BTS won, she also went up to the stage with Namjoon and the boys. Namjoon felt like he had somehow completed an incomplete task after all this time. He was finally able to let go of that incomplete wish.

After the Grammys, BTS decided to go to an unexpected place. They wanted to go back to Maya’s parent’s lake house where they first went when Namjoon and Ji-hyu’s pictures had surfaced. It had been years since they went there, but when they arrived, they felt right at home. This time Maya’s parents also came to visit Maya and also meet the boys. One afternoon, Namjoon was sitting in the backyard reading something, when Maya’s dad suddenly approached him.

“Hey!” Mr.Shroff said as he sat down in the chair next to Namjoon.

“Oh, hi…” Namjoon said. Ever since the kidnapping incident, Namjoon and Mr.Shroff had met multiple times. Maya’s parents came to visit him when he was in the hospital and after Maya and Namjoon began their recovery process.

“What book is that?” Mr.Shroff asked.

“Oh...it’s ummm...it’s actually Maya’s manuscript for her next book. She wanted me to give her feedback.” Namjoon replied. While Namjoon and Mr.Shroff had met multiple times, things were always a bit awkward.

“Oh really? She didn’t tell me she finished the draft of the book.” Mr.Shroff responded as he took a sip of his tea.

“Yeah, I think she just finished it on our way to the award show.”

“Well, it’s not like she would tell us anything anyway.” Mr.Shroff huffed.

“I apologize for my candidness, but it’s not like you have that relationship with her.” Namjoon retorted.

“Fair enough...so, I guess I’ll get to the point then. Maya’s mom wanted to know when are you going to marry Maya? You are both almost 30…”

“Oh...wow...umm, Maya and I haven’t talked about it. Honestly, I think we are both happy with the way things are right now. ”

“But you can’t just live like this forever.” Mr.Shroff gave Namjoon a ridiculous look.

“Why not?” A sudden voice replied behind Namjoon and Mr.Shroff’s chair. It was Maya. She came up and sat down next to Namjoon.

Mr. Shroff glanced at Maya.

“I am sorry, dad, but why can’t Namjoon and I live like this forever if we wanted to?” This wasn’t the first time Maya’s parents had mentioned the topic of marriage to Maya. They had been bugging her ever since she got out of the hospital. But this time Maya was more irritated because she realized they only wanted to spend more time with her and Namjoon so that they could bug Namjoon about it as well.

“Listen, I know you young folks want to be edgy and don’t believe in the institution of marriage, but trust me, when you get older and the legal ramifications start making sense to you, then you’ll understand,” Mr.Shroff said.

“I don’t think we are against the institution of marriage, we just haven’t considered it and don’t want to be forced into it,” Maya replied. “Namjoon and I want to do things our own way and I hope you and mom can respect that. We are both really happy together and very much in love, and if things go right and we both think we are right for each other, when the time comes, we’ll get married. Right, Joon?” Maya looked over at Namjoon, seeking his approval.

Namjoon nodded. “Absolutely. Sir, I just want to clarify that I do really care about your daughter and I will take care of her whether or not we are married. I hope that you can give more credit to her and her decisions.”

“It’s not that I don’t respect your decisions, Maya. I think you need to understand that the rules of the society are in place for a reason...you are just being stubborn and you’ll regret it” Mr. Shroff responded.

“And I think that the reason doesn’t apply anymore in this modern world and in our situation. Namjoon and I have our personal goals we want to accomplish and then we’ll think about marriage. But thank you for your concern, dad.”

Maya grabbed Namjoon’s hand and took him inside. Maya felt like she needed to explain to Namjoon why she said what she said to her dad. She took him to her room and Namjoon didn’t question her.

“Hey, let me explain...that whole situation— ” Maya said as soon as they got to her room. But before she could finish explaining, Namjoon wrapped his arms around her.

“I am so proud of you, Maya,” Namjoon said hugging Maya tightly.

“Why?” Maya mumbled against Namjoon’s chest.

“You stood up to your dad. That requires courage. I am so happy right now.” Namjoon let go of Maya and cupped her face in his hands, gently kissed her forehead.

“Yeah, I guess did, didn’t I. I just don’t want you to think I am desperate to get married.” Maya put her hands over Namjoon’s hands, looking up at him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think that...but I do have a plan for us…”

“A plan?” Maya questioned.

Namjoon let go of Maya and reached in his back pocket, pulling out his phone. He then began searching on his phone for something. When he found what he was looking for, Namjoon handed the phone to Maya.

“Will you go to Bali with me?” Namjoon asked with the most sincere tone.

“Bali?” Maya laughed out of surprise as she saw the tickets to Bali on his phone.

“I wanted to take you on this trip before the whole Ree-Mi incident happened, but I couldn’t…” Namjoon explained.

“But what about your album...don’t you have to prepare for that?” Maya was surprised by Namjoon sudden initiative. It’s not that he didn’t do romantic gestures for Maya, it’s just she was surprised by the timing.

“Don’t worry, I will do that when I come back. I just want us to get away from everyone for a while. Just you and me...what do you say? Please! Will you give me the honor of spending a week with you in a resort in Bali?” Namjoon jokingly kneeled down on one knee, holding his phone towards Maya.

Maya laughed. “Let’s go to Bali, Joon.” Namjoon got back up wrapping his arms around Maya again, kissing her lips sweetly. If Namjoon had read Ree-Mi’s story, he would realize that Ree-Mi could never quite capture in her story just how deeply Maya loved him.

The next day, Maya and Namjoon went on their private trip to Bali, away from the requirements of the world, enjoying their time together, enveloped in each other’s arms and soaked in each other’s presence. They were learning to take charge of what they wanted and learning to speak for themselves.

Years later, during one interview at an award show, Namjoon and Maya were asked if they thought they were soulmates like they were described in Ree-Mi’s novel.

To that, Namjoon had answered, it didn’t matter if they were soulmates or not as long as they enjoyed being in each other’s life. Maya added that fate and destiny are just words to describe the consequences of our choices.

Choose wisely.

———————THE END——————

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asian-hero · 5 years

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Is It Just Me Or Are We Soulmates? -15 (finale)

this is the end. if you want to read this on ao3 then i’ve posted a link before this one :)

if you haven’t read the entire series and want to read it on tumblr then you can type in shance on my blog and you’ll find it

A year later Lance had moved from his tiny apartment to Shiro’s moderately sized house. His lease was about to expire and Shiro had suggested that he move in with them. He joked that he could use an extra pair of hands to help with Misaki. Lance hadn’t even left room for Shiro to breathe before he said yes, quite enthusiastically.

They didn’t necessarily tell Misaki about them, but they didn’t try to hide it from her either. Eventually she understood what they were to each other and even started calling the both of them “dad”. The first time she called Shiro “dad” instead of “uncle Takashi” he started to tear up. He never thought that he’d ever want a kid, but now that he had one, he never wanted to let her go. Hearing her call him “dad” was probably one of the best days of his life, other than Lance forgiving him, and then proceeding to move in with him.

Speaking of Lance, he had gotten a job as a teacher’s aid for elementary school. It was his dream to become a teacher some day, it’s what he went to school for. With that being said, there was little free time that he had to spend with Shiro and Misaki, as he had more work than imaginable. He always made sure that he’d see Misaki at dinner, and tuck her in when Shiro was too busy with his own work. Although he definitely felt tired almost every day, he wouldn’t trade his life for anything in the world.

Both he and Shiro were back on loving terms. It took a month for Lance to finally be comfortable with Shiro again, and the other man was more than willing to wait for him. Lance remembers that everyday he’d wake up to the sound of Shiro knocking on his door, a single rose and coffee in his hand to greet him. After that they’d talk about anything going on in their lives; Shiro would talk about Misaki finally going to school and being extremely excited while Lance would talk about all of the kids in his class and how half of them would grow up to be douchebags. Eventually Lance got comfortable enough to finally do “couple” things: like holding hands, cuddling on the couch, kissing, going on dates. These few months had definitely been some of his favorites.

That’s why when he blew nearly three month’s paycheck on an engagement ring, he wasn’t necessarily upset. Sure, it was a lot of money for a plain gold band, but for Shiro, it was worth it. Sure, he would’ve liked to save that money up for something else, like helping Shiro with the bills, but he was sure that the other man wouldn’t mind if he had to skip a couple of month’s pay. In fact, Lance knew that for a fact, because he had to pester Shiro about helping with the utilities bills, despite Shiro saying that he made enough money for them to live comfortably.

Now here Lance was, currently driving to Misaki’s school, the ring box sitting uncomfortably on his lap, with one hand on the steering wheel while the other one held the box with a death grip. His plan was to pick up Misaki, under the guise of wanting to spend more time with his new family member, then ask her about how she felt about Shiro and him getting married. Of course, it was going to be slightly difficult to explain all of this to a first grader, but hopefully she’d get the gist of it.

Waiting in his car, he felt a smile growing on his face when he saw Misaki running towards his car. Opening the door, she jumped in, a toothy grin plastered onto her face.

“Dad!”

Lance smiled at her, ignoring the erratic beating of his heart at the name. “Hey Misa. How was school?”

As Lance started the car she started going on about meeting new friends and telling them about Japan. occasionally he’d check in the rearview mirror to make sure that she was still buckled in. Shiro would have his head if anything happened to her. Once they were back at their house Lance parked the car and turned around in his seat, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey Misa, can I ask you a question?”

She nodded her head enthusiastically. He took in a deep breath before asking: “How do you feel about me and your dad?”

Misaki tilted her head, almost as if she was thinking. “Happy.”

Lance smiled, feeling the nervousness in the pit of his stomach disappear. “You know how in those princess movies that you watch, the prince and princess always get married?”

She smiled, her lips stretching wide across her face. “The princess always looks so pretty!”

Lance nodded his head, grinning slightly. “Yes, they do. How would you feel if,” He pulled out the box, flipping it open for Misaki to see, “If I asked your dad to marry me?”

Misaki scrunched up her nose for a minute before responding. “Neither of you would wear a princess dress though,”

He laughed, poking her slightly. “You could wear one.”

Her eyes lit up at this notion. She started to bounce in her seat, a gleeful noise coming out of her mouth. “Okay!”

Lance looked at her, a soft smile appearing on his face. He held his finger to his lips, shushing her. “You can’t tell your dad, though. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

She nodded her head, moving her hands to motion her zipping her lips shut. Lance giggled, feeling a new sense of happiness fill him.

Now he was facing the biggest obstacle in his life.

———

Lance spent an embarrassing amount of time figuring out how to propose to Shiro. He thought about taking him to a nice restaurant, maybe enjoy a night alone before kneeling down. But the thought of embarrassing himself in front of a bunch of people in the restaurant made him strike that idea off. He also thought about proposing with a scavenger hunt, but he quickly realized that he had no idea of whether Shiro was well versed in traveling through Seattle, so he also took that one off.

Eventually he settled for probably one of the most simple ideas he could’ve come up with: wrapping up the ring box and placing it with the many presents under the Christmas tree. Honestly, Lance would rather be rejected inside of their house rather than in front of hundreds of people.

The entire time he was wrapping the tiny box his hands were shaking. He had to redo it all over again multiple times because it needed to be perfect. The bows that they had stashed away were slightly bigger than the box, making the gift look slightly awkward. After trying to fiddle with it for fifteen minutes, Lance sighed, slapping a gift tag on it and writing Shiro’s name on it.

Finally, on the day of Christmas, Lance was woken by a very giggly girl and an equally giggly man poking at him to get up. He lazily swatted away their hands, opening his eyes slightly.

“Can I help you?”

Shiro smiled at him, shaking his shoulders slightly. “It’s Christmas. Misaki wants to go and open some gifts,”

Lance sighed dramatically, flopping his arms on the bed. After a couple of seconds he sat up, a tired grin resting on his face. “Alright you oversized puppy, let’s go.”

They watched as Misaki ran down the stairs, squealing in delight when she saw the presents under the tree. It took about twenty minutes for her to finish opening up her presents, and once she was done, she immediately went to play with her new toys which included: two new dolls, a gigantic dollhouse, a toy car, and one of those mini toy ovens with plastic food.

Shiro went over to pick up the excess wrapping paper when he noticed one tiny gift left sitting underneath the tree. Picking it up, he noticed his name on the side of it. Looking towards Lance, he pointed at the gift.

“This is for me?”

Lance shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to keep his nerves at bay. “I don’t know. Open it and see what Santa got you.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, setting down the wrapping paper mess for a minute. After carefully peeling off the wrapping paper he looked at the tiny black box in his hands. Opening it slowly, he felt his mouth open, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Lance got up and sat next to him, gently plucking the box out of his hands and getting onto his knee. “Now listen, I know that we’ve never really talked about marriage before, and it’s totally fine if you just want to keep our relationship like this.”

“But I love you so much and I’ve been planning this for a while and I had a whole speech planned but now I can’t seem to remember anything.”

Shiro laughed at this, which caused Lance to smile before continuing. “What I do know is that there’s no one else I’d rather spend my life with, and I’m not just saying that because we’re soulmates and you’re kinda stuck with me. You’re the most genuine person that I’ve ever met, and you’re just so kind and caring. I honestly don’t know what I did in a past life to get you, but I know that I’m happier than I’ve ever been before.”

“So what I’m trying to say is: will you marry me?”

Shiro sat there for a while, tears freely flowing down his cheeks. Before Lance could take what he said back Shiro tackled him to the ground, hugging him tightly.

“Of course I’ll marry you!”

Lance wheezed, patting Shiro’s back. “Hey babe, I get you’re happy and all, but I can’t breathe,”

Shiro sat up with a sheepish smile. He gave his hand to Lance, who slid on the ring, silently breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that it fit perfectly. Running his finger over it, Lance laughed, resting his head against Shiro’s.

“You know,” he started, a smile on his face, “I always imagined that I’d propose at such a romantic place, with the sunset in view and a planned speech in my mind. I never thought that I’d propose on Christmas morning in the most basic way imaginable.”

Shiro huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Well, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lance felt content. Of course, this was far from what he thought his family would be, but he definitely wouldn’t change it for the world.

And he couldn’t wait to get married to Shiro and live his unusual life.

#shance #takashi shirogane #lance mcclain #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #shiro vld #vld lance

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driftwork · 3 years

Text

a meeting about hats (2), main body...

The three of them sit on chairs around a white oval, supercircular Arne Jakobson table, the wooden chairs are sculptured plywood seats, beech and birch with aluminum frames and wooden arms. There are paper documents in piles and a small router on the table. Park moves all the documents in their piles from the table to her desk, She then pours tea into the cups. "Go ahead, speak, what do you want?" Through the glass wall Sik watches her PA, Nancy, serving the other teas to her assistants. Beyond that he can see the Japanese woman, holding the cups of coffee in front of her, standing talking to someone sitting invisibly in another office, she is gesturing towards Park's office, he doesn’t know she is talking about amazons with the person inside, he thinks she is talking about them, before carrying the cups into the office. Seo breathed in deeply and began to confess: "The reason we are here is that we have a problem, we," gesturing at the man , including him in the we and by extension some other unnamed people, "made a mistake," she breathes deeply, conscious that she is delaying the inevitable of explaining what happened. "We have been negotiating a contract with a Chinese group. It's a big contract, with constraints and long term commitments. We thought we were looking for an excuse that both sides, all sides, were in the process of backing away from the contract. We had incorporated some software and hardware from Magrid's software company, this we thought would encourage the Chinese to back away. They had included some governmental references to discourage us. Then, in what was meant to be a final coup de grace we dropped K into the contract as part of the software and hardware part of the contract, we thought this would enable us and perhaps them to back away from the pre-contractual commitment... We (mistakenly) thought that the increased money that was part of this would result in a cancellation of the project. We knew from other discussions that this should have worked. But instead they said yes. Signed the provisional letter of intent and we don't know why. We don't know why, but now we have to go forward with this. So we are here to beg your forgiveness for our mistake and presumption. We really didn't mean to involve you in this, it was not planned, we were not trying to involve you in council affairs. The only way to stop this now is if you say no. In which case they could invoke the penalty clauses, but before this I thought we should confess…"

Park gestured at Nancy to join them and asked her to sit down, read and review them. She (Park) started looking through her set of documents. Reading the summaries, then opening the documents and looking at the detail. Who are these people that they would involve me in this ? He handed her the company brochure and reports. (How unreliable the reported speech is, always indirect, always full of complex instruction sets that she had spent ten years away from, and here she is sitting in an office with people who wanted to entrap her in their order words.) She looked up from the abstracts. Thinking that this was a big project, and wondered how they imagined that involving K in this would enable them to back away from the project. Whilst speech and reading took place for hours after this point, haunted by the thought of her desire to harm them, we should not imagine that it is necessary or mattered. Lunch was hastily ordered and was brought into the room by one of Nancy's assistants. The order-words the visitors produced from within their desperate position were scarcely words at all. Each ideological unit dropping onto the table to be considered. The woman from Japan and her partners continued to confess, a touch of desperation hidden in their words and postures. Admitting that they had misjudged the situation and that they should have spoken to her before. Her hesitancy and the openness of the Japanese conceits may have protected them from her sisters wrath. She, Park has stopped looking through the abstracts and is sighing deeply, not listening to any of the excuses and justifications they are repeating, instead she is staring at a photo of the CEO, she asks some questions about their dealings with him. As they answer Park is still looking at pictures of the man not really listening to their replies. [Instead Park is remembering killing a man and his bodyguard on the eleventh floor of a hotel in Shanghai about 15 or so years ago, stepping out into the corridor and finding herself face to face, unmasked looking at a Chinese man in his 30s holding his baby in his arms. She remembered saying to him, your child ? He said yes. I just killed a man in 11a.... Don't call the police for an hour. Call them before and I'll come back and kill you. No public interviews about seeing me. It wouldn't be safe for you. It was less then six months before the Osaka killings...] My personal history gets more complicated by the day, she thinks, perhaps she said this aloud, she is never sure. She tapped the photograph again and again. Hearing what they are saying but not responding or caring. Uncharacteristically she buried her face in her hands. And she said into her hands. "We can always run if we have to. Then to them, you really owe me for this. (What does he want from me, I'll see.) You will need to beg for forgiveness, forgiveness, favors and apologies. There may be other things. Park stopped speaking, smiled, a wintry smile that hinted of death and other strange desires. Seo said, she wrote it down on the note book in front of her. " We thought, I did, that he'd think you were a risk, too small, and he would close the contract offering down." Seo said. Idiot, Chan and K work together, we run his european security for him. have known, been acquainted, with each other for a few years. We were forced to do so by the police, the governments i think. If you had done this properly Franz would have told you. I should have killed him in Shanghai, Actually he is probably the unmentioned start of everything. Park shrugs and stretches to relieve the tension in her shoulders, her body. [Everyone except for Sam, looking at Seo, thinking Oh Seo, she thinks it was Osaka but really Osaka was because I didn't kill him in Shanghai, I didn't want to. My father would have beaten me if I'd told him. It was only after Osaka that he couldn't....] Park shook her head violently ignoring her questions, her hands ruffling her hair. Ah fuch (amused at her use of english) stupid. You have ruined my becoming invisible, putting us at risk, I wonder who else knows.... Seo confessed, We really misjudged this. The scale of her concern rising again at this unrecognized behavior. "I can't believe you did this. I'd probably want to kill you if it wasn't for Suki and him." She waved behind her, gesturing to the north. She looked at Seo and considered whether she could tell her about Chan and asks Nancy if she has any initial thoughts. It looks promising if this is accurate. We need more information. Is this for K? That's right, for K. Can K make money out of this with minimal acceptable risk? And you? Not me I have too much money already, if we get any richer he'll get annoyed with me. [Sam might think this is funny. She thought Her words and consciousness are a social-ideological fact] This would need to be structured so I don't make anything out of it... Sik looked at Seo, who was trying to hide her surprise at strange turn of the discussion. Park continued, Could you, brief everyone in detail tomorrow? And then if Nancy signs it off , the board. ..Why are you asking me to sign it off ? Nancy asked. My personal history is too involved in this, I am too close and my judgement is too suspect. So Jeremy and Jake are level 3 acceptance? Yes and anyone else you can think of who'll be helpful. Osaka then. Nancy said smiling at her. Park nodded. Yes they, you need to say yes and any numbers and questions will need addressing... Sik said, as you'll see the software aspect is crucial for us. We can bring in Magrid's software people to explain that aspect next week. Nancy said, Wait a second, and looked seriously at Park. We need to talk about this now. And then to him Monday morning at 10 AM would be good. Nancy looked at Sik and Seo, some rules, if software don't sign it off, the deal ends. Anything doesn't get past the board the deals off. Do you understand ? No costs for K as we have not signed anything yet. Could you leave us for a few minutes, I need to speak privately with Park. Go and have some tea.

Seo looked back into the room, whilst Sik was opening a packet of biscuits. That went well. I feel quite hopeful.

They were both looking serious. Most of what they said doesn't matter. I don't want to run Nancy. That has to be my last option. She confessed. I don't even know anymore, if I can even know when to run. There are somethings you don't know here, which Jean doesn't know but probably you should tell her, if we had ever had to run because of them, He is actually one of the places where we could run to now. Then let's make sure you don't have to. This has nothing to do with us, you understand that don't you. Yes, I don't even know why this happened. I'll do the preliminary work here and we'll arrive at something that guarantees your safety, our safety, perhaps even their safety. They need to think that we are doing this because K wants to be involved. She smiles bitterly. If this is feasible and works invite Chan here to sign any contract, he knows I cannot leave the country... She paused... If your people don't want K to do this. Then I understand. Nancy looked over towards them. Why didn't they speak to you, us about this. She liked the way Nancy said us. I have no idea.

Here then we see them arriving in London, already capitalists, gangsters having passed through the looking-glass. Asking that a woman who lives inside a , is a war-machine helps them to stay and live on this side of the looking glass..

#hat story #everyday practices #fiction #almost

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ball-jointed-dragon · 6 years

Text

I need to get this off my chest

For those who do not wish to look at my personal problems, please scroll on. These thoughts actually become very personal and deep for me.

For most of my life, I’ve been, and still am, a rather angry person. I get mad at things easily, and it takes me a while to let things go or simply forget about things that make me sick to my stomach.

Going through elementary was easy, because back then, all anyone cared about was the playground, who you were gonna sit with, etch etch.

I never had a problem with this. I was that kid with one friend and books who sat on the bench and read. However, there is one vivid memory from elementary about that one friend.

I’ll say her name was Penny. Penny was my friend. Hell, she let me come over to her house. She was the best. But the others didn’t like me. I got angry, I hit, I yelled, and many other things. So, they decided that if they couldn’t hurt me, they would hurt Penny...

One recess, everyone surrounded Penny. What they did still pisses me off because I know it was because of me.

They all, at once, screamed. Think about it. 15-20 kids, screaming at the top of their lungs, not too far from you. It was awful. It was deafening, almost.

I went to the teacher and told, but they did nothing. They probably thought I was trying to use my ‘privaleges’ that I ‘had’ cause I was the kid with a huge scar on her forehead, I was the poor baby who got ran over AND drowned.

They paid me no mind.

Not too soon after, I had to leave. I had to go see my dad, who was in Montana, because that was what the divorce papers said.

I don’t remember a lot there. I do remember being alone, and preferring it that way. I remember still being angry, being manipulated by my sisters, and slowly starting to pick up bad habits.

I stopped going outside because what was the point? I stopped playing with others because they only wanted to hang out with one or more of my siblings, not me. I stopped participating in games because I felt like I was jamming myself into a place I didn’t belong.

I turned to art during this time. I was shit at it, but I started taking it seriously. I showed the teachers, and they pushed me to keep going. I also turned to writing, and started getting positive feedback from the readers.

But my home life was still bad. My dad was lazy and angry. He only wanted to play video games and would yell at us if we did anything he seemed bad. He made it hard for me to get a simple book that was 50 cents while my sisters could get pants for over $15.

My own father encouraged me to steal. At first, it was a card for Mother’s Day. He claimed that it cost less than a dollar to make, but here we were, being charged over a dollar for it.

The next time was a bigger thing. I had money from my grandmother, and I didn’t have enough for a cross necklace, something I wanted during a time when I felt that I needed to get closer to god (it didn’t work out btw). He encouraged me to reach in and grab it, then walked off, starting to take it off the thing.

I said I didn’t wanna steal it, I didn’t wanna be like him, going to jail for something that was avoided. My sister even offered to help buy it.

My dad decided to slap me in the Walmart.

Apparently it was the best way.

He put the necklace back and I cried quietly for the rest of our trip.

There were many other factors. My five other siblings could turn abusive. I had to share a small bed with my two sisters while my step siblings got their own room or had a bunk bed for the two others (there were two sisters and a brother, hence the bunk bed for one and single room for another).

My stepbrother threw fits and his mother would yell at him and send him to the corner. We hopped from house to house. I was in some bad relationships, extremely unhealthy ones.

I had a breakdown once, and I got grounded for it because my stepsister called my dad while I sat screaming, holding my head and throwing things.

He claimed that it was unnecessary.

I came out as bi and he said that I only thought that because of anime women. He didn’t take my art seriously and simply called it ‘anime’.

My siblings and I were mass-grounded, and my dad would never come up with an end date, leading to months of being grounded.

My dad twisted the image of my mom into this irresponsible, evil, vile woman who would treat me worse, and that I would be better off here.

I started feeling like I was pathetic, a loser. The feelings only grew stronger.

My dad did a lot of good things, but there are other things I can’t forgive him for. I’m sure I’ll remember more as I go along.

I moved back with my mom for a bit, about a year, and things... I dunno.

I couldn’t tell if things were good or bad because I was so tired at this point.

I was overweight, I was eating unhealthily and I still do. I didn’t do any exercise and I was angry and going through puberty -or at least the start of it-. I became the overweight, antisocial kid who had anger issues and drew on her worksheets and got good grades.

I sat at a table and made friends with the people there. We even had a club. The club didn’t last for long.

I once ran for something and I surprised people by getting popular people to sign the thing.

I shelved books and was in a play. A kid came up to me while I was working and asked for a book recommendation, so I gave him a book to read and sent him off. He came back later to say that he was glad he asked me.

Despite all these good things, I was starting to hit a bad patch of school. One I couldn’t avoid- there was a bully.

He loved to target me. He was bigger than me, and he wore glasses, and looked like he was overweight and blushing all the time.

I think he was higher up grade-wise, and he might’ve been the ‘loser’ of that group. So seeing me, he decided he’d hate me.

There was a rumor that started in my middle school in the 7th grade that I was a devil child. I was evil, and angry, and I said morbid things that I thought were cool and funny. Not only that, I called myself ‘snow’. God, I cringe so bad.

This bully started calling me that every time he saw me. Five days a week, every time we had a break between classes. He always called me that.

I hated it, but I already told the teachers, and what could they do?

There was once, however, that he got caught in-action. We shared a PE class. The locker rooms were on the far sides of the place, so I came from one way, and he came from another.

I sat down first and had all my things laid out nice.... only for him to kick my things, throwing one of my boots across the room and forcing me to go get it.

Of course I cried - I was a kid who was fed up.

The teacher yelled at him and forced him to do something- I can’t remember.

During the few last days of school, I passed by this kid on my way to shop class. Having had a bad day, I heard him say devil child. That damned nickname...

I turned and screeched at him to stop before bursting into tears, going to my desk and crying.

A few kids comforted me; but I was so angry and tired that I told them my version of the truth:

No one cared about me until I was crying.

I still think it’s true.

I go back to dads, meet my ex boyfriend, and of course I have a problem.

By this point, I’ve written a story that was being well responded to. In middle school, we had these tablets, and I managed to get into my email. I saw a review in PE class and I was so happy that I started telling the boys nearby that they’d never make a story as good as mine.

One of them spoke up,”I can. Once upon a time, you died. The end.”

I... I was pretty crushed. I started crying and I shut up. I moved back, dead set on staying at my high school for the entirety of it.

Freshman year. It was... I can’t say. It was such a jumble of anger and being sent to the principals office. I was given detentions and suspensions. I had a few friends.

One of these friends was... super strange. She was clingy, she was far too touchy-feely and she was unpleasant. I stayed the night at her house- it was trashed, and she.... did stuff.... while I was in the room.

She held my hand even if I didn’t care, and she jumped up onto me while we were in the pool. It got to the point where my family thought she and I were together.

We stopped being friends, I even started avoiding her. I feel a bit bad, but she later told me her boyfriend wanted to marry her and get her pregnant and sent her sex toys, and smelled bad, so I think I dodged a bullet (sorry if that seems rude).

I got attacked by a girl in the lunch line cause I accidentally touched her butt and she freaked.

Kids avoided me because they knew me. I sat alone. Then, I found this lovely lady. She was my friend. She let me tag along, was my partner in class stuff, and introduced me to a friend I’ll call Ami.

She... she moved away, that same year. She had a lot of family issues and I wish her the best.

Sophomore year is a year I spent talking to Ami and in turn Amis friends. We were content, but these boys... and these girls... I had issues with a lot of people. I didn’t know how to shut my mouth and blew up at people if they bothered to say a negative thing about me.

There was a time where I was playing a game. This game plays classical music as you play it, and the setting was as low as it could go before I couldn’t hear it anymore.

One girl took issue with it and complained, even though she played music louder before. We argued; I went to the office and told them what happened, and I ended up being suspended for not wanting to give my phone over.

Thankfully, it was a couple of days before a vacation, and I got good after, so.

I dealt with a lot of people who would fight with me (I probably started a lot of them), and I dealt with self esteem issues because, in my mind, I was overweight, ugly, and I couldn’t shut my mouth for five seconds. Everything had to be memememenememene.

I felt that my friends weren’t my friends, that I was just butting in, ruining everything. I’ve been told that someone didn’t wanna be friends with me because I was so rude and I started fights.

Junior year.....

I can’t remember a lot. I remember some.

I remember laughing a lot more. I remember smiling.

But bad beats good..

You see, I’m still overweight, look ugly, and have no real redeeming qualities. I’m super negative about myself, and while I try to be nice to the people I call my friends, I feel as if I’m driving them away.

I still have anger issues that I’m working on. I lost a job because of these issues (actually I just picked up a boy and gave him to his mother and she complained, so))

I argue with freshman boys because they’re pains in the asses who think they’re better than everyone. I was in a cooking class with these boys, and I fucking hated them.

They had a big soap bottle and yet they felt the need to take everyone else’s soap bottles. I got defensive over the things in my kitchen, and they started mimicking me. One even made a poster saying ‘stay out of my kitchen’ and hung it up on my cupboards.

We used brown sugar one day. After cleaning up, I walked off. The teacher came over and said that my kitchen wasn’t clean. I was confused.

Then I saw what she meant.

My clean kitchen, was now covered in brown sugar.

The boys took a handful of brown sugar and just threw it..

They stole other things from our kitchen and mimicked me all the time.

I once wore a Jacksepticeye shirt, and they started saying that ‘Jacksepticeye is gay’ and that he was ‘cancer’.

I told the teacher. The experience made me feel sick to my stomach and made me want To scream because they decided to pick apart something they didn’t know because I wore a shirt of it.

I admit- I was rude and angry and cross with them st times, but the level of things they did...

In this same class, you’re supposed to have four people in a kitchen.

I started out with four people in my group. Then two. The. Three (one was the girl I stopped being friends with). Finally, I was alone. No one wanted to cook with me.

So I made everything myself. I worked better alone, that’s what I always said.

It didn’t stop the pain and loneliness.

Another class I took was for childcare.

Despite being as hardworking as I could and trying to be good at the class, the teacher didn’t like me. I knew it was because I was rude to the other kids at times. I also once had a bad year with her previously.

One day, we needed to group together. I didn’t want to, but she forced me to get into a group.

She claimed I was being antisocial (later she said I was intimidated by the other students) on purpose. It got to the point where a different teacher demanded to know why I chose that day to be antisocial.

There was another day where we had baby food. We tasted some, liked it, and some people called dibs. I didn’t know that the fan had already had a dibs, so I was eating it. Suddenly, the teacher called to attention that the can I held was CLEARLY not mine.

We argued with each other. A girl said I should have been listening and I snapped that she needed to shut her mouth.

I ended up sulking in my chair. I bought a replacement later on (68 cents apparently gets people’s panties in a twist).

The final class I wanna talk about is my PE class. The teacher then had a student learning to be a teacher. She got to host games for a day, and chose a game that she said I could be in a box area for.

Well, a boy threw the ball as hard as he could at me from a few feet away and slammed it into my face. It hurt. I told the teacher/student, but she made everyone to the plank and tried to change the rules. I kept giving her comments, which she said she didn’t want, and I told her she’d get them anyway.

These boys... I HATE.

They could be a step away, and they’d STILL throw the ball as hard as they could! They yelled insults, threw in people’s general direction, and just.. ugh.

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simmingstrawberry · 7 years

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Very Berry Legacy

I’m super excited to announce the very berry legacy challenge! I made this challenge with my friends @bluberry-sims @simsinablanket @sweetersims and @thestolensims

Basic rules:

Every generation in this challenge is named after a fruit, so they should be dressed (clothes, hair, makeup, etc. and skin if you want to) in the color of the fruit and can be named after it as well. The rules for each generation will have two traits, but you have to pick the third one, it can be whatever you want, so every game will be different! The Sim must complete the aspiration and career in that generations rules unless they state otherwise.

Generation 1- Grape (purple)

You’ve never cared much about love or getting married. All you needed in life was your job. You didn’t have many friends and no siblings, you kept to yourself. It’s all because of one incident that shook your life. You want the best for your only child, so you got married.

Rules:

Travel to Sixam

Befriend an Alien (you can open the lot in Oasis Springs that requires max handiness skill if you do not have Get to Work)

As a young adult, have just one best friend, have a one night stand with them and end up pregnant (or the friend is pregnant).

Your best friend has kids but the spouse died a long time ago

For the sake of the baby and because you are really good friends, you get married

Max Rocket Science or Handiness Skill

Traits: Gloomy and Genius

Career: Scientist or Tech Guru

Aspiration: Renaissance sim

Generation 2- Green Apple (green)

You always dreamed of starting a family and settling down in the suburbs. You forced yourself to stay in the first relationship you’ve ever had “That’s the one, I’m staying with them forever”. But once you were at the wedding, you imagined being with them for the rest of your life, just them, no one else, you ran away. None of your friends even tried to help you, you never had real friends.

Rules:

Complete all jobs you have to level 5, then quit

Get 4 skills to level 6, and 2 to level 8

Leave someone at the altar

Have 4 serious relationships (romance is at about 60%), but break up with them

Barely know your own children, leave kids with a family member

Only have two “accident” kids, twins (you can cheat this)

Never Marry

Traits: Hates Children, Non Committal

Career: Business, Whatever you want (but your sim would hate) , Social Media

Aspiration: Serial Romantic

Generation 3- Strawberry (red or pink)

Your parent’s love life was always dysfunctional and you wanted to be different so at a young age you had multiple boyfriends or girlfriends but all you ever wanted was to find your soulmate. Once you were a young adult you got engaged to your high school sweetheart but one day you caught them cheating on you and you were devastated, but you find out a little later that you are pregnant with his baby. One thing that you always loved was working out. One morning when you go out to the gym you meet someone there and fall in love with them. You guys get married and have 2 kids but he/she dies as an adult from an accident you are left as a widow and never re-marry

Rules:

Date lots of people as a teen

Get engaged to highschool sweetheart

Find out your fiance cheated on you

have one child with your ex-fiance after you break up

Meet future spouse at the gym

Have two children with your spouse

Have spouse die as an adult

never re-marry

Have at least level 7 fitness skill

Traits: Romantic, Active

Career: Athlete

Aspiration: Soulmate

Generation 4- Potato (brown or white)

You never really wanted to do anything “worthwhile”. Just watch TV all day and blog. Oh, and play video games. You just want to play video games. You don’t go outside, you will eat basically anything, and you refuse to work. You still live with your mother/father/sibling. They may be working hard to give you things you need, but you don’t notice.

Rules:

Never marry

have a one night stand(your brother/sister made you go out) and it resulted in you pregnant/getting someone else pregnant. if your sim is male, the woman drops the baby off on your doorstep, leaving it for you to raise alone,

get kicked out by parent/sibling and live homeless with baby until you can purchase a simple, one room house

Once homeless, get a job doing something you hate, like a businessman or something

be miserable for the rest of your life, but hide it from your child because you don’t want them to think that they can’t do anything they want in the world

Traits: lazy, glutton

Career: Anything your sim would hate

Aspiration: Computer Whiz

Generation 5- blueberry (blue)

You were always afraid people didn’t like you. You dated once in high school. They cheated on you. You could never forget or forgive. When you finally found the love of your life, you couldn’t believe it. You married them, had kids, everything was going great. Until one day, you thought they were cheating on you. That’s when your life became an entangled mess.

Rules:

Have your first ever relationship cheat on you

Find love after many relationships (you thought they were cheating on you, or didn’t like you at all so you broke up with them)

Get married to them and have kids, start a normal family

Assume that your spouse’s friend is their lover, and they are cheating on you

Cheat on them with your past relationship

Find out that your spouse never cheated

Live the rest of your life regretting it, but never tell your partner

Master the Music skill

Play music as a kid

Try to start a writing career, but fail at it

Instead, try your hand at the entertainer career, music path

Traits: Jealous and Music Lover

Career: Self-published author, Music branch in the Entertainer Career

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Generation 6- Mango (orange)

You were always very bright, in every aspect. You are smart, you have no trouble talking to new people, and you wear orange a lot. One day, that changes, someone you never really talk to, that one person who avoided you all of your life, she and her friends decide to beat you up. They tell rumors about you, they trip you, throw your stuff in the garbage, spill food on your clothes. You were irritated but nothing could ever get you down, there is always positives. But when they hurt your mother, someone you always loved and cared about, you couldn’t stand them hurting her like that. So you dedicated your life to finding the people who hurt others, and put them in jail.

Rules:

Have at least 5 good friends at all times

Have a group of people try to ruin your life

Have them hurt the your mother

Reach level 10 athletic skill

Win in a fight with each of the mean people

Live with your mother until adulthood/serious relationship, to protect her

Traits: Outgoing, hot head

Career: detective

Aspiration: friend of the world

Generation 7- Raspberry (red)

Your parents were so involved in your grandmother’s life trying to protect her that they never payed attention to you or any of your other siblings. Ever since you were a kid you said “I want be the best parent ever” and you wanted to have lots of kids. One day when you were 15 you figured out that you could not have children and you were devastated. So you adopted. One day your doctor contacted you and told that he might have a way to get you pregnant but it could cost your life. You risk your life and it ends up being successful and you have twins! From then on you vowed to be the best mother ever. And you were.

Rules:

Work as a babysitter as a teen

Find out you can’t have children as a teen

Get married right when you become a young adult

Adopt three children

Get enough points for fertility trait from reward store

Have twins after a life threatening procedure (this can be cheated)

Max parenting skill (if you have parenthood)

Be a stay at home mom or dad

Have spouse work

Traits: Family oriented, Childish

Career: Stay at home Parent (babysitter as a teen)

Aspiration: Super parent (If you have parenthood) if not, Big Happy Family

Generation 8- Lemon (yellow)

Although you grew up surrounded by your siblings, you have a mean streak nobody could deny. You often spent time alone at school because of this, and when somebody looked past that and saw the real you, you knew he was the one. You worked hard to give them whatever they wanted, a nice house, nice things, and even children although you were sick of them after spending too much time with your four siblings. You despised your children from the day they were born, choosing to invest yourself in work instead of care for them.

Rules:

Date only one person, and marry them.

Only friend is spouse and if you want, parents.

Do not become more than acquaintances with your children, and try to get your relationship into the negatives.

Act friendly to the kids in front of the spouse.

Have negative relationships with siblings.

Maintain healthy and happy relationship with spouse and leave kids at home when you go on dates.

Traits: Mean, Hates Children

Career: Business

Aspiration: Soulmate

Generation 9- Watermelon (pink)

Your mom hated you and that had a huge toll on your mental health. From a young age you had all sorts of mental illnesses, depression, anxiety learning disorders and many more. Growing up you did not have happy life. One day in school you were being bullied and beat up. But out of no where a random kid in a mask saved you he grabbed you from the kids and yelled at them. From then on they never bothered you again and you weee so grateful for him but you never knew who he was. You were in therapy for a couple of years. Once released from therapy you were the happiest person ever and you were so grateful for the person who saved but you could never find them. So you became a detective and dedicated your life to finding the person to thank them for saving your life.

Rules

Be depressed as a teen

have a stranger save you when you were being bullied by you never find out who it was

Go to therapy for mental issues until young adult

Change gloomy trait to cheerful trait

Become a detective to try and find person who saves you

Find the person and marry them

Quit detective after you find them and join entertainer in comedian branch

Have as many kids as you want

Die the day after your spouse from heart-brokenness

Get to at least level 7 comedy skill

Traits: Loner, Gloomy (change to cheerful once YA)

Career: Detective until you find person, then entertainer (comedian branch)

Aspiration: Joke Star (don’t start until YA)

Generation 10- Blackberry (Black, Dark blue, or dark purple)

You were pretty happy as a kid always were with your parents and you loved their cute little love story, but once your mom passed away you swore that you would never be anything like her, you didn’t want to be sad ever and be a complete mess, So you broke things off with your current relationship, never spoke with your friends again or your brothers/sisters, never settled down or even had kids. All you did in your adulthood was to have fun by yourself, succeed in your job and visit new places constantly. You had the time of your life and once you died, you died having a happy life and having no regrets.

Rules

Have a boyfriend as a teen and as soon as your mother passes away break up with him.

Have 2 good friends and when your mother passes away stop talking with them completely. Same goes with your brothers and sisters

Complete any Job of your choice

Live in each neighborhood at least once

Max out the Photography and any other skill of your choice

Go to a lot of parties, clubs and bars as an Adult

Never Marry or have kids

Traits: Outgoing, and Ambitious

Career: Your choice

Aspiration: Your choice

That’s the challenge I hope you guys like!! we worked really hard on it

If you do this challenge use the tag #veryberrylegacy so we can see them

Happy simming <3

#veryberrylegacy #very berry legacy #sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 legacy #new legacy

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

Photo

Padre Pio and Erminia Gargani

Story with images:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/padre-pio-erminia-gargani-harold-baines/?published=t

“Good daughter it is not abandonment but love that the most sweet Savior is showing you” - Padre Pio (Padre Pio writing to Erminia)

The role expected of women in Italy at the beginning of the 20th century and especially in southern Italy, was that of wife and mother and with all the emotional and religious ties and duties that go with it, which the men were too occupied in the hard work of the land and in the pursuit of social and economical realization had no time for. So a woman who chose to live outside of these traditional parameters was seen as breaking, almost "transgressing" convention. Erminia Gargani because she also worked and was independent was considered to be in many respects "transgressive."

Erminia moreover, grew up in a family in which the women had character. Erminia, although the of sister Mother Maria Gatgani, a woman of strong faith and will, she was not overshadowed by this sister, who even in her gentleness was imposing and could have relegated her to a role of secondary status. Erminia knew how to always be herself, that is she knew how to "start again," to "rethink" her life, especially after the terrible tragedy that was reserved for her.

Erminia was a schoolteacher and had studied at the Avellino Teachers College. When she received her diploma she was assigned a post at a school in Casalnuovo Monterotaro, a small town in the province of Foggia, where she lived for 19 years and where her family in many ways would change forever.

Committed totally to her work, Erminia almost at once would be challenged by the hardships of life. In fact, her first classes consisted of undisciplined children totally incapable of following the school rules. But, she was not discouraged and began to look for the good side in them: she stimulated their interests, treated them with respect and little by little she won them over and they began to obey the regulations, greet her when she entered the classroom, and even start the day with a prayer to Jesus. But here at Casalnuovo, Erminia would leave a part of herself.

It was here that her "womanhood" would undergo a sharp and painful trial; it was here in fact, where she lived her love story with Carlo Agnusdei, a well brought up young man from a distinguished and wealthy family. It was a courtship very different to what we have become accustomed to today. It was a romantic wholesome love expressed in an atmosphere of reserve, of amorous sentiments and much through words. But in that period of time when this love was born, it was the mother of the family who was responsible for the children's' education and the arrangement of their marriages, especially of the male offspring. And in this story too, in keeping with the most traditional of clichés, the love of Erminia and Carlo would be obstructed by the family of the husband to be, with the mother in the front lines preventing her son from marrying "beneath himself."

Carlo's parents out to "protect" what Pierre Bourdieu has termed the "symbolic capital" of the family, the family name rather than the patrimony, failed to recognize in Erminia her great emotional, psychological and spiritual worth and she, in turn, her head held high, would not accept a marriage without the complete approval of the fiancés family. Erminia had no wish to enter an emotional relationship that would go against her future in-laws and nor did she wish to embitter the relations between Carlo and his parents, and because of this she refused to marry. With dignity she got herself out of this sterile entanglement, the result of complicated and distressing family relations, knowing that she would never be able to "build" a marriage on the "ruins" of a parent-son relationship.

But as resolute as Erminia was in her decision, Carlo could not comprehend her feelings and, perhaps from extreme personal suffering, or because he lacked the same faith and strength of Erminia, he took his life with poison. His suicide was a cry of desperation over this failed relationship between his parents and Erminia.

Erminia was never able to recover from the tragedy, although with Padre Pio's help, who in this difficult moment would come into her life, she would little by little be able to come to terms with it. She was heartbroken over Carlo's suicide and at first decided to join a religious order of nuns, the Sacramentine Sisters at Casoria, but this decision would cause great grief and disagreements in her family. Her sister Maria wrote to Padre Pio seeking his advice and he wrote back to her: "If your parents are absolutely determined to take your sister from the cloister by force… then it would be better, for civility, to persuade your sister to return, leaving her re-entry into the Order for a better time" (S.G. Rotondo, 24 September 1916).

Erminia would leave the convent and go back to teaching, and, from that moment on, begin a busy apostolate in her parish teaching catechism, in which she would receive encouragement from Padre Pio through an ardent correspondence of a total of 69 letters, now part of Volume III of Padre Pio's writings.

Padre Pio welcomed Erminia among his spiritual daughters in a very distressing time of her life, and instead of advising her to leave the world, he directed and guided her in the world.

In a letter to his "good daughter," as he often called her, he explained: "It is not abandonment but love that the most sweet Savior is showing you. It is not at all true that you offend God in that state of aridity and desolation of spirit in which the loving Savior has placed you, because His vigilant grace greatly protects you from such an offense" (Letters III). Padre Pio writing to Erminia would teach and explain the faith to her in relation to the spiritual situation of her life. Only eight days later, knowing very well the loneliness Erminia was experiencing, he wrote again: "I write immediately, because I believe Jesus wants to comfort you through this poor writing of mine" (Letters III).

Little by little Erminia would come to feel that she could confide in Padre Pio and she told him about the terrible confusion and darkness she was experiencing. Padre Pio, spoke to her using the imagery of a cloud, a symbol of the "unknowable" God: "The deeper the darkness grows, the closer God is. Remember this great truth, my beloved daughter, and be comforted by it. That a cloud covered the 'Sancta Sanctorum' every time the Lord wanted to warn His chosen people of His presence" (Letters III).

Padre Pio's knowledge of Scripture was not the speculative and disinterested knowledge of a scholar. As a true Franciscan, Scripture had become a second nature to him. He thought and understood in a biblical way and it was part of his everyday speech.

Padre Pio did not cease to calm Erminia and to encourage her in the faith: "Come on! Keep strongly and constantly united to God, consecrating all your affections, torments and your entire self to Him, patiently awaiting the return of that beautiful sun, whenever the Spouse is pleased to visit you through trials or aridity, desolation and darkness of spirit" (Letters III). Words like these we find continuously in his letters to her.

Padre Pio stressed to Erminia, in particular, the virtue of humility on the road to perfection. In his letter dated 15 February 1918, he wrote: "To begin with, you must insist on the root and foundation of Christian justice and goodness; on that virtue, that has been clearly offered to us as an example to follow, and by that I mean humility; an interior and exterior humility, but more interior than exterior, more felt than shown, more profound than visible" (Letters III).

It is in this letter that he indicates to her six rules to attain this goal:

"1.) Never be satisfied with yourself.

2.) Never complain about offenses wherever they might come from.

3.) Forgive everyone in Christian charity.

4.) Always lament your wretchedness before God.

5.) Do not be surprised at all by your weaknesses recognizing yourself for what you are, blushing at your constancies than infidelities to God, and place your trust in the heavenly Father, abandoning yourself in His arms like a child in the arms of its mother.

6.) Never take pride in your virtues, reminding yourself often that everything comes from God, to whom we must give honor and glory" (Letters III).

These goals are not something easy to attain and because of this Padre Pio would remain close to Erminia and continue writing to her: "When you are able to take big steps on the path along which God leads you, patiently wait until your legs are strong enough to run, or rather, until you have the wings to fly. Be content for now, my good daughter, with being a little honeybee, which will soon become a big bee capable of producing honey" (Letters III).

This image of the busy honeybee is the symbol of that patient waiting that Erminia would have to achieve in herself. She would "work" hard on herself, perfecting her faith that would continue to grow her whole life, spent in teaching and instructing the catechism. She gave thanks to Padre Pio for making her understand something very important, that her life after Carlo's death, was not barren and unproductive. Even though she renounced forever matrimony, and by that motherhood in a biological sense, in dedicating her life to teaching, she considered this her mission, and would become a mother, a second mother, to generations of students.

In this mission, morality would prevail over the intellectual, even though the intellectual remained always very important.

On 4 May 1953, Donna Erminia as she is still remembered in her hometown of Morra Inpinia, was awarded by the President of the Republic, Luigi Einaudi, for her 40 years of teaching in elementary schools, a gold medalli

Nine years later, she would peacefully give up her soul and join forever her Carlo, whom she had continued to love her whole life with her pure love.

As the author of this story states "We women, it is a known fact, are made in this way. We are capable of loving the reminiscence of an impossible love for always. On these loves it will never be possible to write the last word."

Story by Marianna Iafelice

#padre pio

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the-real-tc · 7 years

Text

Fic Update! Wide River to Cross: Ch. 19

Author’s Note: Back for more. I promised a return to Lisa’s POV this time, and I have done so—sort of. I’ve split the story this time: first half is about Jack; second half is about Lisa. (It’s the first time I’ve brought both of their stories into the same chapter. Make of that what you will.)

Anyway, this is another “headcanon running wild” chapter for me, as I address one tiny detail I feel the writers ignored in the series, that of Lisa's on-line dating profile. Like, what was up with that, anyway? This chapter seeks to explain that one.

Finally, I don’t know (or can’t remember) what Jack’s feelings are towards golf. If what I’ve written contradicts known details that might have been mentioned in an episode throughout the show’s eleven-year history, I apologize.

Chapter 19: Opposites Attract

After spending another three days of utter boredom in his motel room, Jack finally forced himself to make a phone call.

Henry, the snowbird from Calgary, happily reiterated that the invitation to “come see the house” still stood; Jack was welcome to come by any time. Further, Jack could stay for the remainder of his planned time in Arizona. “No sense wasting money on a motel when we have an empty guest room right here," Henry had said during the conversation.

The first evening with Henry and Annette Groves had been passed in pleasant conversation with Jack sharing more of his experiences on the horseback riding trip through the Grand Canyon. It was after ten p.m. when he excused himself for bed, explaining that the auto and airplane traffic around the motel had interrupted his sleep for too many nights.

In the morning, Jack found he was the first to wake. He’d slept like a baby in the guest room bed, free from the roar of jet engines and assorted highway traffic. Though it was not his custom to stay under the covers, Jack didn’t leave the room until he heard his hosts moving about.

At around 7:30 a.m., there was a gentle knock on the door, and a quiet call from Annette. "Jack? If you’re up, breakfast is on. See you in the kitchen.” It all felt so homey and welcoming, Jack gave himself a mental kick for putting off calling the couple for so long. What did I do to deserve meeting so many great people on this trip? he thought as he went to the bathroom to freshen up. Lisa would have liked Henry and Annette, I’m sure…

“You like golf, Jack?”

“Never picked up a club in my life, and I don’t plan to,” Jack said to Henry. He was seated in the Groves’ comfortable living room, enjoying a second cup of coffee.

“Hmm, too bad,” Henry said, disappointment evident.

“Oh, you have more than enough golfing buddies both here and in Calgary,” chimed Annette. “You don’t need to drag Jack into that infernal sport.”

“Annette hates golf, too,” Henry chuckled, sending his wife a coy look. “God knows I’ve tried to convert her over the years, but there’s no hope.”

“Who wants to chase a ball all over the place all day long in the blazing sun, into water hazards and sand traps and roughs?”

“Walking is good exercise,” Henry rejoined defensively, though Jack could tell their argument was all in fun, and was probably one they had with regularity.

“Which is why I play tennis,” Annette commented with a smug expression.

“Now who’s going on about chasing a ball all over the place in the blazing sun all day?” Henry put in, trying hard not to crack a smile. “You’ll never catch me stepping foot on those courts.”

“No comparison whatsoever,” Annette shot back. “Plus, you know there are such things as indoor courts. Jack, you’re a smart man. Tell Henry that hitting a tennis ball out-of-bounds is nowhere as ridiculous as hitting a golf ball into a swamp.”

“Uh… um, I think you have a point, there, Annette,” Jack said carefully, looking cautiously between the two, wondering if he was heading into dangerous territory.

“Aha! 15-love,” Annette declared triumphantly, using the tennis scoring term. “You’d make a great umpire, Jack.”

“Can I take a mulligan on this one?” Henry begged meekly, hiding his smirk behind a mug of coffee.

“Yes,” Annette immediately replied, “but only because I love you.”

Jack sat back for a moment, taking in his two hosts. The Groves, sitting opposite him in matching armchairs, were gazing at each other with the love of many years. Henry reached out and grasped Annette’s hand briefly before letting it go again. It was a simple gesture that spoke volumes of the affection the pair shared; a gesture Jack noticed.

Though Jack knew Henry and Annette were the same age, they were also a study in contrasts: Henry was well over six feet in height, lean, square-featured, with a head of silver hair that at one time must have been raven in color. His blue eyes could have appeared cold on another man’s face, but Henry’s were merry and warm.

Annette was on the plump side, decidedly petite as she stood barely five feet tall, had naturally blonde hair, and wore glasses that framed her beautiful hazel eyes.

“So, Jack,” Henry started to say, realising he was ignoring his guest, “if you’re not into golf, what does a fella like you get up to in his spare time?”

“Well,” Jack started, “I don’t usually have much ‘spare time’ with my cattle business, but I do enjoy fly-fishing now and again.”

Annette wrinkled her nose, but Henry positively beamed. “You don’t say!” he said with a grin. “Annette here hates fly-fishing, but I love it.”

“Hip waders make me look wider than a hippo’s rear,” Annette complained. “Plus, I hate splashing around in ice-cold rivers.”

“Sounds like you two don’t have many hobbies in common,” Jack said, again, careful to gauge the mood of his hosts, nevertheless perceiving a jesting atmosphere.

“Ah, that’s what keeps life interesting,” Henry declared. “We don’t have to like the same things to love each other, right, Dear?”

“Right,” Annette agreed with a wide smile. This time, she was the one to initiate the contact with her husband as she reached out to touch his hand. “We do have the most important things in common, and that’s our family: Our children and our grandchildren.”

Jack nodded in understanding, his thoughts flashing back to his own family, remembering he was expected back home in another ten days or so. Despite the hospitality of the Groves, though, he was becoming more convinced with every passing day he’d had enough of Arizona and its surroundings.

Maybe I’ll cut this thing short, he thought, noting the month of March was almost over. None of my loved ones are here… maybe it’s time I head back to Hudson to be with my family once again. But even as he came to this decision, the depressing fact remained that one person wouldn’t be there, and Jack knew he was mainly to blame for Lisa’s departure and continued absence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever forgive you for that stunt,” Lisa said jokingly to Rachel, as the two of them sat on the verandah of the house in Toulon. The April evening was warm; the slightest hint of a breeze rustled the grasses in the meadow across the front lawn from the sisters.

“It was a harmless prank,” Rachel commented with a guilty grin and a roll of her eyes. “As if you would have actually needed a profile on a Singles’ website to dive into the dating pool again.”

“You do know the site came under fire from multiple users, right?”

“Oh, really? How come?”

“Um, apparently, the algorithms were all screwy,” Lisa replied with a shake of her head. “People were being told their 'perfect match’ was someone who turned out to be their total opposite. They had to shut the site down for a while so they could fix the problem.”

“No kidding,” Rachel said in surprise, after taking a sip from her wine glass.

“The Hudson Times reported there were a lot of ruined dates and nasty surprises,” Lisa continued. “The site’s administrators came out with a public apology, saying if any of the users were negatively affected by their service, they were entitled to a refund. Of course, it didn’t apply to me in the slightest, since I never paid to used the service.”

“Wow, that’s crazy,” Rachel said, then shot her older sibling a mischievous, sidelong glance. “You didn’t ever, you know, check out any of your matches, anyway? I mean, after you got over your shock at finding my handiwork… Just out of curiosity?”

Lisa scoffed. “Oh, no. What for? After reading some of those horror stories in the Times, God only knows what kind of weirdos would have been my 'perfect match’!”

Rachel’s mood turned serious. “So, you’re really hoping for a reconciliation with Jack, then?” she asked as tactfully as possible. “You know, Ben still talks about the time he spent at Heartland. Says Jack was a real stand-up guy, even though he didn’t appreciate it at the time.”

“He is a real stand-up guy,” Lisa echoed wistfully. “I do wish we could have made up. I wish things would have gone differently, but…”

“Okay, enough depressing relationship talk,” Rachel stated, waving a hand as if to physically dismiss the unhappy topic. “We’re starting to sound like those clichéd women with nothing to do but complain about being single and miserable. This is really good wine, by the way.”

Lisa couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nice segue. Yes, it is good wine. It’s from the Laportes—they’re in Bandol. I’ve given them free use of my vineyard, and Denys Laporte brought a few of these bottles over the other day when he heard I was having company. It’s his way of saying 'Thank you’ for getting to harvest the grapes.”

“That’s nice of him,” Rachel commented, taking another sip of the wine, savouring it meditatively.

“And speaking of Ben…” Lisa began.

“Sends his regrets,” sighed Rachel, after swallowing. “Since he’s doing the intensive MBA program, he literally has no spare time. Sorry, sis. I know you were looking forward to seeing him again.”

“I’ll admit I’m disappointed,” Lisa said, “but I do understand. Just make him promise he’ll make it up to me when he’s not so swamped. I really wish we’d been able to spend more time together back when you sent him to stay with me; I’ve missed so much of his growing-up years.”

“Come on, Lisa,” Rachel said with a sardonic twist of her mouth, “we both know Ben was a handful when I was going through the divorce. He was resentful, moody, and an all-round difficult teenager to be around. I’d hoped his staying with you at the old homestead would… I don’t know… make him feel more grounded, I guess… at least he wouldn’t have to be in the middle of my own messy life. I dumped him on you, and in retrospect, that wasn’t fair—to either of you.”

Lisa leaned over and placed a comforting hand on her sister’s. “Oh, you’re being too hard on yourself. Divorce is never easy. We both know this. But what you went through? And to have a kid in the middle of it? I’d say both you and Ben came out of that turmoil remarkably well.”

“Thanks, Lis,” Rachel said with genuine feeling. “Hey, while we’re on the topic of divorce and family… Have you heard from Mom lately?”

“No,” Lisa answered honestly and without emotion. “I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation.”

“Hmm.” Rachel made a sound like she was disappointed. “I can’t either.”

“I could ask Aunt Evelyn if she’s heard from her the next time we chat,” Lisa offered, though she personally didn’t think that would come to anything.

“No, it’s okay,” Rachel sighed. “You answered my real question, which is that she’s been ignoring both of us equally.”

“You know she was never the same after Dad got sick,” Lisa said, trying to stay even the slightest bit positive about the state of the sisters’ relationship with their mother.

“Yeah, I know,” Rachel commented glumly. “But we both also know living on a horse ranch in Alberta wasn’t her idea of 'the good life’. She was always jealous of everything Aunt Evelyn got to do, even if she never said it. I mean, she may have loved Dad—at least in the beginning—but in the end, it wasn’t enough.”

“It should have been,” Lisa murmured. “Dad certainly never stopped loving her…”

Rachel started to say something else, but closed her lips and kept her silence. Several mute minutes passed while the Stillman sisters sat, just gazing out into the darkness of the night, draining their wine glasses. Nothing but the occasional rustle of a tree branch or the snort of one of Lisa’s nearby horses disturbed the peace.

Presently, Rachel spoke: “My goodness, it’s so peaceful out here. I’m really glad I came.”

“I’m glad you came, too,” Lisa said, then lifted the half-empty bottle of wine they’d been sharing. “More wine?”

“Yes, please!”

“Here’s to… good wine and peaceful times,” Lisa said, raising her glass in a toast.

“Hear, hear,” Rachel said, clinking her glass with Lisa’s.

Chapter 20: The Waiting Game

#Heartland #Heartland Fanfiction #Wide River to Cross #Chapter 19 #Opposites Attract #My Fics #Jack Bartlett #Lisa Stillman #jack and lisa #JISA

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