#everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be i became. ⸢ musings. ⸥

[cfsouthernbelles]

[remuhslupn]

tag dump!

[remuhslupns]

tag dump!

[liveshaunted-moved]

Cleo Ridder ( PJO ) & Maia Tua ( PJO ) & Nellie Boyd ( PJO )

[tombvcmp]

lexie picked up another character you know what that means

                         another tag drop !!

[mognestxrn]

tag drop !!

[wallwriterstuff]

Foundling ||Caius Volturi x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of neglect and absent parent

Words: 4176

Taglist: @thelastemzy​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​ @a-avaunce​ @college-is-coming​ @alecvolturiswifeforever​ @broskibowser​ @volturidoll13​ @raindancer2004​ (hopefully this actually works this time!)

Summary: A request for @like-rain-or-confetti​ 

Caius has done a lot of terrible things over the course of his life, and the one good thing he did do he was never allowed to keep. After centuries of waiting, she finally gets to confront him for all of his deeds, the good and the bad. 

Most who knew Caius knew him for his rage, but not very many understood where that rage came from. It was like a chronic disease that plagued him always, the slightest things setting his volatile mood off. No, the blonde king was a ticking time bomb and whoever came across him knew all the while to tread carefully lest they lose a limb at best, their head at worst. His reputation proceeded him, his brutality well renowned, so the Cullen’s witnesses knew better than to cross Caius when he was busy warmongering, and he most certainly had tried his best to instigate something given that the Denali had had to inhale their sister’s ashes.  

“We cannot know the child will not be dangerous!”

“Regardless they have been consorting with werewolves, our sworn enemies.”

Edward could only hold his family tight and pray for reprieve, watching Caius scrabble for any excuse to end those he held dear because of one mistake. Granted, that mistake had grown rapidly to be the very centre of his world and he would not trade his daughter for anything, but despite her lovable nature Renesmee was very much his creation and the very reason his whole family was now in danger. It was a difficult conundrum to wrap his head around and he still didn’t have all the right answers but he had people on his side to support him, and for Edward that was enough. Caius didn’t relent. Marcus spared him a pitying glance, Aro’s eyes less forgiving but nonetheless understanding, and Edward caught the briefest glimpse then of everything that made Caius what he was. The root of all of his anger and hostility stemmed not from his lack of gift as so many assumed, but from a small, infant girl.

He couldn’t quite contain his surprise. Aro was very good at controlling his thoughts around him but this one had slipped free. Caius looked so much softer in this memory, all of his rough edges filed away. For once, his eyes were not filled with hate and fire but wonder and trepidation, a bit of fear perhaps. Edward recognised those eyes immediately even if he didn’t understand how he had found them in Caius’s face of all people, because those were the eyes he had looked at Renesmee with when he pulled her free of his mate’s womb. It was the doting, adoring expression of a father who held his world in the centre of his palm. Caius was not voting to kill Renesmee out of fear for their species, but out of centuries worth of spite, spite that Edward had what he could not.

He had given up his daughter.

Caius was the first to leave the battlefield, his jaw twitching as he fought the urge to snarl, and even Athenodora didn’t dare follow him for a while. For those who knew him best they were able to feel the hurt radiating beneath all that rage, and for the weeks that followed even their own guard members felt unsafe in his presence. Demetri and Felix had caught one of the lower guard sneaking from the castle, his hand freshly reattached – Aro had let him go when he saw why the younger vampire had wanted to flee. Even Jane had been a little ashen once when she returned from the dungeons with him, Caius looking no more satisfied than he had when he went in while she all but collapsed in her brother’s embrace. As the weeks dragged to months, Aro couldn’t help but think it was time to do something. Caius had spent more time locked in the tower the week previous than he had with them, seeking comfort from his mate. It gave them plenty of time to talk.

“It has been centuries Aro, the man deserves peace.”

“I had thought time would heal this wound, that for the sake of Athenodora he might have moved on.”

“The love of a father is far stronger than the forces of time.”

So Demetri became the first of the guard to know of this well-kept secret the very next day. His shock was quite obvious, his curiosity to, but he knew better than to ask questions as Aro described the girl, thought of the infant she had been when they last saw her, and gave him all the information he might need to grasp her tenor.

“I trust your discretion can be counted on, dear boy?” Aro asked. Demetri had nodded once, then turned and left without so much as a goodbye to the others. The tenor was warm and vibrant, something he could easily get lost in. Demetri only paused in his searching to hunt here and there, rest briefly in a few hotels while he washed and traced the tenor in the forefront of his mind more thoroughly, but his feet carried him swiftly out of Italy and into Germany, through Eastern Europe and into Asia. He was surrounded by the colours and aromas of cultures he had not seen for a few decades. Usually Asia was quiet, the peoples having so many myths, legends and folklore that it was easy for a nomad to blend in, their slip ups often cleaned up by the humans that recognised the demonic nature of the mysterious deaths they left behind and tried to rectify the situation through prayer and ritual. It served as a better warning they were attracting too much attention than any Volturi visit could – they had trained the humans well in this regard.

Demetri finally stopped alongside a high rise building in Yokohama, Japan. The city was the second most populated in Japan, a good place to hunt and hide for a hybrid he was sure. The tenor was brightest here, many floors above him, and Demetri pondered exactly how best to go about engaging with his target for a moment. He could sneak into the building and into her apartment but he didn’t want to startle the poor girl, especially not since he had no clue whether or not she was gifted – he didn’t fancy getting his ass lit on fire to find out. He could always wait to see if she emerged, follow her from a distance, though that was another sure way to startle her if she caught him. Peeling away from the wall, he seamlessly blended into the human traffic on the pathway, pulling his phone from his pocket to search for a hotel as he walked along. He would withdraw for now, ‘bump’ into her on the street as a random passer-by and hope his obvious vampirism was enough to make her approach him.

It took her less than 24 hours to move and, dressed down in some casual clothes, he set out to follow her. Eyes covered by irritating contacts, he made his way through the Sankeien Gardens, following discretely as she took a leisurely stroll across the acres of land dotted with colourful spring blossoms and buildings older than most of the humans wondering the place. She seemed quite content to take her time, lifting her phone to take pictures here and there of flowers and views she liked. Demetri played the part of the awed tourist well, trailing her for an hour and a half before they seemed to have looped the entire expanse of the Gardens and ended up back at the pond they had walked around at the start. She sat herself on a bench, staring out over the water with mystifying blue eyes. She still stood out from the others around her though, her posture a little too straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, a child of her time out of place amongst modern mortals.

“You would look far less suspicious if you took a seat.” He had no doubt that she was talking to him. Lips twitching into a smirk, he did exactly as she asked. Hands in his pockets, he sat beside her on the bench, his eyes fixed on the pond before them. The shock of white-blonde hair on her head was almost proof enough she was Caius’s daughter, but he still had to check.

“The sakura blossoms make for a beautiful view, Carina.” He said. She visibly stiffened, her fast-fluttering heart pounding strongly in his ears. She had that vampiric twinge to her scent, something overly sweet that marked her as vampire and tangled nicely with the deliciously human side of her, much like Rensemee.

“Volturi.” She hissed quietly.

Demetri chuckled wryly. “So, my reputation proceeds me.”

“I have not been known by that name for many centuries. Only one coven would still recall it.” She griped, fists clenching a little in her lap. Demetri glanced at her then, taking in the sharp cheekbones and square jawline that he saw often in his Master’s face. The glare she wore was vicious.

“Do not make me use violence in a place as beautiful as this princess.” He threatened idly, gaze returning to the water as powerful lights threw beams across the surface, making it glimmer darkly. The sun had disappeared long ago or he wouldn’t have been out to follow her, the overcast day turning more quickly into night-time.

“So that is all, is it? I am to be hauled away from my home without negotiation or warning on the whim of a madman?” she sniffed. Demetri looked at her curiously.

“You speak ill of a man whom you barely know.” He mused.

“I know enough.” She retorted sharply, her eyes meeting his. The piercing blue made his curious mind race – because Athenodora could not be her mother so who had given her those eyes? – but he kept his expression cool and collected. Demetri stood to offer her a hand, one she eyed with distaste and distrust. He had no ill-intentions, but a little charm never hurt, especially not when he wanted to get his way with as little effort expended as possible.

“My contacts will not last forever, I will need to go somewhere more private to change them if we are to make the most of this evening before we depart.” He informed her. Her eyebrow arched high, her expression one of disbelief.

“What, pray tell, do you think we would be doing this evening?” she questioned. He smirked.

“It has been quite a while since I visited Japan, even then my last trip was to Tokyo. This is your city princess, show me why I should let you stay.” He invited. She scoffed.

“We both know your orders would not allow for such a thing…does your silver tongue work most other times?” she wondered, slipping her hand in his and letting him pull her up. He blinked in surprise as she dusted off the backs of her jeans. Most women took to his charm easily, but apparently Carina was as stubborn as her father.

“I…” he paused, wondering how to make her change her mind. She smirked, head shaking and sending silken sheets of straight blonde hair over her shoulder.

“It appears to be broken entirely now, I would get that checked this evening while I pack a few essentials, if I were you.” She was already moving away by the time his brain caught up, and despite her obvious disdain for the idea, she was packed and ready to acquiesce his escort to Volterra. For all her stubbornness however not even she could fight off the physical needs her mortality demanded, and Demetri found himself standing watch over the would-be Princess as she slept in a hotel in Florence. The even rise and fall of her chest gave him a pattern for his thoughts to echo, an endless ebbing and flowing of questions he couldn’t find answers to. Carina had not been forthcoming in giving any and he somehow doubted that the Masters’ would be either. She was clearly displeased to be here, her sleep interrupted several times and a small frown creasing her brow for most of the night. It was an expression he only saw when she was unconscious and let her guard down.

She woke to an unconscious man in their penthouse living space, the corpse of his wife already lay atop the glass coffee table while Demetri sat with an ankle resting on the opposite knee, newspaper in hand. With an ungracious snort, she dragged her prey back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her for good measure, only opening it to toss the body out once it was drained for him to deal with. Demetri’s eyes rolled a little. He wondered if Caius knew his hybrid daughter was an eternally dramatic, angsty teenager, and questioned if putting them in the same room together was a good idea. It was bound to be like watching two fireballs collide. Trusting her not to run while he was away, he left via the balcony to dispose of their meals while she got ready for the day.

He returned to find her with her bag by the door, looking smarter than he had seen her during their travels back to Italy.

“How unusually refined.” He commented, stooping to swing her bag onto his shoulder. She scoffed.

“You are planning on offering me up like a pig on a platter like a good little toy soldier are you not?” she retorted icily, “I best look the part lest your silver tongue not be the only thing about you broken.” Demetri frowned slightly, watching her carefully as they played the part of happy couple departing their hotel suite. Gianna had sent a car, something with air conditioning and plush leather so they wouldn’t have to exhaust themselves with another run. For most of the drive the radio played quietly between them, her eyes concealed behind sunglasses and staring out over the luxurious rolling hills and fields of vibrant green. When he was certain there was not too long of the journey left, and therefore not enough time for her to throw him out of the car and turn it around, he finally broke his silence.

“You seem to believe the worst of your father.”

She heaved a weary sigh. “His reputation proceeds him.”

Demetri kept his eyes on the road, weighing his words carefully. He had been a member of the guard long enough to know Caius’s behaviour was not unusual, and he had been in the higher guard long enough to hear snippets of conversation amongst the wives, amongst the Masters’. Seeing the confrontation with the Cullen’s and sitting in a car with her now it was quite obvious to him the source of his Master’s vexation.

“And if his words and actions were fuelled not by anger, but grief?” he questioned, voice quiet. She showed no outward sign of having heard him but the most minute clenching of her jaw was enough to prove to him he had given her food for thought, and with that they lapsed back into silence. It was not entirely pleasant, and the air between them stagnated long after they entered Volterra. She kept her head held high, her expression aloof. It was obvious to Demetri how alike they were now – they both were grieving and wore their pain like armour. He paused only briefly at the doors, just enough time for her to steel herself with a sharp inhale, and then he opened the doors. She lingered behind him as he strode forward, bowing slightly and glancing among his Masters’. Aro waved him away without fanfare, his eyes fixed on the young girl behind him. She stood just a little taller than Jane, petite and lithe much like her father.

Caius seemed absolutely rooted to the spot, his nostrils flaring as he took in deep lungful’s of air that was rapidly becoming saturated with her scent, the scent he had inhaled like an addict off a baby blanket till it ran dry. Aro drifted down the steps to meet her, Caius’s fingernail’s scraping the wooden armrests of his throne as he struggled to keep a myriad of emotions off of his face.

“Dear Carina, how good it is to see you home.” He sighed, extending a hand toward her. She stared at it in disgust.

“If I recall you were the one who ordered me sent away in the first place. I did not return for you, so let us be done with this charade father.” She stepped around Aro gracefully, leaving him quite obviously dumbfounded and irritated, his hand slowly falling back to his side. Caius shot to his feet like he was ready to flee, but he remained stock still as Alec warily drifted closer to him, palms turned out and ready to defend his Master at all costs. The sight of him and Jane drifting to his side seemed to enrage her.

“Carina…”

“Do not dare call me that name!” she snarled, “How long did it take you to replace me?” she cast a filthy look in Jane’s direction and the young girl growled quietly in response. Demetri almost flinched.

“They were Aro’s acquisition, not mine.” He retorted. There was absolutely no bite in his tone, all his bluster gone despite his rigid stance. Caius looked more powerless than ever as she folded her arms, staring at him expectantly. She had worn a short-sleeved dress for the occasion and her skin shimmered faintly in the light drizzling in through high windows. The tension was palpable.

“Leave us, dear ones.” Aro ordered. Demetri hesitated, frowning slightly, and he could see Alec and Jane’s obvious reluctance to leave to. Another firm order got them moving however, and Carina glanced back at him with agonised eyes. Demetri paused, searching her face and finding nothing more than a terrified young girl who didn’t want to face a father she knew nothing about by herself. He gave her the slightest of nods, a small and encouraging smile twitching up his lips. They were barely out of the throne room when the shouting began, and it lasted for hours. Nowhere in the castle was exempt from the noise and it quickly spread like wildfire that Caius’s daughter had returned, and she had quite the mouth on her.

“So you refuse to even see me now?” Caius demanded. If his voice had wavered nobody was so idiotic as to comment on it. Fists clenched, she trembled with rage.

“Tell me what there is to see but a petrified old man who let centuries pass before he decided to step up as a father!” her words were precise and cut deeply.

“I thought of you daily!”

“Do not attach thoughts of me to the atrocities you have committed!” she spat. Caius had faltered at that. For hours she had done nothing but scream about what a monster he was, about the things she had heard he had done. He sank slowly to the steps leading to his throne, unable to meet her eyes anymore. His grip was so tight the marble crumbled beneath his hands and he was left grasping at air.

“I…I wanted this world to be made safe for you…I…I tried to do right by you…”his upper lip curled back over his teeth, his expression a mask of rage it had taken centuries to perfect, one that concealed an unimaginable amount of agony.

“Do right by me?” she asked incredulously, “You abandoned me! I grew up without you, with no caretaker who ever understood me, shunned from one place to the next because you had seen fit to throw me away! My own father could not bear to raise the freak he had created.” Caius’s head snapped up and for the first time in centuries, he took a deep breath. He tried his best to quell the rage that simmered in his core, to shove aside the guilt and the grief. His daughter matched him like for like. She was his reflection, a carbon copy of his rage, and fighting fire with fire was not going to work. He was finally defeated.

“My war against the Children of the Moon led me to your door. I watched, as the filthy beast stared through the window…stared at you…you slept so peacefully, entirely unaware that the coven I had tasked with protecting you had failed…when I, when I returned to glimpse you one more time you – you were already gone.” The mere memory pained him, shamed him. The Irish had moved on so fast he hadn’t even been able to track them, their scent confused amongst the stink of wolves. Carina swallowed.

“Why? Why not visit me?” she demanded. Caius remained silent. What could he say? “Answer me! You owe me this! I always wandered where you were, why you let me go so easily! You owe me these answers.” Caius could only stare at her. She had grown since he held her last, no longer able to fit in the palm of his hand. She was the size of a sixteen-year old with a mind a millenia older, capable of recalling every wrong doing and forming opinions on the level of injustice each one carried.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” He blurted. It was all he could think to say, but it stopped the conversation dead. The silence rang around them, deafening in the wake of their previous screaming match. What were they doing? Their sweet reunion sullied by such foul words…

“Who…who was my mother?” she asked hesitantly. Caius sucked in a breath.

“A peasant girl,” he confessed quietly, “One Athenodora took a liking to and insist we…play with, for a while.” His voice echoed back to him off of the walls, Carina’s flinch something he didn’t miss. She nodded slowly.

“So, I was not even born of love.” She whispered.

“Perhaps not, but that did not mean I did not love you, the moment I held you in my arms…you were so small, so fragile for this world…how could I keep you when our enemies lingered at our door? You had to be safe, and safe was…was far away from me.” He swallowed, unable to look at her anymore. He was surprised when she shuffled towards the steps, keeping a few feet between them but sitting beside him nonetheless. Even with the distance he could still feel her heat, her temperature radiating from her like he was sat by an open flame. Another prolonged silence prevailed between them once more, and Caius wasn’t sure how to chase it away. How did he own up to centuries of ignorance? Of wrong-doing? How did he make any of this better?

Carina sighed heavily. “We have really made a mess of this.”

He looked to her in surprise, his shoulders sagging slightly in defeat.

“We have,” he agreed quietly, “But I should very much like to fix it, if you will permit me to try.” Carina quietly contemplated what that might look like for them for a moment, trying to imagine a world where her father was in her life. It had been so long and she had grown up without him…it was difficult to imagine where Caius might fit.

“I don’t need a father. I have grown out of the need for one.” Carina said quietly. Caius snapped his gaze away, a stiff nod all the acknowledgment she received. What had he expected really? A happy reunion?

“I see.” He murmured, pushing to his feet. Demetri had left her bag by the door and he was quite sure she would have no trouble picking it up on the way out.

“I do need a friend,” she spoke up, making his head turn, “I am especially in want of one who might know more about where I came from, if you could point me in the right direction.” Caius swallowed, not quite able to believe his ears. A slow smile twitched his lips upwards.

“I believe I may be able to assist you.” He agreed. Carina gave him a weak smile in reply, and Caius silently vowed it would be the first of many she gave him.

“I shall find accommodation then.” She decided. Caius immediately shook his head.

“Not at all. You may have a room here, you are welcome to one.” He said hastily. He would not lose her so soon after he had found her once more. Carina’s eyebrows rose.

“Will Demetri be nearby?” she asked innocently. Caius couldn’t help the scowl that wormed its way onto his face.

“And why does the location of his quarters matter?” he retorted. Carina grinned impishly.

“Because the pretty boy is not as clever as he likes to think he is and I did, admittedly, enjoy tormenting him on the journey here.” She confessed freely. Caius tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. Oh, oh she was his daughter alright.

“Something might be arranged.” He agreed.

“Wonderful.”

“If he is not cursing you within a week of your stay I will class your mission as a failure.”

“I will have him begging you to move him elsewhere I assure you.”

“Excellent.”

[peachtree-dish]

Chapter 5: Acqua agitata

13 ottobre 1969

There were many things that Luca loved in Signora Mia’s casa, besides the woman herself. He had been fascinated for his first few weeks in Genoa exploring all her books, odds and ends, and souvenirs. When she had first separated from Massimo, Mia had traveled all over Europe spending time in Greece, France, and Whales. From each country, she’d brought home at least one object or decoration, each one holding a special story and memory. Being an artist meant that she had many paintings, most of which were created by her hand, and every wall had been hand-painted by her design. On one wall, in particular, she had painted a colorful homage to the coast of Porto Rosso, featuring Massimo’s house and a detailed view of the town square. This was Luca’s particular favorite, and often while both Mia and Giulia were sleeping at night, he’d sit in front of that mural and read, letting the bright colors wash away his homesickness.

While she was never to be seen without a paintbrush in hand, Mia was also meticulous about keeping her furniture and floors paint-free, any splotches or spills were lovingly restricted to her paint room. Said room opened as both Luca and Giulia walked down the hallway, shredding backpacks, and school jackets as they went.

“Already home, miei cari? The day went by fast!” Mia briskly wiped her paintbrush down and stuck it in the front pocket of her jumper. “Hey, you ragazzi know better than to leave your stuff in the hallway!” She danced around the dropped articles of clothing and made her way into the kitchen space, watching in amusement as both teens sheepishly put the cookie jar back on the counter, a large Amaretti stuffed in their mouths.

“Scusa,” they both mumbled. Luca was the first to return to the disorganized hallway, pressing a crumb-filled kiss to Mia’s cheek in greeting before running to take his things to his bedroom. Nerone yapped playfully at his feet, eagerly hoping for any sweet leftovers as the teen dashed into his room and threw his coat and book bag on the chair by the window. Unlike Giulia’s room in Porto Rosso, there was no direct view of the ocean, however, on clear days he could make out the familiar blue outline above the orange rooftops of Genoa. Today the skies promised rain and Luca briefly wondered if the storm had already hit Alberto and Massimo.

As he pulled the necessary work from his bag, a blue paper slipped out and fell gracefully to the floor. Picking it up, Luca was reminded of his gym teacher’s earlier announcement. The thought made him wince as he re-read the glaring title: Maturazione e salute sessuale. Luca had hoped that he had escaped such discussion from his family during the summer; apparently, he would not be so lucky at school. Deciding to leave the permission slip for later, he grabbed his schoolwork and left the paper on his bed. Luca and Nerone made their way back into the kitchen where Giulia was already sat and speaking animatedly to her mother.

“Signora Bianchi explained energy to us today in earth sciences and said that it can’t be destroyed, only transferred,” Mia nodded as she pulled out a large circular pan before lighting the oven. If his intuition was right, and it usually was when it came to food, that meant pizza.

“And in math, we’ve been adding l’alfabeto in our equations; I wish they wouldn’t do that, it makes everything more complicated,” Giulia groused, pulling out her own math assignments.

“It’s easy if you think about it as balancing the equation,” Luca suggested, unsurprised when Giulia responded by glaring at him across the table.

“But the equation doesn’t look unbalanced to me. Besides,” she rolled her eyes, “why do we care what x is? Maybe x doesn’t want to be found.” Luca snorted and returned to his writing assignment, absentmindedly scratching Nerone’s head as he thought.

“Ah, bambini, not to worry, in three short years you won’t have to worry so much, although,” Mia mused, pressing the dough onto the counter, “if you both study some form of science, I’m afraid math is a must.” She pressed a kiss to Giulia’s forehead when she groaned, laughing with mirth.

“Also, don’t forget that tomorrow is mail day, any letters you have, need to be ready to send and on the table before you go to school, si?”

“Grazie, Signora Mia,” Luca thanked, now thoroughly distracted from his assignment, and wondering how he was going to fit this week’s events into Alberto’s letter.

“How’s your painting, mama?” Giulia asked a few moments later, obviously avoiding the equations that remained blank on her page.

“Benissimo, amore mio, I think my customer will really like it, they wanted something unique, and I doubt they’ll be disappointed!” Signora Mia flipped her wooden spoon in hand and gently nudged her daughter’s shoulder with the handle. “However, I think your professore will indeed be disappointed if you turn in a blank assignment.” Well and truly defeated, Giulia glumly returned to her homework, her expression forlorn.

After trudging through homework and eating a delicious Margherita pizza, the small family of three gathered into the sitting room and played a few rounds of Scopa, Signora Mia’s favorite.

“Aha!” the artist crowed, slapping her cards down in victory, “I win, again!” Luca groaned in defeat, placing his cards next to Giulia’s he sat back and popped his neck. Giulia had resigned herself to fate long ago and simply accepted her loss with a sigh.

“I still think you have a secret strategy that you haven’t shown me yet, mama.” She grumbled good-naturedly. Her mother shrugged smugly as she cleaned up the cards.

“Or the divine simply has favorites,” Stretching her arms, Mia stood to diffuse the fire. “You both have everything you need for tomorrow, vero?” Giulia nodded while Luca paused.

“Actually, Signora, there’s a paper I need you to sign,” He tapered off, fingers twitching nervously. The woman stared blankly at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Ah, it’s part of my health class, I’ll go fetch it for you.” Ears burning, Luca quickly returned with the offending paper and placed it face down in Mia’s waiting hand. As her eyes alighted upon the title, sudden understanding filled her expression and she smiled sympathetically at the embarrassed teen. Giulia peered over her mother’s shoulder and frowned in confusion.

“How come I didn’t get one?”

“Your puberty course happened two years ago, tesoro, this is a continuation for everyone a few years older.” Mia patted Giulia’s face, which contorted into horror at the memory, “I imagine your sex education will start next year.” She mused, her eyes crinkling with unhidden amusement.

“No, grazie, that presentation was enough to last a lifetime, I don’t need to know more.” The small redhead made a face of disgust as she fled the room. “Good luck, Lu!” She called before closing her bedroom door with finality.

Luca and Signora Mia sat for a moment staring at each other, Luca growing redder with each passing second and Mia showing no inclination of saving him from embarrassment.

“So…” perhaps if he prayed hard enough, the ground would swallow him whole. Nerone snored unhelpfully at the side of his chair.

“So, cosa?” She was merciless. Luca’s head began to inch farther between his shoulders.

“Will you sign the slip for me?” he mumbled, eyes nailed to the colorful rug below him.

Mia broke the tension with a laugh, which startled Luca enough to look at her beaming expression.

“Well, the question is if you really want me to,” she motioned to the paper, “if we’re being honest, caro, they won’t teach you much. If you’d prefer, I can answer your questions along with Giulia, or you may go to the presentation with your classmates. The choice is yours, really.” She handed the slip back to him, and he bit his lip in thought as he scanned the dreadful title over with his eyes.

“I think I want to do a bit of both, but” he pressed his teeth harder into his bottom lip nervously, “I’d rather ask questions without Giulia if that’s all right?” Mia smiled warmly at him before nodding her consent.

“Molto bene, what would like to know? I’m not sure if things will be different for you because of your biology, but perhaps some things will cross over.” She sat back in thought and waited patiently for Luca to form his thoughts into words.

“Why don’t we start with what you know, hm?” She pressed gently. Ok, that shouldn’t be too hard, right? Luca felt his stomach drop as he thought.

“W-well, I know that eggs are formed from two mates and that males and females are physically different. That’s…that’s all I know I think.” His nerves started to fade as he thought about what information he had, his logical side pushing his emotions out of the way. “Oh, and I know that girls have their cycles every month to prepare their bodies for new eggs.” He had learned that particular lesson last year when Giulia’s cycle started for the first time. Luca remembered vividly how she had been in pain for nearly a week and often had to wash her clothes and sheets when the bleeding became too heavy. Giulia had learned over the year how to manage it better and be prepared, but Luca did not envy her one bit.

“Do female sea people experience cycles?” Mia interrupted. Luca screwed his face in thought; he couldn’t remember his mother or grandmother mentioning anything.

“I’m not sure, I think there has to be something similar, but I don’t think they have blood cycles.”

Mia hummed in thought. “Is that all you know?” She continued when Luca nodded.

“Well, that’s a good place to start. Maybe let’s talk about the basics, okay?”

They spoke for longer than expected and Luca surprised himself with how many questions he had the more Signora Mia explained.

By the time the first hand on the clock reached one, Luca’s eyelids had begun to grow unbearably heavy, and the fire had become a gentle glow of embers.

“Bene, I think it’s time we both head to bed, no?” Luca nodded his head gratefully. As he bid the older woman goodnight, he stopped short at his door and turned back to Giulia’s mother with renewed trepidation.

“Signora, one more thing?” The artist paused in turn, her bleary eyes focusing on the youth.

“Is it possible for two people of the same…well, the same gender to experience that kind of relationship?” His heart pounded as he waited for her response, and he felt as if his lungs had stopped working properly. The Signora’s eyes immediately sharpened into focus, her gaze appeared to see right through him, and Luca began to fear that she could read his mind.

Then, as if satisfied with what she found, the older woman’s gaze softened, and she smiled again. “Any form of love is a gift, Luca. And while some people may not accept such relations, it is not uncommon for men to find happiness with other men, nor for women to do so with other women. And” she smiled ruefully, “some prefer to not have any relations, sexual or romantic.”

Luca eased his grip on the doorframe and offered his thanks before he hurriedly closed the door. He pressed his back against the white wood, its coolness seeping through his shirt and into his flushed skin. He couldn’t quite admit why that specific question had tumbled out of his mouth, but throughout their conversation images of Alberto and him together had entered his mind and now refused to leave.

Groaning dejectedly into his hands, the brunette threw himself onto the bed and buried himself beneath the covers, begging his mind to stop.

22 Octubre 1969

Walking the hallways alongside Giulia often helped Luca feel grounded where he would otherwise feel distant and out of place. While those of his class were aware of his true form, other grades did not, and he preferred it that way. However, whether they knew or not, Luca often felt like the proverbial ‘fish out of water’, full pun intended. It wasn’t that anyone made him feel different or were unwelcoming, quite the contrary, but Luca couldn’t help but feel isolated at times. With Giulia being a grade younger, their only time shared was before school, during lunch break, and their time at home. The one person he did consider to be a friend and true ally, was Donte Castello, who was quite happy to accompany both him and Giulia in between classes. “Vero, but what was the point of tricking their families if they weren’t going to at least communicate the plan to each other? They could have easily lived and avoided the whole fiasco.” Dante pinched two thick fingers together in exasperation, his expression one of exaggerated disappointment.

“They had to be convincing! I’m not saying it was smart, but you have to admit that teenagers aren’t the best people to trust with secrets.” Giulia rolled her eyes as if this were the most obvious fact in the world. Dante dramatically slapped his hand across his forehead, pretending to faint.

“Are you calling me untrustworthy, Marcovaldo? I feel wounded,” He draped himself pathetically across Luca who stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden weight.

“Are you listening, Paguro? Will you not defend your favorite classmate?” Giulia snorted while Luca chuckled. He patted Dante’s back consolingly.

“I’m sure, you’ll make a quick recovery, Castello.” The taller boy pouted before returning to his upright position.

“Bene, now I know to not come to you when I need anything,” Dante grumbled. His pouting was cut short when a mass of black curls and dark skin ran right into his side. Being nearly the height of Massimo and on his way to being of the same build, Dante hardly budged from his spot. The torpedo that was unsuccessful in sinking his ship, however, had landed on the floor in a dazed heap.

Luca had never seen such curly hair in his life, which was saying something when one considered he knew both Alberto and Giulia. The girl blinked owlishly at the trio before her, her face panicked. She couldn’t have been much older than Giulia, with skin the color of rich coffee and eyes that shined like honey.

“Mi dispiace,” she squeaked, jumping to her feet, and flattening her clothes before ducking into a doorway next to them.

From down the hallway, students were ducking out of the way as a group of students made their way angrily through the corridors. Choruses of laughter followed them, and it soon became clear as to why. Two girls were drenched with water, their makeup creating colorful rivers down their cheeks and splotches on their shirts. The three boys next to them looked as if they had lost a fight with the school trash cans, their scowls just as terrifying as the smell. Luca and Giulia instantly stepped in front of the doorway, further shielding the mystery girl from sight. Once they passed, Dante turned around to face the quivering youth, his arms crossed.

“I don’t suppose that mess had anything to do with you, eh ragazza?” The girl winced when three pairs of eyes focused on her, and she shrank even more.

“They were trying to hurt me,” she mumbled.

“What would a bunch of upperclassmen want with you?” Dante narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. The young girl jutted her chin out defiantly and glared back. “Let’s just say I’m different and they didn’t like that. Are you going to be just like them?”

Luca raised his hands and placed himself between them, not wanting to start any more drama before lunch. “E abbastanza, ragazzi. No, we’re not like them,” he stared pointedly at Dante, who eventually relaxed and shrugged his shoulders in surrender. “I’m Luca Paguro, these are my friends, Giulia Marcovaldo and Dante Castello.” The teen offered his hand, and the girl reluctantly shook it, her expression of distrust clear.

“Luisa Corallina, piacere.”

“You’re new aren’t you? I thought I saw you in the first period.” Giulia asked, her head tilted in contemplation. Luisa nodded reluctantly, her gaze uneasy.

“I… my family just moved here from Sicily this week.”

“Woah, that’s a long way, it must’ve taken you forever to drive that far.”

Luisa merely lifted her shoulder in response, her anxiety only increasing. Luca nudged her empathetically, he knew what it was like to prefer privacy.

“Well, you’re welcome to hang with us-”

“There you are you little puttana!” A furious voice interrupted the group, and Luisa turned pale when she heard the screech.

The group of soaked and smelly teens had returned, their expressions were mutinous. The girl with shoulder-length blonde hair whipped her hand out, pushing Luca aside in the process, and snatched Luisa by the arm. Her soaked touch instantly turned Luca’s arm blue with scales, much to his chagrin.

“I’m going to make you pay for your little magic show stunt, witch.” Luisa bared her teeth, which suddenly appeared to be sharper. Before Luca could step in, Dante was already using his large stature to separate the two girls from one another.

“Calmati, Aurora. I’d hate to see this get ugly.” Dante stared down the furious teen, who scowled in return.

“Stay out of this, Castello,” One of the older boys spoke. He isn’t quite as big as Dante, but he stood at least a foot taller. “This little urchin needs to be taught a lesson.” He leaned over imposingly. Dante rolled his eyes and merely scoffed.

“If a puny freshman can cause that much damage to a bunch of upperclassmen, I think it’s you five who need a lesson. Get on your way before I tell my mother about this, I’m sure she’d be happy to discuss this and your future program applications in her office.” He raised an eyebrow at the unsettled group, his stance unmoving. They were saved by a response when the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. Auror stomped her foot angrily before pointing a finger at Dante.

“You keep that witch away from us. If I catch her alone, it’s over.” She sliced a finger across her neck menacingly before being pulled away by her shorter friend. When they finally disappeared for good, the group heaved a collective sigh of relief.

“I wonder if she’s related to Ercole. I had no idea there’d be two empires of evil to destroy.” Giulia mused.

“What is it with girls being so dramatic,” Dante asked, looking rather bewildered. Giulia slapped his arm indignantly with a shout of “hey!”.

“That just proves my point!”

Ignoring the bickering behind him, Luca turned back to Luisa, intent on checking she was okay, only to find her staring blankly at his arm. To his horror, his arm was still damp, and his scales glistened under the damp white fabric of his arm.

“I-it’s just a birthmark!” He squeaked, instantly wishing he could slap himself. What kind of sane person would believe that?! “You’re just like me,” Luisa whispered, her golden eyes turned hopeful.

“What?” Luisa pushed her own arm towards him, pink scales formed perfectly beneath a handprint.

“Mostro marino,” Luisa breathed.

“Ah, merda, here we go again.” Dante groaned.

[liveshaunteda]

              maia tua, oc daughter of athena \ pjo universe

[itsbuckytm]

Two lost souls | Five Hargreeves!Adult

In which Five is actually in the right body of age and after coming back sees the person he loved the most.

Also wrote this at midnight, I am fair aware of the typos they will be corrected on their way.

Type : Fluff , Sad, Au

Warning : None

Note : I don’t know about you but Jake Gyllenhaal could def make a great adult Five.

Enjoy 🖤

Being alone. A fear that every human on this very earth has once experienced with fright, anger, pain or a mix of three.

Life can always treat you in the most possible ways and being grateful of how it spoiled you on a daily basis never became a necessity until now. Especially for him. Five.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, in the commun room everyone minding their own businesses by picking the food made by their beloved mother and a father talking about none sense.

Exercising his powers was a thing but having to properly experience it was another. Yes he loved acting like a super hero, saving the nation and yet as a normal child should be curiosity took over him and he had enough.

Enough of being trapped in these walls with a dictator who only cared about money and not even a single drop of love and care for his adoptive children. For him they were his source of incomes.

“I wanna travel.” He said looking deadly in the eyes of the old man. “No Five.” An answer he refused to believe to completely turning itself into a selfless loop he now regretted deeply of ever neglecting those two words.

Seeing the future was a thing but seeing the end of the world was another. In fact seeing the corpse of his siblings wondering around a world completely crumbled in pieces, turned itself into a nightmare. And that began when he saw you, not breathing a single drop of air, dead.

Out of everyone in his life, you were one of the sanest person he had ever met. You were his source of light and never if he had at least listened to his damn father, the both of you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Coming back to the present time did not made him feel good in any way. He had missed you grow up, have your first kiss, first relationship and experience helpless emotions.

You on the other remembered fair well when you saw your long time friend once again. After god knows how long, you remembered it when your eyes looked up to thank whoever the man you had been pumping to. A moment of silence before you realized how idiotic it must have sounded to look at a complete stranger you obviously knew, and out of habit excused yourself quickly, leaving the Five in a complete hypnotized way.

The second time you had encountered him was at the Academy. Being a student in the Fashion department Klaus became over the years your muse your model for all projects and it was then when you arrived before even opening Klaus’s door a few murmurs could be heard.

“I don’t even think she recognized me. I mean look at me, I am not even in the same body clearly I’ve grown and I-“

Klaus laughed. “Five. Look at you, grown as a gentleman. You’ve got this man. She’s coming soon so I suggest you tell her before I do.”

Of course you being clumsy as you were, dropped your fabric everywhere hoping at the same time to be a distraction of not being caught in a middle. It was then Klaus’s attention peaked through the slight opened door, smiling the moment he saw you, helping you and finally greeting you in his room.

You thanked him and before you could, glanced at Five with a small smile. “Hi-Hi.” He smiled in returned, not saying a word in which he quickly woke up from reality as his brother nudged his arm. “Hi, Y/N. Um- You wouldn’t mind if we get a coffee once your finished with Klaus? I’d be waiting in my room.”

The day passed on and you were beyond happy to hear the fact that all of your designs were not only fitting but executed beautifully just the way you imagined it.

It was then while you were cleaning your work Klaus stopped you before heading over to Five’s room. “Before you go. Just so you know, he really does regret not listening to you nor our father before.”

You nodded without saying a word, thanked Klaus once again and walked over to Five’s room who with no surprised was find right next to his brother’s.

A moment of silence corrupted your thoughts as you called his name very softly even the wind could not bare to hear. You were so nervous and it showed once Five was seen right in front of your view. Sensing your blush he simply smiled and helped you unpack your work supplies putting them near his bed, mentioning you to sit.

The both of you sat on his bed, it was the very first time you even had that close of a look ever since he left. He did grown to and to a very attractive man you might add.

“So... It took to you years to finally come back. With no answer?”

Five couldn’t find the right words and you knew it. Before he spoken you cut him again. “Don’t worry, Klaus already told me. If it’s just about that I would rather leave before I miss the train and-“

“No. Stay.” He murmured. His voice deepened every-time he talked. You knew that you had to get yourself use to it by the change and the fact that he was now a few years older than you, was in fact a big shock not only for you but everyone else.

“It’s been so long since I’ve kept it under my chest and wanted to finally say it.”

You looked at him with sadness in his eyes. He had seen something and the Five you knew, whenever he acted like this something wasn’t right. He continued. “Y/N. Ever since you were in my life you meant so much to me. Heck you were the one who kept me sane through all these years we were together. It pains me till this day to heard about the fact I didn’t listened to you nor my father. Even if the time worked and that I’m back to the proper age, it kills me that I didn’t also had to say it sooner. I love you, Y/N.”

Listening to his every words you spotted a few tears streaming down his face, as you leaned a thumb to carefully wipe them off and smiled. “Five, you don’t know much I’ve been waiting for days to tell you about the same thing.... Even with everything going around the world you saving the apocalypse I couldn’t bare to lose you. That’s why I was so distant my feelings were so strong for you and every night I would and still to this day pray for you to come and—“

Five’s lips brushed against yours as he cupped your face. Everything about this kiss meant what you and he wanted. Once your lips detached themselves, you both giggled and peck a kiss on his cheek. “I love you idiot.”

“I love you more. Wanna get some coffee?”

You laughed once more, rolling your eyes in annoyance. “Typical, and yes let’s go.”

[trillian-anders]

bewildered

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, smut

word count: 4k

description: part 3 of 3. you’d wanted nothing to do with him, and he respected that. it was deserved. but something called him to you. and he needs to bring you home. 

Spring was coming. The snow finally melting, but the ground just beginning to thaw. Pretty soon Geralt would be able to sleep outside without being uncomfortable. He’d be able to get more done. Make more money. Leave Kaer Morhen for longer than a week at a time.

Truth be told he didn’t think he would make this place his home. The stone walls held bad memory. This was the place his mother had left him. Where he took his trials. Where he became the monster that he was today. But, Vesemir reasoned with him, free lodgings are better than paying for somewhere to stay all winter. And being as though they were the last of the Witchers, this property was theirs after all.

It was also harder to move around now that he had Ciri. The girl was smart, but naïve. Talented, but impulsive. This home would give her stability for training. Something she dreaded.

“I don’t understand why I have to learn all of this.” She would whine, the old tomes and books, memorized by Geralt in his youth, now to be memorized by her.

“You won’t succeed in fighting monsters if you don’t know everything about the monster.” Vesemir would shake his head at her when he wasn’t falling asleep in his chair.

Ciri would use those moments to sneak off, train combatively like Geralt had been teaching her. Running the obstacle course that he’d built for her. She loved doing that. The book learning not so much.

It was one of those days, Vesemir found fast asleep that he found Ciri outside practicing with a dummy in the courtyard. Her form was improving, but still sloppy. Her footwork needed more practice and she needed to build more muscle in her arms to properly wield the sword, but she was improving and that was a good sign.

“Keep your core tight.” He called, arms crossed and standing a comfortable distance behind her. “Focus, precise movements.” She was agile, having learned to flip and maneuver her way around even if her footwork was often a misstep. She’ll get there. “Steady.”

The trees were barren and air crisp. Watching Ciri practice, focused. The wind picked up, a whisper in the air.

Something was wrong.

Geralt didn’t know what it was, but he could sense it. A shift. A change. Something was very, very wrong. His fingers reached into his pocket, brushing against the metal coin there reassuringly. Thumbing it between his pointer a forefinger.

When the ground thaws. He’ll soothe his conscience.

…

He found himself outside of your home. For the first time in a long time. It looks less taken care of, vines crawling up the sides imbedding themselves in the walls. The garden was dry, dead plants, overgrown weeds. The small little pond you’d made for yourself, the fish dead, a layer of scum over top.

The door was open and half of its hinge.

He stepped through the familiar home. Room to room. Cobwebs and dust over every surface, bottles and jars smashed or dark and their contents sour. You obviously hadn’t been here for a very long time, but it looked as though you’d left on your own accord. Your clothes and jewelry were gone. The tiny baubles he’d noticed on your vanity gone as well. But how long have you been gone? And where were you now?

He travelled on. Different towns, villages. Beast after beast, listlessly hoping that the trail of bed crumbs would be you leading him back. The heavy coin in his pocket would put a shadow on that thought. You gave him the thing you used to bring him to you before. He flipped it through his fingers, looking at the shiny metal sides, polished from the constant worrying.

He was sore, soaking in a bath and looking at it. The cuts on his arms and legs burning from the heat, but he can’t focus on that. He’s focused on this coin.

He couldn’t remember the story you told him. You having been just a girl and him handing this coin to you. He’d probably been a new Witcher then. Fresh from his trails, out on his first couple hunts, just having left the nest. He couldn’t pull the memory from his mind. It was so long ago now.

He could feel the magic in it, infused in every little bit of this metal. Your magic. It had given him solace, late nights, long bouts of travel, he rubbed it and it soothed him, pacifying his subdued emotions enough for him to focus. It was when he thought of this that he realized,

He knew how to find you.

The village wasn’t far off from where your old home had been, and he’d felt foolish for it. Small and secluded. Tiny little houses in sporadic distances from the main square. The square bustling with life, vendors selling vegetables and grain from their farm. Flowers and metal trinkets from the blacksmith, behind him an array of weapons and household wares.

He wasn’t welcome here and he could feel it as soon as he stepped into the small village. Their looks odd, their wallets clutched in to quell their nerves. But he paid them no mind. He could see you, just across the way. Thin white linen dress, hair down and soft, holding a woven basket you were slowly filling with vegetables. He grew closer as you switched over to the little flower cart, smiling and charming, talking to the male vendor.

His cheeks red with rosacea and belly round he seemed keen on you. You were laughing at a joke, head thrown back. He’d never seen you so carefree before, so happy. You had baby’s breath in your hair and a rose to your cheeks. He almost stepped away, left entirely. Like maybe getting rid of him was the best thing you’d ever done for yourself.

But it’s gone from his mind when you meet his gaze, your eyes bringing him in, a soft smile on your lips. He stops before you and you turn to him,

“Y/N…” Your brow furrows, lips pulling into a frown.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You step back from him, “But do I know you?” This feeling, he’d only felt it once before, what feels like a lifetime ago now. The abandonment of it. You look genuinely confused. He shakes his head,

“No, I’m sorry…” He sighs, “I’m—”

“Witcher.” A terse voice, men pulling up to his left. “You’re going to have to come with us.” His eyes stay on you as you look upon the men, the tug of your bottom lip between your teeth. You give him a strange look and walk away, leaving the square, and headed to where he would assume your home was.

He turned to the men, their leader jerking his head toward the pub. So it wasn’t a beating, but a job proposition.

“Do you know her?” One of the men asked him, “You seemed pretty keen.” His teeth were yellowed, skin black with dirt. Geralt sipped on his ale, answering, focused in on the man who just dropped down in front of him. “I bet she tastes of honey.” Geralt’s jaw set, a glare shot at the man who sunk into his seat, Cheshire grin dropping.

“Something has been in my fields every night.” He says, “I’d pray you a pretty penny so it would stop hawking my grain.” Missing grain. Geralt was ever the public servant.

How could you forget him? Had you done this to yourself? Erased your mind of him? Or had someone else done this to you? Was your memory lost forever or easily retrieved? He sighs, trying to focus on the task at hand, but he can’t. Should he even try to bring your memory back?

A shift in the night, he could hear it. Noise from the silo. His hand on the hilt of his sword. He walked around to the other side, the moonlight illuminating the open door. He sighs, the grain thief isn’t a hungry beast, but someone from the village. He sheathes his sword, coming around the corner and seeing a dark cloaked figure hunched over and shoving grain into a burlap sack by their feet. He sighs, the noise halting the figure’s movements.

“The man who owns this land isn’t too happy that you’ve been stealing his grain.” The figure moves, turning to face him, cloak hood falling from their face.

It’s you.

“I’m sure.” You huff, “He seems perfectly happy to let those on the outer banks starve though, maybe you should talk to him about that.” He was stunned by you. You looked different, fresher, healthier. You’d been eating more, getting more sun and in the moonlight, he felt struck by you in a way he couldn’t have expected. You looked at him for a moment before tying the burlap sack shut, “You seem to know me… Witcher.” Cheeky. That hadn’t changed.

“You remind me of someone I once knew.” He watched you abandon the sack, stepping towards him.

“Was she beautiful?” You muse, a cheeky grin. A light in your eyes he hadn’t ever seen.

“Absolutely enchanting.” He breathed, missing your heat when you take a step back.

“So you wouldn’t mind carrying this grain for me then?” You laugh at the look on his face, but he finds himself shouldering it and following you down the hill and into the woods.

An enchantress. That’s what you’d always been. A mage, a king’s mage, a mage for the people, no. You were an enchantress and you belonged here. Flitting about in the trees covered with moss and barefoot leading him to a small home. The first stop of many to portion out enough grain for the family to have bread.

You’re their fairy godmother. A blessing. He watches the mother hold you and offer you animal fat from their last hunt, something you decline, but appreciate, nonetheless. He follows you house to dilapidated house, the poor families inside ever so grateful for the blessing of your stolen grain. You mock him for giving up his fealty so easily.

“I should be jealous of this girl.” You jest. “She must get whatever she wants from you.” He huffs,

“I haven’t seen her in a while.” He admits, watching you balance on a log across a small stream, heading back towards town and leading him home.

“You seem smitten,” You jump from the log, landing on your feet and turning to him, watching him cross, “Why haven’t you seen her?” Sorrow burrowed into his chest as he watches you continue onward, the beautiful dress you’d been wearing earlier now mud dipped and you seem so without care.

“I said something in anger,” He sighs, “Years ago, I fear she doesn’t want to see me again.” The edge of the town grows closer and you take him to the left, walking the length around it.

“Did you apologize?” You ask, the stone streets meeting your feet once more. He follows you through the winding road, house pushed further back towards the wood. A miniature version of the home he’d found abandoned, complete with a little pond out front.

“I hadn’t the chance.” You look at him strangely.

“Hadn’t the chance or wouldn’t take it?”

The home is much cozier than your old one. A single room with a fireplace on the far right wall, your bed on the far left. A small table and chair, kitchen area with dried herbs hanging over top of the small butcher’s block counter that had vegetable scraps from the dinner you must’ve eaten before going out to steal and distribute grain.

“Mason, the man who owns that land will surely be wanting a head brought to him.” He watches you take a cloth and wash your feet. You look up at him from beneath your lashes. “Are you going to turn me in?”

He shakes his head, “No.” You shrug, tossing the rag into your basket of laundry.

“Then you better get hunting.” But he didn’t want to leave you. You seemed so happy here, so content, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t leave you like this,

“Do you really not remember me?” He asked, gruff and serious. You look at him strangely,

“What are you talking about?” You ask. “I’ve just met you today.” He shakes his head,

“No, I met you for the first time nearly fifty years ago.” Your brow furrows and you shake your head.

“I’m not even fifty years old…” You step back from him, “I think you should leave.”

“I’m not leaving.” He states, “You’re a mage, you know magic, you did this to yourself?” Why couldn’t he just walk away? Why did he need to tear you from this so badly? You shake your head, hand coming up to hold the side of it. “You erased your memory?”

He could see your eyes moving behind your closed lids. Searching. “You need to leave.”

“I need to take you back to Vesemir, he’ll know how to help you.” Your eyes opened, red and weepy, a drop of blood drips from your nose and you faint.

Geralt rushes to catch your dropping body, saving your skull from clipping into the kitchen bench. He’d have to take you to Kaer Morhen, Vesemir would be able to help him break this spell.

…

This bed was much richer than your own. Comfortable to the point you could sink into it almost to the floor. You’d never felt anything so rich in your life. Your body feels like lead, hard to move, but then again you didn’t really want to. You were so comfortable. Laying on your belly, a hand on your back playing with the ends of your hair, braiding and then taking it out, then re-braiding.

You hum, vision clearing, looking at the drawn curtains. A crackling fireplace in the corner makes the cool summer night a little too warm.

It was a little girl, humming behind you and braiding your hair. Her hair stark white, skin tanned and ruddy from playing in the summer sun, scratches on her cheeks and you’d later notice on her knuckles and fingers.

“Ciri.” A harsh whisper. “Leave her be.” The voice familiar and a deep growl. A quiet huff of annoyance and the bed shifts you can hear her step towards Geralt.

“I’m helping her wake up.” She says in a terse voice.

“She needs to rest.” His annoyed reply. The heavy door behind him closes and you slowly roll over to look at him. He’s staring at the ground, a strange expression on his face.

“I’m surprised you came looking for me.” You mumble into the sheets. His eyes snapping to yours.

“You erased your memory.” A statement. A fact. You hum, stretching your sore limbs. “Take it easy, you’re not going to have all your faculties yet.”

“You weren’t supposed to go looking for me.”

“Why not?” He asked. “I didn’t mean what I said and you know it.” You sink back into the sheets, unable to fully move.

“Is this your home?” You ask. He steps closer, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I lived here when I was a boy.” He shrugs, “This is where they trained us.” He hears your sharp intake of breath. “It’s just us here, Ciri, Vesemir, and me.”

“Not Yenn?” He glares at you.

“She’s never been here.” You roll onto your back, looking up at the canopy above you. “Why did you erase your memory?” He watches you for a moment, silent and unanswering.

“It made it hurt less.” You admit, “I didn’t want to live that life anymore.” You look at him, his brow pulled in concern.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” He sighs, “I shouldn’t have—”

“But you’re right.” You scoff, “Both times I pushed you away… the last time you wanted to stay…”

“But it wouldn’t have been right of me to do that…” He sighs, “I wasn’t in a good place to give you what you wanted.”

“Are you ever?” You sit up against the headboard, wiggling your toes to regain feeling.

“No…” He looks at you quietly for a moment, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Are you ever going to be happy?” He asks, you look at him for a moment. The defeat in his voice.

“Why does it matter to you? Is this your guilt?” You look around the room, a large basin to bathe in, the fireplace growing close to embers, a desk messy with papers, but what would he even need to write?

“My guilt?” Your eyes roll back to his.

“That fuels you to need to make sure I’m happy. Which didn’t stop you from bringing my memory back.” A spell, crudely done on yourself. A nice ten or fifteen years, you’d remember. But you’d get to live life away from it for a while, and you did. “So guilt and selfishness then? Guilt needing to make sure I’m happy but selfish enough to make sure I can’t be happy without you? Why?” You wanted him to say it. This strange relationship the two of you had, if you could even call it a relationship.

This was the third time you’d seen him in nearly fifty years.

“What is this?” You ask him, “Why can’t you let me go?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, stepping from the bed, “I don’t know.” Rubbing his eyes. His fingers fumble with something in his pocket, “You’re just so…”

“So…? What?” His golden eyes they’re so piercing. They make a shiver go down your spine.

“Bewitching.” He steps to the edge of the bed and you meet him there, shifting shakily to your knees. His fingers find the ends of your hair, still partially braided from Ciri. “I’m selfish enough to want you here.” He says, “With me.”

You settle back on your heels, head tilted back looking up at his face. “You’re soft.” He rolls his eyes, knowing the subject was far too intimate for you, something to be broached later, maybe once he plies you with mead maybe soaking bath. “I’m hungry.”

…

Geralt watched from under the stone archway. Ciri was practicing, you are standing a safe distance behind her, observing. Ciri seemed infatuated with you, she wanted to show you everything she learned, everything she knew. You helped her focus, Ciri able to sit longer in her studies, explain things to you about different creatures that you pretended not to know.

You braided her hair out of her face and she chattered to you at mealtimes.

“The girl wants a Mother.” Vesemir said to him as they both watched you instruct her to keep her back straight,

“Good posture helps with combat.” You would tell her. Ciri would roll her shoulders back, her footwork improving. Less sloppy.

Your eyes would meet his every once in a while, a knowing smirk on your face before he steps out to join the two of you and you make your exit with a trail of fingers against his back.

“The trial of the grasses.” You whisper by candlelight, facing him in the bed you’d been sharing, your fingers tracing the shape of his cheekbones, “Barbaric, and cruel… it’s fortunate that no one should have to go through that ever again.” Your thumb pressed between his tense brow.

“Ciri will never have to go through that.” She’s powerful, the girl.

“She won’t.” You wrap yourself in further, legs curling up under your nightdress. “She’s strong.”

“She is.”

“I would have never pictured you as a father.” He huffs, rolling onto his back.

“Neither would I.” You hum, looking at his profile.

“She wants to make you proud.” His eyes move to yours. “I have a feeling that she already does.”

“You can’t leave her.” He says, “You’d break her heart.” Your fingers scratch against the sheets between you.

“I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Propped up on his elbow, body half hovering over yours. “Make this your home, come and go as I do,” His fingers disappearing in your strands, “Just always come back.” A gentle tug, pulling your face to meet his.

It was soft. Unlike previous kisses. The passion bubbling under your skin, the emptiness you’d felt from the absence of him being drowned by his mouth. The blunt fingernails digging into your spine as you lay above him, kissing.

Those same fingers bunching the skirt of your nightdress up your thighs as you straddle his hips. The hard length of him pressing against you. You gently rock your hips against his, grinding yourself on him, softly moaning into his mouth. He gently rolls you over, pressing your back against the sheets and kissing his way down your neck and to the tops of your breasts, palming them, before sinking his hands under your nightdress and slipping your undergarments down and off. The thin gown slipping off your shoulders to lay open.

His lips meet your belly, tracing their way down, down, to press against your hips, large rough palms tracing down your legs to grip your thighs and part them for his gentle assault. Those amber eyes meet yours, tongue dipping between your thighs. His arms encircle your hips, hands gripping them tightly, letting you rock against his face.

The grind and friction on his tongue making your legs shake. His grunting and moaning, tongue tracing expertly placed circles on your clit. Your fingers unravel his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp as your back arches in climax. Whining with his continued licks, wet tongue overstimulating your sensitive flesh. He lays a kiss on your mons, trailing his lips back up your body to capture your mouth, the sweet tang of you shared between you both.

You pull at his shirt and he allows you to lift it from his body, tossed carelessly to the side, before helping you with his trousers. His skin bare above you, touching yours in comfort. He wraps himself around you, warm and strong. His heavy cock resting on your belly as his lips meet yours again and again.

Your fingers in his hair, he adjusts his hips, the tip of him pressing against your entrance before you feel that familiar burn and stretch, whimpering into his mouth as he breeches you. He’s on his elbows on top of you, chest to chest, connected. Intimate. His face pulls away from yours as he begins to slowly thrust, and as your eyes drift closed, he says,

“Don’t look away from me,” a plea or a demand, you couldn’t be sure, but when you opened your eyes and looked into his it felt so raw, so real. His hips meeting yours in a steady smooth pace. This wasn’t like before. The hurried and animalistic chase towards climax. The rushed fuck you’d gotten from him twice before. This was far more intimate, far closer, far too exposed. “Don’t look away.”

You could feel your eyes watering, body trembling as he ground himself against the most sensitive spot inside you, “I can’t.” You whimper his fingers intertwined with yours, pressing them down into the bed.

“Don’t run from me.” A whisper on your lips as the tears began to run down your face, dripping down your temples and into your hair, “Stop running from me.” He lays a soft kiss to your lips. You were getting close, so close.

Your hands tightened, squeezing his as you tumbled over, a blabbering mess of words leaving your throat, soothed by a searing kiss from him as his hips picked up a faster motion, chasing his own release now. It wasn’t long after that his hips stuttered against yours, his seed painting your womb, but his body staying close. He kissed you, again and again. Slow and soft.

“Tell me you’ll stay.” A whisper into your mouth, he was soft inside you, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His eyes searched yours, thumb coming down to wipe at the tears coming from your eyes.

“I’ll stay.”

.

.

.

taglist //  @msgeorgiarae​ @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious​

[misskittysmagicportal]

When Vicky Needed Honey

(An OC Kiss Week collaboration between @super-unpredictable98 and @misskittysmagicportal. No warnings, just mother/daughter love. Moonwalkers/The Umbrella Academy AU)

I woke up with that weird feeling again. I looked over at Klaus, still pretty much asleep, and grunted. On my way to the bathroom I prayed and prayed, but no luck. My period was nowhere to be found. A couple of days, I can understand, an entire week is a bit more worrying.

The last few days I've been feeling kinda sick, but it could be stress. I've been feeling kinda tired, understandable after two apocalypses. I've been feeling a little dizzy, which could easily be from the time travel... But my period wouldn't come, so that was starting to freak me out.

"Hey, Vanya... Would you buy a pregnancy test for me?" I rehearsed in front of the mirror. "No, no, I should ask Allison. She has a daughter, she'd understand, right?"

I nearly jumped when Klaus shifted in his sleep, I hoped with all my might he didn't hear what I just said. I sat on the edge of the tub and let my head roll back. How the fuck did we let that happen? We always wear a condom!

Well, technically a condom has 98% of effectiveness, according to the box, which I was reading as I thought about it. That means... 2 out of 100 women will get pregnant. With the amount of sex we have, it wouldn't be surprising that I could become part of this 2%. Damn it, Klaus! Why do you have to be so charming? Blame it on three decades of suppressed desire I guess.

I had to talk to someone, someone who wouldn't judge me, someone I could trust. There was only one person I could think of, so I went back into the room and as silently as possible, I slid the black briefcase from under our bed. The date was already set, so all I had to do was open it.

I felt that familiar pull of time travel, that endless rope that dragged me across the universe, which seemed to take forever, even though it was less than a second. As soon as I landed, I regretted it, my stomach did not like the disturbance and I felt like I was about to throw up.

"Vicky? Are you ok?" I felt a gentle hand on my back and took a few deep breaths before being able to turn back.

"Honey! Thank fucking God you're here! I need to talk to you."

"Is it Klaus? It's Klaus. Oh my god, tell me he's alright"

"Alright, I think we should sit down for this one..."

Honey nodded with a smile and took my hand as we made our way to the couch. I chewed on my bottom lip for a little while, thinking of the best way to say it, but I didn't wanna admit it:

"So, I'm gonna say it and I need you to listen because it's very complex," I started. "I think I'm pregnant, and I feel horrible because I don't want to be. Not that I don't want any kids, I do, in the future. The problem is that we just came out of the second apocalypse, everything is a mess, my family is all over the place. I love Klaus more than anything, so I don't wanna throw this onto him, you know? He's been through so much already!"

"Sweetie..."

"And I'm terrified of not being a good mother, the only mother I ever had was a robot. I love her to bits, but what if all I can give my child is robot-love? I don't even know what it feels like, my birth mom clearly didn't love me, she chose to give me away for money, I understand she wasn't expecting to get pregnant out of the blue, but... I don't understand why she couldn't love me. I feel so selfish and so stupid for letting this happen, and I keep thinking about my biological mom, I'm freaking out here," I started sobbing. "You're the only person I can talk to."

**

Honey began to live for the sound of her “kids” popping by the apartment. She brought the books home with her more often in case Klaus would come by to learn more about himself. Or Luther who really just wanted the tiny woman to hold him the way a robot never could. And Diego who well, was always hitting on her. Allison and Vicky and Vanya helped her feel not so alone.

Yeah, they were her children. They were mostly older than Honey. The discarded. The outcast. Who suffered abuse. They were the bought and sold to a billionaire. They were a magical pregnancy and 43 terrified women, one she would become 15 years from now. Thank God she already knew what one of those felt like.

Honey was checking on Sugar and Sunny as they napped. The large crow with his beak buried in his ebony feathers kept one large yellow eye on them from above. Sunny was enamored with the corvid. Klaus, despite being 35 years older than himself, was deeply jealous.

It was from their room, after hearing a familiar VOIP sound in the living room, that Honey just felt in her body something was wrong. There was an anxiety emanating from Vicky whose back was to her.

“Vicky? Are you ok?” Honey gently touched the woman. She wanted to hug her, but opted for minor affection.

Vicky's expression in response worried Honey. “Is it Klaus? It's Klaus. Oh my god, tell me he's alright.” Her lip started to tremble. For a clone of Leon, Klaus was infused with his mother.

Half an hour later, Honey could only stare slack-jawed over Vicky's guts being spilled all over the couch. So to speak.

Honey took Vicky’s hand and did what her mom would do. What she and Julia found themselves doing with their children. Whether they were full grown men or toddlers. Honey kissed Vicky's hand several times and held it over her heart.

“First of all, I can't speak for your birth mother or the others. I know Klaus told me it was a spontaneous pregnancy. Like BAM! We're suddenly giving birth. For me, even being 45,” Honey shivered dramatically, “I would rather kill Reginald and take you all. But whatever the other women did. That's on them.

“But! If anyone knows about an unexpected pregnancy, it's me. She's asleep in the other room with her brother. I think I realized I was knocked up, I just ignored it until Leon mentioned something about my body being new. We NEVER used protection. Pills in the sixties were for married women only. The fact that we had sex for over a year before anything happened is a freaking miracle.

I took two tests in the flat. Then at the clinic. Just a few weeks before, abortion became legal AND funded by the NHS. I told no one, went and made that woman tell me every single step of the process. I asked how easy the adoption process in the UK is. I wasn't keeping it no matter what.”

Now Honey took both of Vicky’s hands, “You have so many readily available options.” She kissed them both again, “But please just let Klaus know. It's YOUR choice. YOURS. Ultimately, I changed my mind. I had her on my own. Pregnancy, birth, her first six months. I wasn't even on the same continent as Leon. But if my baby would have half his looks, and his way of loving, and even an OUNCE of his heart, Leon deserved to be a dad. I WANTED to have his baby. I don't regret my decision. I don't want to regret yours either. We all love you.”

Honey kissed Vicky's forehead, “I mean I'm your mom now.”

**

I would've started crying if I wasn't already, it felt so good to finally have someone to hold my hand. I can only imagine dad's reaction if I told him I was pregnant with Klaus' baby... It was awesome to not be judged for once.

"I wanna tell him, I'm just scared... If I really am pregnant, I wanna keep it, but what if he doesn't like it? What if he doesn't wanna be a dad?"

My desperate rambling was interrupted by a blue surge of energy right in the middle of the room, that could only mean one thing... Klaus and Five fell from it with a loud thud.

I had to cover my mouth not to scream, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest, but Honey seemed pleased with the new visitors.

"Jesus Vicky... I woke up and you were gone, I was worried!" Klaus squeezed me in a tight hug.

"I told you she was fine, Victoria can handle herself," Five rolled his eyes. "It's not like she can get hurt."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disappear."

Klaus moved to give Honey a hug as well, she kissed his forehead and urged him to sit down between us.

"I know this face, Scnucki..." Klaus placed his hand on my cheek. "What's wrong?"

I looked over at Honey and she gave me a reassuring nod. With a sigh, I took Klaus' hand, tracing the 'hello' with the tip of my finger.

"Klausie," I tried to muster the courage to say it. "I know the timing might not be the best, things are a little crazy right now, but I think I might be..."

"Might be...?" He stared at me nervously.

"Pregnant."

Klaus' mouth dropped and he widened his eyes. Shit! Shit! He hates it, he wasn't happy. He was gonna leave me right there and then.

"But we always..."

"I know, but apparently condoms are only 98% effective."

"You two really abuse your luck," Five mused.

"Timing isn't great, but if you want to keep it, I'm with you. It's our baby," a smile tugged at Klaus' lips. "And I love you, so..."

"Actually," I got up as fast as I could. "I love you too, but I'm not pregnant. If you guys will excuse me, I gotta go to the toilet, like right now!"

**

Honey watched as Vicky ran off to the bathroom. She was left with a bewildered Klaus, slack jawed over everything that quickly took place. She could only snort as Leon popped up from the same corner Vicky had just flown around. Mouth agape identical to his clone.

“Alright love,” Leon kissed her on the cheek. “Never told me the kids were coming ‘round for a visit.” He eyed up Five, still uncertain of him.

Klaus dramatically planted a fist on his hip, “Im thirty-six.”

“Too right. What's going on? Is Vicky ok she looked barmy.”

“Well we were almost grandparents.”

“GRANDPARENTS?! I'm thirty! Bloody hell I can't keep track of the ten we have now. Can't handle a baby, mate. Not coming from you. No offense.”

“All of it taken,” Klaus quipped.

“Well we don't need to worry about it. Pretty sure Vicky just overwhelmingly got her period. Better luck next time!”

Every single person in the room nearly knocked Honey flat with a loud in unison “NEXT TIME?”

She wouldn't make that mistake again.

[musedblues]

Send My Love

summary: Eugene misses home. You miss him. But there's a lot neither of you can say.

a/n: Here's an angsty bit of nonsense I word vomited out of the blue for no reason at all- besides the fact I love Eugene. Plus I sort of owe this to @joemazzmatazz​ for hooking me up with The Pacific and for also just being the angel that she is!

w/c: 5k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

He couldn't burden you with his darkness. He couldn't tell you that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep in three nights straight. He dared not tell you whose blood was on his hands, if he even managed to figure out who it'd belonged to. Or how he'd become fearful of lingering silence. His chest would fill with lead as seconds crept by in the twilight and even the blowing of the wind pricked his ears as he waited for the next big bang. He couldn't even tell you he missed you. Because all the other throat constricting truths were tangled in that one simple fact. He missed the warmth of your bed. The smile on your face on a breezy Sunday drive. He missed never knowing what he was missing out on, before.

I love you. Now that, he could say. Actually, he said it all the time. He said it when he admired his only worn photo of you near candle light. He said it when he thought of you, as all his friends and enemies cries pierced so loudly it deafened him.

I love you. He thought, hours after sending you another letter, as he dug his nails into the dirt of a foreign land. He thought only of how dearly he loved you because even the mud he crawled through wasn't enough to ground him. Not when the dirt clouded his already blurred vision.

///

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I-"

You let the new letter fall against your writing desk as your eyes scanned the page. It was chock full of those same three words without punctuation. His writing was sloppy, almost careless. But he'd taken the time to scribe the sentence in repetition, so you knew his heart was in the right place.

But the word's meaning didn't leave a long enough effect on your heart before worry swallowed you whole. He loved you, and you knew it. But a whole page full of the declaration felt tragic. Like a warning. Not at all what it should have felt like.

You bit your lip as you pulled your own stationery in some kind of sudden hurry. The quicker I write this the better. You though. But the thought caught you off guard. You'd never thought it before.

"Dear Gene,"

No sooner than your pen hit the paper did a knock come across your bedroom door.

"Come finish dinner before your father and I have to leave to beat the snow." Your mother softly demanded, and you stood without haste. But your eyes lingered on Eugene's letter as you turned to leave.

"The mail was from Eugene, wasn't it?" Your mother grinned, stabbing her fork into a lump of mystery meat she insisted on coming over and cooking for you. The exchanges between yourself and Eugene had dwindled significantly over the while he'd been away. And quite the while it had been indeed. So when a letter finally did arrive between the collection of cobwebs in your mailbox, it was like Christmas day. Better.

"Uh-huh." You agreed, biting into some asparagus and hoping to high heavens that your voice sounded even and calm. The new letter was so sweet. So why did it leave you with such a heavy heart?

"How's Gene, then?" Your father boomed.

"He's good." You decided, keeping your gaze fixed on your dinner plate. Sure enough, your father spun into the most frightening updates of the state of your country's men. You pretended to listen, white noise flooding your ears and stealing your focus. The sinking feeling in your gut took up too much space for any more food.

Your sister changed the subject to some school girl fantasy. The boy she fancied had yet to leave the comforts of his family home. But he would likely be up and away like the rest of em' soon enough. So was it really a change of subject at all?

///

"Gene?" You called. His silhouette was shaped by a sunlit door frame. When he stepped into the room all the way, the floorboards didn't creak. But your heart did. He lifted a silent arm toward you, but you couldn't let him any closer.

"This isn't real. Don't break my heart in another world, Gene."

You shot awake from the dream with the realization that you hadn't finished writing a response to Eugene's latest letter. You couldn't be stopped from padding toward your writing desk in the black ink night.

You scribbed a hurried response that assured your lover you loved him just as much as all the times he said so on paper. You tried to keep it short, but as you kept jotting down your feelings, you couldn't stop. You took up three pages confessing how scared you were. How lonely and worried and dazed you'd become. If anyone should know your heart's murmurs, it was your Gene. So you sealed your words in an envelope and sent your lengthy letter through priority mail the next day.

///

You couldn't be sure if your letter got to where it was meant to go. Six long dreary months passed since you'd seen anything besides bills in your mailbox. The winter's snow had been melted by a warm spring. Trees blossomed and flowers too. So why were you wilting? Because you hadn't received one single bit of mail from Eugene since his page-long declaration of his love for you.

The repetitive letter laid exactly where you left it on your writing desk, something your eyes glanced over at least once a day. It had become a fixture of your scenery, and you were glad for the reminder.

Maybe Eugene knew he wouldn't be sending more letters. Maybe he filled up every blank space in his last with love, for all the times he feared he'd miss out saying so in the future.

Some days you let ideas like those get the better of you. Friends of friends would be united with their war-torn lovers. A girl dropped her grocery basket in the produce aisle to sprint into her long lost man's embrace. Another would brush past you at work to tackle her husband to the ground with all the kisses she'd saved up. You would pretend to smile for them and curse at yourself for feeling so selfishly bitter. Their love came home. And in a way, yours did too, in so many written words. You had to remind yourself that Eugene's last letter was better than nothing at all.

But soon, nothing at all was your everything. No letters, no calls, no news from anyone you'd hope would have some. Nothing. You kept Eugene's side of the bed neatly tucked in, and his clothes on his side of the closet. You ran out of shirts that smelled of him, after cuddling them all too close. Their charm might have washed off in the laundry, but they were still Eugene's.

///

You worked through the summer and went out with your friends on the weekends, if you could. When another lonely autumn started to approach, the steadily dissipating hope you'd been grasping hold of, had been lost. You'd passed the stage where everything made you sad; like frequenting Eugene's favorite shops in the city, and catching glimpses of his favorite cars on the road. You'd turn the radio down when songs he liked came on air. You'd noticed his favorite trees outside your cozy home, but wouldn't let yourself admire how they'd grown.

One afternoon you noticed the letter on your desk for the first time in a while. It'd become a part of your background, something your eyes were so used to it was almost like the letter wasn't even there. But one day, you sat down to do some mind numbing paper work; and glanced over to realize half of Eugenes scribbles had started fading from the sun that crept past your curtains day in and out.

You took the sun bleached letter into your grasp and let your eyes fall across the page. His words might have started to disappear but you didn't have to squint to know what he'd written. The patterns of each sloppily scrawled line had been burned into your brain for good, by now. But you couldn't let it go on fading. It was all you had left. So with a heavy sigh, you pulled out the box where you'd kept all the other letters, and stuck it in the very bottom of the pile. That way, if you'd ever venture to read through some of Eugene's outdated updates, the last one you received would hopefully keep some semblance of it's original form. And if the words were even harder to make out by the time you came upon them again, you'd know exactly what was missing from the washed out letter.

///

Your friends stopped asking if you were alright, because they knew you'd only answer like you always did, by pretending you were. Secretly hoping that forcing a smile on your face would make it stick till it became real, or at least natural, again. But you hadn't felt that fizzle in your chest for a long time, the one that bubbled up in the theater during a funny film, or a thrilling plot twist. You hadn't even felt a tinge of jealousy when your coworkers went on trips to spend time with their lovers distant relatives.

By Halloween, you barely felt anything at all.

Your sister begged you to come along for a night-long hallows eve celebration. You didn't know what kind of night she planned on having, but you simply weren't up for pretending to have any kind of fun. And you really didn't want to be pulled through a house of horrors or tossed a handful of sweets to tied you over till the next scary thing popped out. You'd spent too many nights scared of what might happen next. You wanted to stay in and practice your new routine of praying for a better tomorrow.

But nothing could stop the neighborhood children from knocking on your door, asking for candy. And you'd be a real monster if you didn't have any to offer. So you filled a big bowl with chocolates and spent the night marveling over kid's homemade costumes.

You spent a while chatting with little werewolves and ghouls, musing with their parents about the weather. You handed out candy as the sun went down and put a record on in between. Your home felt lonely as ever but the bustling streets were an odd comfort.

When a fireman, and a lion knocked on your door for a treat, a princess was leaving a trail of flower petals on your porch, dedicated to her role. You chuckled and watched her twirl into the crowded street, shouting about the excellent quality of the candies you were handing out. Children of all ages were floating down the block, and your neighbors were giving out sweets too, on their aptly cobweb-covered porches. For a moment you wished every day could be so full. You wished the streets were always jam packed with smiling faces. You wished the knocks on your door were always so frequent.

Among the sea of costumed kids, and parents with cameras, one figure slowly parted through the rest, making their way toward you. It was akin to an eerie vision. A sick joke. You'd had dreams like this, that never came true...

You stilled as the kids on your porch reached into your candy dish, and more came up the steps for their share. But your gaze was fixed to the person in the road.

Could it be? A lone soldier was drifting closer and closer, a familiar swath of auburn hair tousled in the warm night air. This was no costume. Suddenly, children's laughter was muddled, and the record inside your door sounded miles away. This wasn't another one of your dreams, for once- even though time seemed to slow down while your heart beat a mile a minute.

Eugene was here. Eugene was home. He was looking right at you, and when he realized you noticed him, his face relaxed into something softer, sweeter than a smile.

You dropped the dish of sweets in the doorway because you were only capable of running now. You pushed through the group of children scrambling to collect your mess of candy and bolted down the petal covered porch steps.

Eugene stopped walking through the crowd in order to brace for impact. He scooped you up in a long-awaited embrace, nearly stumbling over from the momentum you'd gained.

"Hey watch it!" Some kid cried, ringing the bell on the front of his bicycle. The crowd of comers and goers had to redirect their swarm that you'd rushed into the middle of. But you were in no state to offer up apologies for disrupting the bustle. All you knew was the feeling of Eugene's strong arms around you. That's where you belonged. You wrapped yourself around him, like if you didn't cling on for all it was worth, that he would evaporate into a fever dream you'd had once before. But then he spoke up, reminding you this was all really real.

"I missed you." Eugene's warm voice was muffled in your hair. And he meant it. He always had, of course. But now that he was back, he didn't have to miss you anymore. So he could finally say it. And it wasn't until then, that you realized he'd never said it before. You realized why, too.

You couldn't hold back your tears as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck. If you could have focused on anything besides the reappearance of your long lost love, you would have been able to register the neighbor's chatter and the children's ongoing griping for you to get out of the middle of the road. But you just kept on crying.

So Eugene kept one arm around your middle, and pulled the pair of you steadily toward the porch steps, apologizing to the candy snatching children he maneuvered around.

By the time he shut the pair of you inside your home, the record had stopped playing and the neighborhood's collective buzz was reduced to white noise.

Eugene pulled you to the floor and held on to you all the same. He couldn't tell you he was too relieved too cry along with you. He couldn't ever find the proper words for a moment like now. So he just savored the way you adhered to him; as he held you close in the living room of your home that's carpet felt like clouds beneath him.

Your cries slowly morphed into whimpers as he smoothed back your hair and hummed in your ear. It was amazing, the way Gene sent you reeling and calmed you down all at once.

"I'm sorry." Embarrassed that you couldn't stop crying, you buried your face in Eugene's shoulder. Only then did he dare to release his comforting grasp on you.

He tugged you to face him, wiped your tears away and peppered your cheeks with soft kisses. The way he always used to do, when you were angry or exhausted. You lifted a hand to his face and relaxed into his frame in a way you'd longed to do for ages.

"It's alright. I'm just glad to know you missed me so much." Eugene admitted through a sweet chuckle as you pulled back to gaze into his eyes that were even more striking than you'd managed to remember.

"Why didn't you tell me you were comin' home?" You asked, not unhappy in the least, just curious when you recalled all this time you'd gone without hearing from him.

He couldn't tell you why he'd gone so long without sending you something. He couldn't tell you that time seemed to tick, and when it stalled, the words he could have conjured just for you were stolen away when those rare moments of respite were, too.

But he could tell you that when he was finally sent on his way, the train he'd boarded with anxious glee- broke down in the middle of no place at all. He combated another couple days of waiting to get home with the peaceful knowledge that he was headed in that direction without a doubt.

"Well, welcome back." You smiled, sitting up with your knees on either side of his legs, pulling his shoulders closer toward you for a kiss. You felt Eugene melt in your clutch as his strong arms coiled around your waist. This was just like before. But better. You could get used to this.

///

He was everything you missed. He was patient smiles as you fretted over what to wear. He was the last to ask for help with anything, but you were the first he asked, when defeated. He was around every corner with big strong arms already outstretched, eager to pull you in for a bit of reassurance, or just because he simply longed to hold you close.

And as the weather turned cold and you got used to his being home, readjusted to the way his presence brought you warm peace; you had a few other things to get used to, as well.

He still waited for the perfect time to crack jokes, when he knew they'd make you laugh hardest. They made your family laugh too. And when all the champagne bubbles and chuckles fizzed out near the end of a big dinner, so did something in Eugene's gaze. He didn't go missing his spark or the warmth that radiated from his forest toned eyes. But you noticed the shift before everyone else seemed too. You watched his focus break away before he got up from the dinner table without a word and slipped down the hall.

Your sister's boyfriend would halt mid tall tale and act as if he couldn't wait to go on telling his story without Eugene near to listen. You had to rest your hand on top of the schoolboys, when he made as if he was going to shoot up away from the table and down the hall to talk your man's ear off. The boy would cast you a curious glare, and you would shake your head as your father made a show of kicking conversation in an all new direction. Then you all sat and waited, hard as it was.

You wanted to run after Eugene too, but you knew he needed the space.You knew, when he'd found whatever he went off looking for, he'd always come back in time to help clean up with a soft smile that reminded you why you'd fallen so hard for him way back when.

So you learned to leave him be. You learned it was normal to find he'd wake up before you, now, and linger in the kitchen with a cup of tea. He'd let the drink go untouched and grow cold till you found him nodding off at the table, and offer to make him another.

When you went on walks, you watched him drift toward the nearest patch of quiet until you'd finished catching up with the women you bought fresh flowers from. When you'd finally manage to float in his direction again, he'd hold his arm out for you to take; and then greet you with some cheesy line that left you blushing, despite all your years of becoming accustomed to his sweet talk.

So you'd let Eugene go quiet. Because you knew sooner or later, he'd pull you into his lap or close to his side, where you'd spend the rest of the day dreaming of the many more you had left to waste away together.

Of course, though, some days you couldn't let him go by sulking in the sunroom one minute longer. Your heart would crack down to the wire, each hour you passed by the door to peek in on him-  slumped a little lower in his favorite old chair.

And when the day started turning to night and all that time passed without a peep reminded you too much of the quiet that crept in when he wasn't around at all- you swayed into the sunroom on a mission.

You found Eugene how you'd left him early in the afternoon, flipping the yellowed page of a book you knew he'd read a thousand times before.

"Why don't we call it a night, then?" You wondered softly, leaning against the chair and letting your hand fall to Eugene's mess of hair. His locks were mused by wrestling for a wink of sleep the night before, and his fingers today, as he fought to stay awake through his parents surprise morning visit.

He glanced up at you now, letting the book in his lap flutter to close. You knew just the method to settle his duo of restless exhaustion. So with tender encouragement, you got him up from the chair and scurried to run a bath.

His smile flickered back to life in the dim light of the washroom. The softly coloured walls and the scents of the soaps you'd always found worthy of splurging on, all combined into some kind of small luxury. You filled the tub with bubbles, and unbuttoned your man's shirt while the sky went dark.

When you ushered him to settle in the bath, you kneeled at the edge and asked Eugene if he was happy; like your efforts were a tried and true formula set to melt away every trouble. He responded by splashing a bit of warm water your way with a grin that faded, like he was exhausted by the effort to remember how to smile.

"Would be happier if I had a little company..." He swept his eyes across the vast expanses of the bath as if it were the sea that had kept you apart for too long before.

So then you joined him without discussion. He watched you ease before him, your form disappearing below the steam and bubbles. His gaze was dazzling, albeit foggy, but entirely fixated on you. His brow furrowed when you brought a hand to his face, like he'd never been treated so kindly in all his days. As you studied his expression Eugene hung his head with a deep slow breath, solidifying his unsettled nature. His long, water warmed fingers trailed up your wrist, pulling your hand between both of his to hold.

"I should have written more."

"You wrote plenty." You assured, firmly, softly. Shifting closer, trying to catch his eye.

"But I could'a done more. I went so long without-"  He looked at you just in time, before you managed to hide the flash of sadness that crossed your eyes.

"What you must have thought..." Eugene suddenly realized in a shudder, reaching up to wipe drops of water that he'd splashed to your cheeks.

"It doesn't matter what I thought." You spoke decidedly. "You're home, now." You watched Eugene watch you, the crease in his brow deeper from being so permanently furrowed, his lips curled into a small frown, still. And when you nodded, to guarantee you were simply glad to have him back in your arms again, he still wasn't settled. Eugene's eyes searched yours as his frown grew.

"You... you thought I died, didn't you?" He asked.

It wasn't so much a change of topic as it was a direct acknowledgment of the matter you'd both been dancing far around since long before his leaving. It was always a concern, always a worry. Always something morphing into an ugly, mangled, all consuming thought you'd never let come out from the very back of your mind. And as you try to hide the way Eugene's question made your heart plummet, and as you consider what to tell him without lying or adding to the sadness filling his gaze; you failed to say anything at all.

Eugene decided your silence was plenty loud enough of an answer.

And then his troubled gaze started turning to the look that flooded his expression you'd come to recognize. The look he'd get before leaving families to wonder where he'd gone at the end of dinner.

So to save for the way your silence deafened the room, and the way you still couldn't say anything, you pulled Eugene to your chest. You threaded your fingers through his mused hair and held him close, because your "doesn't matter, you're home now speech" hadn't worked this time around and it was the only one you knew how to give without breaking up.

Then, Eugene's cold breath fanned across your collarbone as he started stammering through a speech. All about how he could have done more and how he'd so carelessly broken the promise he made to take care of you even while he was away. How he'd failed you and how he hadn't done nearly enough for you, and how he'd never be able to make it right...

"I'm sorry for makin' you think I was dead but, for a while... well  I might as well have been.  But damn it you don't need to hear that kind of thing. I could have done more then and I could be doing more even now but-"

"Gene stop." You gripped his shoulders, pushing him away from your hold until your eyes met. His expression was still curious and grim, but it slowly morphed into something even more somber as your eye's pierced into his.

Eugene broke your stare to hang his head. When he started to cry, you clamored closer and wrapped around him all the same. You held him close as ever and assured he'd done enough. Assured he had nothing to be sorry for. Assured you loved him and were glad to have someone to worry so feicrly over. You held him close while he held you too.

///

And you stuck just as close after the water turned cold and you'd slipped into your night clothes, together. You held Eugene right against you as you both pretended to sleep.

When he drifted from under the covers as the sun rose, you let him clatter about the kitchen for a beat before you followed close behind. Then you both sat at the table with cups of tea and let the silence set in. Eugene's knee brushed against yours every time he snapped back from staring at one page of the newspaper for too long. You bumped your elbow into his side every time you rose your cup of tea for a sip.

And then, as often as you could get away with- without offending too many of your neighbor ladies who stopped for a chat, you let Eugene pull you along when he floated away. He'd never said much, then. But he made tiny promises to do better, for you. You'd tell him he'd already done enough, and sat with him till the quiet seemed less suffocating.

Then, one day, you checked the mail to find Eugene had left a brand new letter. It was written in careful scrawl, echoing the promises he'd always repeated, when he wasn't too burdened to say so out loud. And though it was still missing so much of everything he'd never be able to say, it was full of thanks for you. He wrote how he'd never even want to try and claw through the darkness that seemed to swallow him whole, if it wasn't for you. For your dumb jokes and your pretty hair, and the effort you made to show him how much you cared. He wrote that every little thing about you, were the only things that got him through minutes he couldn't kick the habit of counting as they passed by.

You had to slip into the darkest room of your shared flat to cry where he couldn't hear. But these tears were less bitter, much more sweet than before.

Eugene wrote more letters, when he skipped out on parties you attended. He wrote about how he wished he could have gathered up the guts to have gone along with you. He wrote how grateful he was to know you'd come home to him at the end of the night. He wrote to you when he couldn't sleep, about how sorry he was for keeping you up with worry, all the same.

Your mailbox was usually full of bills, but you weren't surprised to keep finding odd envelops from Eugene. You collected the notes in the same box you'd stored his others away in, and watched Eugene sit up a little straighter each day he'd managed to get some of those heavy thoughts off his chest, in so many words.

Between letters, his laughter came back. His conversations lasted longer. And he'd stick around to join in the chatter at the end of big dinners.

Of course, there were still nights his tears mixed with the bathwater and his cries seemed to echo from places you'd never know. You'd never ask, not directly. You'd just make a warm drink and sit with him in the silence that told you all you needed to know. He'd never tell you. Not even when his thoughts spilled over onto papers he'd leave for you to find. He'd just hold your hand a little tighter under the dinner table until your father was done rambling about his own time fighting.

For fleeting moments, you wondered what Eugene had been through. But you reigned in your imagination as soon as it threatened to keep you up at night. And you made sure to sing along to songs on the radio- even the ones you didn't like very well, theatrically enough to get Eugene to smile, and turn his blank gaze from the empty fields you drove past.

You realized the thoughts that kept him awake till dawn might always. You realized there wasn't much you could do. Sometimes, you wrote letters back, and left notes under his pillow, when sharing silence wasn't enough to ease his frown. But more often than not, you'd started to spend nights together that reminded you of the day's before everything changed. You'd take each morning in stride, next to Eugene.

You got back to some kind of normal. The war was over. Eugene was back in your arms and in your world. He was your world. And no matter how far away he seemed to drift some days, Eugene was finally home.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[korporxie]

how it starts.

Lots of people explain their maturity and strength and their wisdom by virtue - or vice - of having grown up quickly. For reasons beyond their control, they had to shoot upwards in emotional and mental years while physically, they stayed the same. I have no such story, I suppose. I grew up at the proper pace, and wanted for very little as a child. Maybe the lack of want made me even more immature than many other children. There were many parts of me, I think, that were unfortunately naive to the world around me. 

So no. I cannot say that I grew up quickly and gained wisdom from it, but I can say that I was shocked out of my blissful youth at age twenty with a hot iron and a sort of desperation that belongs only to those with a knife to their throat. My maturity came by force, by necessity, by a drive to survive and ensure that the people around me survived, too. 

That is not to say, however, that I knew everything I needed to know in a night. There were lessons to be learned the hard way. When my family was cast from the High Houses and sent to trial, with shackles that weren’t needed to keep my siblings and I still, kneeling on cold stone and praying, I hardly knew a thing at all. I knew music, and literature, and manners, and I knew that these things happened, but never to us. It could never be us. Right? We see the nightmares and we frown and we feel pity but we feel so certain that it could never be us standing on the chopping block.

Not until we are.

Claude Sinclair is an old, wealthy man, the Sinclair family an offshoot of House Durendaire. He’s been a widower ever since I was a young child, and he had always been beloved for being a talented artist with both words and paint. Many members of the High Houses had his paintings hung in their high homes. My own family had commissioned him for a painting of my mother while she was still on stage, glittering in rhinestone covered fabric and diamond jewelry. 

We had to sell it for half its original price in order to pay for a few of our meals, but I digress. 

When we became disgraced, Monsieur Sinclair came to call on me specifically, and at the time I was touched. Few people from the High Houses wanted anything to do with us. It was social suicide. We had dodged execution by a miracle and a miracle only, but we had not - and will never - be allowed back our place in society. But Monsieur Sinclair, it seemed, was empathetic to our plight. He walked to rickety home in the Brume and asked to walk with him with a smile on his face, telling me he had an opportunity for me to make some money.

Considering our circumstances - which included selling all of our worldly possessions to pay off debts - I wasn’t going to turn my nose up at anything. And why couldn’t I trust Monsieur Sinclair? I had known him since, well... since birth. He had already taken Hugo in as his personal attorney and financial advisor at that point, rescuing us before we could fall too deeply into a pit of poverty.

Surely if he had an opportunity for me then it would be just as appealing and dignified. Wouldn’t it?

“I have been meaning to hire a new housemaid, Odette,” he told me as we wove our way out of the Brume, and I blinked, but I did not balk. It stood to reason that this was one of my options. 

“I see. Is that what you came to talk to me about, monsieur?” 

“Ah, well, I suppose. But you’ve grown up so prettily, Odette. You are marvelously beautiful, you know this? Even more beautiful than your mother was at your age. Like... Like one of the muses of myth, come to life. Better than Menphina,” he added in a whisper, like the goddess couldn’t hear him, and I even smiled at the joke.

I smiled at the fucking joke.

“You are kind, Monsieur Sinclair, and generous with your praise, but I don’t need to be pretty to be a maid. It only stands to reason that I would need to be hardworking and reliable, no?” I asked, tilting my head, and he hummed a little at that before gesturing for me to follow him down a street that I wouldn’t usually wouldn’t take - not anymore.

It was a road that lead back up to the High Houses.

Monsieur Sinclair could clearly sense my hesitation, because now my skirts were not fine. They were of rough and unattractive wool that itched, but not as much as the rough wool socks I wore did. All of them, though, marked me - they marked me, although they shouldn’t have, because I was no lesser than I ever was. Those in the Brume were not lesser. But it is Ishgard’s way, I suppose.

“Come, mon trésor. You will be safe with me. You have my word.”

Mon trésor. My treasure. I thought little of it. He was an elderly man known for his romantic writings and romantic paintings and romantic way of speech. He was warm and familiar with all who interacted with him. Truth be told, I was quite fond of Monsieur Sinclair. He had given Olivier a great deal of advice, had always read over his poems and manuscripts and provided feedback in earnest.

There was no reason to not trust this man who had watched me go from child to teenager to young woman, who was now extending a hand out to my family in order to aid us in our time of need. 

Did I not say that I was shocked out of such blissful naiveté, though? 

“It is a shame that you will not be able to dance and perform as you once did, mademoiselle. To know that you were headlining a show always ensured a front row seat for me,” he lamented as he walked the winding paths with me keeping my head down, trying to trail after him as a servant might to avoid attention.

“Ah, monsieur, twenty is a bit old for ballet, anyhow. I was beginning to outgrow those leading roles. They’d soon start casting me as la matrone,” I joked, and he laughed, and I smiled because he’d like the joke. “But, monsieur... What is it that we have to talk about that I must go to your home...?”

His home was grand. Of course it was. He preferred dark, dramatic interiors to the lighter ones that I was used to. Maman adored wide open windows that let plenty of sunlight in, and light curtains that didn’t block it out. Our furniture was light, too, and the walls were painted pale yellows and greens and purples and pinks and blues. But Monsieur Sinclair had a flair for a different sort of dramatic, I suppose, with his rich, dark reds and dark browns and brocades in gold and black along his walls.

Servants bowed and curtsied to us as we walked inside, until they caught sight of my face - and then many of them looked a little confused, unsure if they should be bowing or curtseying to me at all. I wanted to tell them not to, as I always had, but something in me was beginning to feel that something was... off.

Maybe it had to do with how Monsieur Sinclair would merely chuckle or titter when I asked him questions until we got to his studio. 

“I’d like you to sit for a painting for me, Odette,” he said, closing the heavy wooden door behind me, and I fought to shake off this odd feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. 

“A painting...?”

“Oh, yes. You are the loveliest creature I have set my eyes on. How could I never paint you?”

“You have,” I began, and he waved a hand as he stepped through the messy studio. Canvases laid on the floor which was covered by thick white tarps, brushes overflowing in cups filled with colorful dirty water. The room spelled of oils, with more than a few splatters of color against the walls, as if someone had thrown an entire palette. 

“Not like that, not like that. Not a family portrait or one specially done to hang over a mantle, you see? Something of... of substance! Art, mon trésor! One of you, Odette. Just of you. One like... One like... Let’s see here...” 

I stood still as a statue as this old man - still in his thick jacket from walking outside in the bitter cold of winter - began to look through tarp-covered paintings leaned up against the wall. Someone knocked on the door, and I startled, but Monsieur Sinclair called for them to come back later, and I heard the footsteps disappear back down the hall, and we were alone again.

Leave, I thought. Trust your gut. Shouldn’t you trust your gut if something feels wrong? Tell him you have to go, and--...

“One like this!” the old man said brightly, and he stepped away from the wall with the canvas he had selected, smiling broadly while I stared.

The painting was... crude. It was beautifully done, I suppose, but it was crude all the same. It was of a woman of about my figure and size laying on her back, fully nude, with her legs spread and head thrown back, pleasuring herself with her fingers. Her mouth was open in apparent ecstacy, sweat beading along her skin, her dark hair undone and clinging to her shoulders.

“Monsieur--!” I began, horrified, and he started to laugh as he turned back to look at me.

“Exquisite, isn’t it? And how more exquisite - how more exquisite, mon trésor, if I was able to paint you just the same. No... No, not the same. You are so beautiful, Odette. You would transcend my abilities as an artist. To capture you would be to capture something heavenly. A sin, perhaps, for me to even try, but if it is sin that I am tempted into--”

“Monsieur!” I said again, louder, feeling my eyes shaking as I met his gaze, but... What else could I say? How could I have expected this? He had known me since I was a child. How could he ever-- how could he think--?

“My girl, you are as pale as a sheet now,” he said, laughing, and the laughter felt mocking. “You are not a little girl anymore, are you? Does such a painting truly shock you? I can hardly believe it would, after your upbringing with your mother, and I’ve seen how those young gentlemen chase after you. This cannot be new to you, can it? Or are you more pure than you seem?”

It felt like I had entered some terrible dream sequence. An hour ago I was merrily greeting who I thought was an old family friend, and now I was in his house, staring at a painting that he refused to tuck away and listening to him make assumptions of how pure or impure I might be, being asked to pose for just such a portrait, and...

“This is entirely out of line and disastrously inappropriate,” I said, breathless, forcing myself to look away from the painting and back at Monsieur Sinclair. “I am grateful, sir, for all you have done for my family, but this-- this is simply too much. You asked me to be your housemaid--”

“I did. And I stand by it. But how nice to make some extra money, don’t you think? I’d pay you well to sit and model for me. You know, Odette, I have had eyes for you for the longest time. If I didn’t enjoy my freedom so much, well, I’d be able to fix your tragic situation far more easily than this.”

His eyes glittered, and they were dark and horrible and did not house any of the warmth I used to see in them. In an instant, something had changed. He did not seem doddering or romantic. He seemed wicked. There was something nefarious and wrong in the way this man regarded me.

“I would marry you,” Monsieur Sinclair said, smiling, as he stared at me. “And what a beautiful bride you would be. But, I think, you make a far better muse. There is such sadness in your eyes, my girl. There always has been, ever since you were knee high. You know that? Such a tortured soul. But over what?”

“Thank you for your offer,” I muttered, starting to turn, “but I cannot accept. Not as a housemaid, muse, or your wife. This is madness, monsieur. This is surely some sort of sick joke that I can forget come morning.”

And the bastard, he grabbed my arm. He moved faster than I had ever seen him, and his old hand was on my wrist, and he was preventing me from walking through the door. He was still smiling, but it was... worse. It wasn’t kind.

“I will speak plainly. You are not a stupid girl, nor are you a child, so I won’t dance around the subject. Your brother relies on me for income. No one else would take him in. And did you know that I’ve been helping Olivier get some of his writing published? I wasn’t sure if he’d told you yet. And Philip...”

I could spit. I should have hit him and run. I should have. But I didn’t.

“I offered to pay for the last bit of Philip’s studies at the boy’s school, Odette. Your parents are grateful to me. And how wonderful, wouldn’t it be, to continue working with me? I have been generous. And who else would take in a disgraced family like yours? Hm?”

How long had he been thinking of? How long had he been planning? Had he always wished for this day, where we were vulnerable and could not say no, or was it just a happy coincidence? 

“What are you getting at?” I snapped, and he tightened his grip on my wrist.

“Refuse me, and I will withdraw all of my finances and all of my assistance,” Monsieur Sinclair murmured, still smiling. “You will lose everything. You will be in the Brume, scraping and begging, for the rest of your life. I have connections. I could close your father’s business down. And it is a simple thing, Odette, to clean for me, to come and sit for paintings. Isn’t it?” 

Cruel. Cruel. Evil. Wicked. Shockingly wicked. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Why was he doing this? How? And did anyone else know? Did people know this man’s true character and just chose to never speak of it? He had always known my family. How could he threaten them, now? How could he look me in the eyes and threaten them? 

But I was... naive. I was young. I was scared of the power he now wielded, because I had none to retaliate with. 

There was no saying no. He had trapped me, and I had never felt more idiotic in my whole entire privileged little life. 

“You are evil,” I whispered, and he frowned, letting go of my wrist.

“No, mon trésor. I am giving you chances and choices, because I love you and your family so. But nothing in life comes for free. You are no fool. You understand that now, don’t you?” 

Monsieur Sinclair sighed and took a step back, gesturing to the door, and I grabbed the heavy brass handle immediately. 

“Take a couple of days to think on it, Odette. Ah, but... I’d keep these terms and agreements between us. Your father has a hot temper. If he storms in here, upset over something silly and the Temple Knights got their hands on him again...”

My father. My precious father, laying in the snow and bleeding from the head while Hugo tried to shield my mother from the rest of the blows the night that they were arrested. My mother was screaming, Philip was crying, Olivier had already been knocked out for clocking a Knight in the jaw. There was blood, because my father had never known how to go down quietly.

Because on the Temple Knights had grabbed me by the hair and tried to drag me down the road away from them, and he had acted before he thought, and I thought they had beaten him to death right in front of our eyes. 

“Fuck you,” I breathed, and Monsieur Sinclair chuckled again.

“Only if I’m lucky. I look forward to your return, Odette. You’ll be back,” he added, winking, and I hated him. I hated him so much I could scream and lose my head. I hated him so much for preying on us when we were weak.

I hated him, because we both knew that he was right.

I stormed from the house. I stormed through the High Houses and their winding, sloping roads, and I found a dark alley, and I screamed into my hands until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Betrayal and backstabbing had always been a hallmark of Ishgardian society.

But then again, well... You never think it can happen to you, do you?

[starrynite7114]

two sides of reality: two

A/N: I have been overwhelmed with the response you have all given me for not only this story, but my other stories as well. I just want to thank you all for just taking time out of your day to read my stories. I love seeing the likes and comments you guys have been living me. Thank you so much! I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter. 

The next prompt should be posted in two days. Snapshots update will be posted by the end of the week and another one-shot I have planned will be posted at the end of the weekend. I might post snapshot first, really depends where my muse will be this next few days since I have finals. But I will post for sure!

For anyone else having finals this week, good luck!

Thank you all again! <3

Masterlist

tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic​ ; @iambabyharry​ ; @thegirlwhowritesfics​ ; @carlaangel86

Angel parked his bike beside Coco, Gilly parking beside him. EZ opted out, reasoning that he had some reading to do. Angel didn’t answer. Between himself and EZ, Rhian was a sore subject. EZ blamed him, always did when it came to Rhian, which he understood. It was his foolishness that broke their friendship, a ten year friendship down the drain. But EZ could have fought for her, the problem was, Emily became his main priority, Rhian truly just became a memory to EZ. At least from Angel’s understanding, that’s what happened. 

Daniel had heard the motorcycles and prayed his tio didn’t decide to make a surprised appearance, but to his relief, it was Coco and Gilly, who regularly watched when Rhian was there. But what surprised him was Angel’s appearance. 

“The fuck is he doing here?” He heard the disdain in Sergio’s voice. 

The bad blood between Sergio and Angel occurred due to various reasons. But the most prominent, at least from what Daniel believed, was that Angel took Sergio’s opportunity with Erica and they never recovered from that. They were never friends, but they were at least cordial till that whole debacle. 

Rhian walked over to Daniel and Sergio, waving hello to the Mayans members. 

“Tio Taza is going a little overboard with the protection tonight,” Rhian stood beside Sergio, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. 

“Angel never goes, why is he here? Is the club being threatened?” Sergio looked at Daniel.

He shrugged. “I don’t keep tabs on them, did you want me to start doing that too besides the numerous things you have me doing?”

“Don’t be such a wise ass.” Sergio rolled his eyes. “This isn’t your scene,” it was the first thing Sergio said, but he didn’t direct it towards Gilly and Coco, who he got along with. It was towards Angel.

“Why, you insecure I’m gonna steal your thunder?” Angel smugly retorted.

“Okay, okay, let’s not play who has the bigger dick,” Rhian rolled her eyes. “I’m dipping right after my race.”

“You’re the only race, drifting makes too much noise.” Daniel looked at the time, ten minutes till start. “Are you leaving for Seattle after your exam tomorrow?”

“Yes, well depending when this old man gets up,” she playfully smacked Sergio’s stomach.

“You’re such a brat,” Sergio shook his head. 

“Seattle?” Coco questioned.

“Sergio goes with you?” Daniel never knew this fact. He always thought that Rhian went alone. At times Sergio was gone the same time as Rhian, but he always thought Sergio was in LA since his daughter was over there. 

“Not all the time,” Rhian and Sergio shared a look. This didn't go unnoticed by Angel who was surprised by this. Did the two have something going on under Daniel’s nose? There was no fucking way. “He just joins me to make sure I don’t die.”

Daniel frowned. At times, he was intimidated by the relationship Sergio and Rhian shared. Sergio just seemed to be the better older brother to her and it didn’t sit well with Daniel every now and then, especially now.

“Don’t do that, it’s nothing big. He has a girl he sleeps with in Seattle.” That was a lie, but it wasn’t far fetched. Sergio was a good looking guy, he’s had his fair share of women.

“Oh, Daniella?” 

Daniel fell for it and Sergio couldn’t believe just how well Rhian could lie at times.

“Yes, psycho,” Rhian agreed. “See you boys later.”

Rhian passed by Angel, smiling at him as she did. She wasn’t sure why Angel was here today, but she hoped this wouldn’t be a normal occurrence. She didn’t have a problem with Angel, whatever happened in high school, stayed there. Him and his brother were the ones who avoided her or acted awkward towards her. But she didn’t mind. The Reyes men were trouble and she rather steer clear from that. 

“So, abandoned parking lot, I’m guessing she’s drifting?” Coco looked around and he knew that the only reason that the cops weren’t swarming the parking lot was due to their connections. The cops didn’t bat their eyes on street races in an abandoned parking lot, it was much more controlled than a drag race in the streets. 

Drifting refers to a driving technique where the driver intentionally oversteers, causing loss of traction in the rear wheels through turns, while maintaining vehicle control and a high exit speed.

It was another form of racing. Not quite like the straight shot races where you had four cars battling it out on the streets of California. Drifting was slightly different.

For example, the usual drifting races only had two cars racing at a time and the usual venue for this type of race was a parking structure. The objective of drifting was to be the first one to get to the top of the parking structure. In every floor of the parking structure there were cars waiting for the racers to come up, recording the race on their phones, cameras, or GoPro’s. While the competitors make their way up the structure, the people from the first floor usually make their way up to see who wins. Some stay downstairs to prepare for the next race.

Basically, the objective of the race was to be the first car to reach the top floor. But the difference with other races was that one had to do it in style. Glide at every corner, with full control of your car, flawless being the key cause if you weren’t your car would end up totaled or worse, someone could die.

“Didn’t think this type of scene was still thriving, Fast and the Furious ain’t doing it for you two?” Gilly loved pulling Sergio and Daniel’s leg. They took this seriously, but he knew that the reason they were so invested since it brought in business for them. 

“Everyone wants to emulate,” Sergio smirked. 

“Can’t believe you let your sister put her life on the line like this,” Angel commented, causing both Daniel and Sergio to narrow their eyes at him.

“That’s rich, coming from the asshole who broke her fucking heart.” Sergio spat out with venom.

Daniel watched Sergio walk away and make his way over to the other members of their team, Knockout. “Listen Reyes, no one invited you to come and if you actually think I can tell my sister what to do, it just shows how much you don’t know Rhian.” He followed after Sergio.

“You just had to open your fucking mouth,” Coco shook his head, taking out a cigarette. “I told you, it was a bad idea for you to come here.”

“Why did you come? You never cared about Rhian before.” Gilly added.

“How the fuck would you know that I don’t care about her?” Angel countered.

“No need to get hostile hermano, I’m just pointing out that you and baby brother avoid Rhian like the fucking plague.” Much like Coco, Gilly knew of what occurred years ago between Rhian, Angel and EZ. The three never talked about it and for him, EZ and Angel was ashamed and for Rhian, well, it was years ago. She had other things to worry about that things that occurred in high school. 

“See, told you I wasn’t the only one who noticed.” Coco scoffed. 

Angel chose to remain quiet. He didn’t need to tell them his reasons. Him and Rhian had enough time to avoid one another, maybe it was time for him to grow a pair and make it up to her like he always wanted to do so.

Rhian inspected her car, making sure everything was in order. 

“Rhi, I made some modifications in your car, should be able to drift much smoother than last time,” Aaron informed her, his handy tablet on hand. “We changed the shifter and it should be able to tell you when is the best time to shift.” It’s not that she needed a computer telling her to do so, but Aaron liked putting in the latest technology in Rhian’s car. 

“You spoil me.”

“Someone has to.”

“Rhian, always a sight to see,” her opponent, Joey greeted her. 

“Joey, still running the harem,” she nodded her head over towards the four women wearing white shirts behind his car. “How do you keep up?”

“You can join and find out.” He winked at her. 

“Watch it mother fucker!” Sergio called out, hearing his comment. 

“Tell your dog to heel, it was a joke.” Joey held his hands up.

Rhian laughed. “I don’t know, maybe it’s about time you get your ass beat by someone.”

“Why not put your money where that pretty mouth is and let’s add a stipulation.”

“And what is that?” 

“I win, you go on a date with me, if I lose, I’ll double the amount.”

She enjoyed egotistical bastards like Joey who thought with their dick. This wasn’t the first time a stipulation such as this was added. Men were such simple creatures, especially men like Joey. To get their dick wet, they were willing to double an hefty amount of money just to appease their own ego. 

Rhian thrived on that. 

“So you’re gonna put in ten grand for a date that isn’t even guaranteed?” 

“Oh, it is baby, your cute little mouth is going to be wrapped around my cock by the end of the night.” Joey looked over at the Knockout members, who were now joined by the Mayans. His brows furrowed, swallowing hard, knowing he may have stepped the line, but he was already in there. 

“Guess we’ll have to see,” Rhian gave him a tight smile, looking back at her brother who did not look happy with Joey’s comment.

Rhian slipped inside her car, nodding her head towards the host. She turned her car on, taking a deep breath. Another race, another thousands of dollars in her savings. Once she was done with the cartel debt, which was in two months, then she could go wherever she wanted. It was insane how she was surrounded by so many people, yet, she felt alone. Everyone has their own interest and after being screwed over multiple times, she learned to take care of number one, herself.

The host stood in front of the two cars. The two women on the edge of the start line, dresses leave little to the imagination. 

He pointed to the woman to his right. “Ready?” She said.

He pointed to the woman to his left. “Ready?”

“Go!” The host extended his hand to the front, signaling the drivers to be on their way.

As soon as they heard the host say the two letter word, Rhian and Joey immediately accelerated, Joey claiming first place immediately. He shifted gears perfectly, his smirk growing as he did. There was no one better than him in drifting, in every county in California, he has beaten everyone who had to be beat. Beating Daniel’s precious baby sister would be just icing on top of his already well layered cake. Daniel beat him years ago and he could never get the best of him. But he would now, even if it was over his sister. It was basically the same thing, except he would get a date after as well. 

The first turn was coming. Joey looked over to his side view mirror and Rhian was closely behind him. Before colliding with the wall, Joey swiftly turned his steering wheel, perfectly drifting on his first corner, accelerating once more to the next corner. A few cars were on the side, cameras out awaiting on them. 

Rhian, who was caught off guard by Joey’s speed, almost collided with the wall, but she recovered quickly enough to swiftly drift around the corner, accelerating faster to meet up with Joey. She knew she had to shift perfectly or Joey would win. There was no way she was going to lose to this prick. 

Joey looked at his rear view mirror and found Rhian right behind him. He turned once more, nearly missing a spectator that was a little too close to the track line. Joey slightly swerved, but he recovered quickly, accelerating once more.

Rhian turned right after Joey, finally being placed right beside him since the parking lot grew wider. She knew that she had one more floor to go before reaching the top.

She couldn’t break concentration now.

She had to beat Joey.

The turn was coming up, Rhian was slightly in front of Joey now. Their cars were still neck to neck, but Rhian was winning. They turned at the same time, their bumpers were so closed to the wall, you would have thought that they scratched it. Rhian almost hit a car as she turned, but thankfully her car wasn’t that wide to hit it. She accelerated, leaving Joey behind. The road to the top was narrow and it was like a slide that you had to climb up with your car. If she got their first, she would surely win against Joey.

Joey couldn’t believe what he was seeing, Rhian was an amazing drifter, just like her brother. It’s not like he expected her to suck, but he didn’t expect her to be good. They never spoke about Rhian in their world. It was always about Daniel and Sergio, how their team was amazing, but nothing compared to them. He watched as Rhian reached the slide first, professionally turning her car in a sideways position, her side of the car facing the road to the top, as it went up the slide. Joey did the same, following right after her car, but she won.

She reached the top first, meeting a crowd of people not at all surprised to see her car to be the one to make it to the top. She stopped right in front of her team, who was cheering for her. Sergio opened the door and grabbed Rhian, dragging her out of her car. He hugged her as the rest of the members congratulated her. Coco, Gilly and Angel joined in, clapping for her, but their eyes were trained on Joey. They heard the disrespectful words he had said to Rhian, they couldn’t let that slide. 

Joey’s car made it to the top and parked right beside hers. The crowd was now cheering for Rhian. Joey opened his car door, dismayed by his loss. But he recognized that he lost, he wasn’t an idiot to try and fight his lost, especially with the way the Mayan members were glaring at him. 

“A win is a win, I can respect that,” Joey took out the envelope that held the money Rhian won, handing it over. “You’re almost as good as your brother.”

Before Rhian could reply, Coco and Gilly stepped in front of her with Angel in front of them.

“That’s cute, but do you think we can forget how you disrespected her before your race?” Angel gave him a sinister smile.

Joey backed up, holding his hands up. “Listen man, it was just my competitive nature.”

“Competitive nature? So you tell all of your opponents that when you win, they’re gonna suck your dick?” 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Angel, it’s okay,” Rhian touched his arm, causing Angel to turn to her. “He’s harmless.”

He sighed and turned to Joey. “You lucky she’s merciful cause I would have had you eating through a fucking tube. Now beat it,” Angel dismissed him.

Joey immediately left.

Angel turned to speak to Rhian, but by the time he did, she was back in her car, going down the way she came up. 

“Where’s your sister going?” Angel questioned.

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know, she got a text message and got back in her car.”

“Do you even care where she’s fucking going?” Angel didn’t understand why Daniel just seemed so nonchalant when it came to Rhian, did he even care about his sister?

“Watch it Ignacio, you don’t know shit about my sister, what she does and where she goes is none of your concern.” Daniel was tired of Angel’s comments towards them. He cared about his sister, but he trusted Rhian. She was never a troublemaker, kept to herself, and that hasn’t changed. “You haven’t been part of her life since high school, why come back now?”

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?” Angel glanced at Sergio.

“You’re insinuating that I had something to do with this?” Sergio scoffed. “Don’t give me all the credit when this is all on you. Rhian is her own person. Maybe if you weren’t so full of yourself, you would actually have a relationship with Rhian, Ezekiel would as well.” He brushed past Angel, making his way down the stairs where his vehicle was. 

Coco just shook his head. “I told you, bad fucking idea.”

“Shut up.”

=================

Rhian parked outside of the dress factory that Galindo owned. She saw motorcycles and just cussed under her breath. Recognizing the bikes, it looked like one of them was Bishop’s. The others, she couldn’t really tell. She’s been doing this for four years and her uncle has never found out, now, the motorcycles that were parked outside made her nervous. They were supposed to be in Mexico or some shit, nowhere near the fucking dress factory. Taking a deep breath, she let it out, making her way into the factory. Once inside, she greeted Galindo’s men, people that she had grown to at least be civil with. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what they did for a living. One of his men led her to the room where she usually collected the products she moved for the cartel. She thanked the man who led her inside, screaming in her head as her eyes landed on Coco, Angel, Bishop and Gilly, whose eyes widened seeing her.

“Fuck,” she cussed under her breath, moving further in.

“Rhian,” Miguel fondly greeted her. He gave her a hug, leading her further in.

Miguel was a nice man, but Rhian knew it was due to her taking on her ex-boyfriend’s debt. He was nice since he was being paid back. The world wasn’t rainbow and sunshine, she knew of his dark side and quite frankly, all she wanted to do was move on. He was always kind to her and he approached her like a businessman. 

His offer was simple.

Take on his debt, or pay for the consequences. 

He believed that if he threatened Rhian’s life, her ex-boyfriend, Bryan, would come out of hiding and save her. Well, jokes on him, Bryan was a coward and wouldn’t come out for her. 

So she took his debt, but it was more for his family’s safety than his. After he left her at Bakersfield, Bryan could literally fuck himself for all she cared. Miguel somehow found her admirable for taking on his debt even though he did twist her arm to take it. 

But she figured it was high honors to gain the respect of a drug lord.

“What are you doing here Rhi?” Coco questioned, not liking this situation whatsoever. 

“Rhian has not informed you? She works for me.” Miguel informed them. 

“What?” The four Mayans said in unison.

Rhian felt her world becoming smaller and she definitely wished she wasn’t where she currently was.

“What do you mean she works for you?” Bishop asked the question, knowing it was not advisable to seem that you weren’t on Miguel’s side.

“She moves my products up north.” Miguel shrugged, as if it was nothing unheard of and it wasn’t, except no one in the MC knew about this. 

Bishop was seething. He saw a Rhian as a part of his family and this was a big secret to withhold from them. He could tell Rhian was uncomfortable with the way she had her hands intertwined in front of her, looking anywhere but him. Suddenly, he was thankful Taza wasn’t here since he would lose his shit.

“Since when?” Angel spoke up this time, his brows furrowing at their current predicament. Rhian was always secretive, which was within her own rights however, this was something she should have kept to himself.

“She’s been doing this for four years, but if she wishes to do so, I do not mind if she continues to work for me. The type of loyalty that she exhibits is what I want for anyone who works under me to possess.” Miguel explained. “I know your paths have never crossed however, due to the recent incidents during the Vegas run, I want someone to come with for her runs.”

Rhian screamed internally, but she figured she had two more months and that was it. The only thing that was going to be painful was her favorite tio finding out. She wanted to tell him, but the last thing she wanted to do was bringing him in all this mess.

It was her choice to take on this debt, she wasn’t going to bring anyone else in this mess.

“Miguel, you know Sergio goes with me.” 

It all clicked for Coco, Angel and Gilly then. Daniel’s innocent baby sister was not so innocent after all. And from what they gathered no one knew about her job with the cartel. It didn't make sense for them as to why she would even be a part of the cartel. 

“Yes, but Sergio can’t always protect you. I have to be sensible about this. You can have Sergio and a Mayan with you, it would ease my nerves.” Miguel reasoned.

Rhian didn’t want to argue. If this was what he wanted, that would be fine. She would just request for Coco or Gilly to go with her, hell anyone but Taza. 

“That’s fine, shouldn’t be a problem.”

Miguel liked Rhian’s low maintenance. She did whatever she had to do, no questions asked, which was the reason he wanted for her to come and become a permanent member of the cartel. He’s sure he could find ways of utilizing her talents. He did his research, he didn’t let anyone come in contact with his cartel without being thoroughly investigated. From what he saw, Rhian’s education was placed on the back burner due to the debt she was currently paying off. Rhian dated Bryan, the man who owed him a large sum of money, ran away instead of facing his consequences, for three years. It shocked him how she agreed to take on his debt, but he admired her loyalty, not to Bryan, to his family. 

As she had told him, “innocent people shouldn’t suffer due to his addiction.”

“I will let you all decide which one of you will go with Rhian, please keep her safe.” Miguel said his goodbyes, leaving Rhian to deal with this difficult predicament. It’s not like Miguel knew that Taza didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure if he knew she was related to Taza. 

Once they were alone, Bishop spoke up.

“You have some explaining to do.”

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Yoongi (“I’ve never actually listened to Kanye West.”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, sfw

~word count: 4.5k 

~warnings: none this is v cute  

~pairing: record store owner!yoongi x y/n (there are also features from a few of the other soulmates, try and spot them heh heh) 

~summary: At the exact moment of your twentieth birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you appear in black ink on the inside of your left wrist. Seven boys meeting their soulmates shows once again how the universe knows exactly what it’s doing. 

See how the other boys meet their soulmates (all interconnected) 

Jungkook -- Taehyung -- Jimin -- Namjoon -- Hoseok -- Jin

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

Min Yoongi considered himself a simple kind of man. 

He was fortunate and grew up in a loving family, he had a few close friends that he could always depend on, and he loved music. 

Yoongi enjoyed simplicity. He didn’t mind spontaneity or partying in other people, but that lifestyle just didn’t interest him. 

For his entire life all Yoongi dreamed about was opening up his own music shop. A place where people could come and find any sort of music that touched their soul. 

That was his dream. Simple, to the point, and attainable. 

So by the time his twentieth birthday had rolled around, Yoongi had worked tons of part time and random side jobs for five years and saved every single penny, and was able to buy the space. He was still in university, still a teenager, but he’d been smart enough and worked hard enough to make wise choices to realize his dream. 

And all that hard work was finally paying off. 

“Alright Mr. Min, here are the keys,” said the realtor of the empty space that would soon be Yoongi’s store. “Congratulations on your new property!”

Yoongi thanked the realtor, walking her out to the door and seeing her out. He turned back to look at his family and friends who had joined him for the occasion. 

He held up the keys to his store and grinned. “I did it.”

His mother squealed, rushing forward and hugging him tightly around the neck. The others that had amassed followed suit, his father and brother embracing him tightly, some of his buddies from high school, and his new friend from university that was just a year younger than him that he had met at the tiny on-campus record store (she’d been buying a Jonas Brothers album and he’d only slightly been judging her). 

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father said sincerely.

“Oh my boy is so grown up,” his mother added, hugging him for what felt like the millionth time. 

Yoongi just chuckled, returning the embrace tightly. “I wouldn’t be here without you all. Thank you.” He bowed deeply. 

“It’s a big day for you Yoongs,” his university friend said as she jumped up on the counter behind her. “It’s your birthday, the day you buy your shop, and your soulmark should be appearing any second.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, making his friend laugh. He had been hoping to avoid the topic of his soulmark in front of his parents, something she knew quite well. He needed to keep this in mind for whenever she got her soulmark.

“Oh, yes!” his mother squealed, checking the time. “You were born around 12:14. Oh, I can’t wait to meet my boy’s soulmate.” 

Yoongi scrunched his nose as his mother pinched his cheeks. “The mark doesn’t tell me when I’m going to meet her, Eomma.”

“Yes but still!”

“It should be showing up now,” his brother remarked casually. 

“Oh, let me look!”

Yoongi just sighed as his mother took his left hand and held the inside of his wrist up to her face. She cocked her head to the side in confusion. 

“Who’s Kanye West?” she asked innocently, mispronouncing the rapper’s first name. 

Yoongi’s friends and brother burst out laughing.

“Aw Yoongs, don’t tell me you’re stealing Kim’s man!” his friend shouted, leaning against his brother as she cackled. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, pulling his hand away and looking at the mark himself. 

There is black ink was his mark, the first words his soulmate would ever say to him. 

‘I’ve actually never listened to Kanye West.’

Well. That was … surprising. 

At his friends urging, Yoongi repeated the words. 

“Who hasn’t listened to Kanye West?” his brother mused. “Seriously, does your soulmate live under a rock or something?”

“Well at least we know you two will have to work on finding common ground,” his friend cut in. 

It was well known that Yoongi’s favorite artist was Kanye. Strange that his soulmate would have never listened to him. 

Yoongi just shrugged. “That’s fine. I can introduce her to him. She can introduce me to her interests, too.”

His friends and brother ‘awwww’ed. 

“Ack, shut up.”

***

You considered yourself a simple kind of girl. 

You were raised by a single mother, but your childhood had been filled with joy. You enjoyed fashion, had a soft heart for all animals, and you loved music. 

You had only been six years old when your mother enrolled you in a piano class, and even though you cried terribly when she left you at the strange new place for an hour, by the time the first class was over you were asking if you could come back the next day. 

That was the first time you discovered that music ran through your veins. Emotions that your six-year old brain didn’t know how to process yet suddenly made more sense when you heard that emotion being played on the piano or sang in the most beautiful way. 

Music became your life, and your mother did everything in her power to give you opportunities to pursue your dream. When you entered high school you were gifted a scholarship to attend an arts conservatory, which is where your talent really started to reach new heights. 

Soon you were being scouted for various university music programs and you even received a few invitations to join symphonies around the country. 

The world was your oyster, anywhere you wanted to with the piano, you could have gone. 

But … you were a simple kind of girl. 

Sure, traveling the world and playing alongside some of the biggest names in the music world would be great, but it just wasn’t for you. 

You didn’t want to move away from your mother. You didn’t need fame or recognition. 

All you wanted was to be with those you loved, play the piano, and share your love of music with others. 

So that’s what you did. You respectfully turned down all the wonderful offers that had been sent your way, hoping and praying that the opportunities would go to people who craved and deserved them more than you. 

After graduation you enrolled in a small online university where you earned your Associate’s Degree in business relatively quickly. You moved out of your mother’s house to an apartment complex near to her, but not so near that you didn’t have that sense of independence you wanted. And you started to teach. 

You never would have guessed that teaching piano would have brought you such fulfillment, but it turned out to be one of the greatest sources of joy in your life. 

Sure, there were kids who hated the instrument and were just there because their parents made them, but there were also the children who you saw so much of yourself in. You saw the joy and the emotional realizations on their faces as they played, the excitement when the notes started to click in their minds. 

It was one of the most fulfilling aspects of your life. 

And this is what you were talking about with your closest friend/roommate on your twentieth birthday as you waited for your soulmark to appear. 

“She’s an absolute genius, I swear,” you said to your friend, who was listening with a grin. “She’s only eight years old and she’ll be able to outplay me soon.”

“Oh I doubt that.”

“No, seriously!” You took a sip of your wine, throwing your blanket over your cold feet. “She’s phenomenal. I’m helping her parents look into some scholarship for an arts school. Gah, she’s so good. But anyways, I’m sorry, I keep talking about me.”

“It’s your birthday!” your roommate argued, pouring herself another drink. “And your soulmark day for crying out loud, you’re allowed to talk about yourself.”

“Yeah but what about you?” you pushed. “How are things going at the shelter?”

Your roommate was a few years older than you and waited tables, but spent her free time volunteering at an animal shelter just down the road — that was actually where the two of you had met. 

“Really good, actually!” she said, sitting up straighter and proceeding to tell you about the shelter’s new initiative to get all of the stray cats adopted by Christmastime. 

Before you knew it, a half hour and another bottle of wine had passed and it was almost time for your soulmark to appear.

“What do you think it will say?” your roommate asked, waggling her eyebrows at you. 

You laughed, stroking the still blank skin on the inside of your left wrist. “I don’t know. As long as it’s nice, I don’t care.”

Your roommate stiffened and you immediately realized your mistake. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I — I wasn’t even thinking.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she assured you, biting her lip as she looked down at her own wrist. 

(You hadn’t met your roommate yet when her soulmark had appeared, but the ink on her wrist read. ‘Do you have any idea who I am, you psycho?’ You had assured her that whenever she met her soulmate, the context of the situation would make the comment much less cruel, but she rarely believed you.)

“Tonight’s not about my mark,” your roommate said with a forced smile. “It’s about yours! How much time left?”

You checked your watch. “Uh, any second now actually.”

Your roommate squealed and scooted closer to you, both of you staring at your wrist as light music played in the background. 

You let out a heavy breath as black ink slowly started to appear. 

“There it is, there it is,” your roommate chanted excitedly

And sure enough, there it was. 

‘Hi, welcome to Agust D’s Records, I’m Yoongi.’

“Well then,” your roommate deadpanned. “That makes it … pretty clear.”

You stared at your wrist silently, mouth open like a fish. A dumbfounded, overwhelmed fish. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered after a few uncomfortably long, silent seconds. “His name is Yoongi.”

“Well where the hell is this Agust D’s Records place?” your roommate mused, whipping out her phone to search for the store. “We’ve got to go there ASAP.”

“This is so weird,” you murmured to yourself. “I … I don’t really know how to feel. I mean, I can find him like … anytime at all.”

“Yeah you really lucked out,” your roommate responded. “No mystery for you. And look here.” You leaned over to look at her phone. “The store is only a few miles from us. We can go see him tomorrow!”

Your heart seemed to seize in your chest.

“Or not!” your roommate said quickly upon seeing your panicked expression. “You can go see him whenever you want, it is completely up to you. If you want me to go with, I will, but I also understand if you want to go by yourself. The ball is in your court, Y/N.”

You gulped, resting your head on her shoulder. 

“Yoongi,” you repeated dumbly as your roommate stroked your hair. “His name is Yoongi.”

***

2 YEARS LATER 

“Okay I’m just saying to consider it, Yoongs.”

“Don’t call me that,” Yoongi muttered, glaring over at his best friend as he reorganized the Beatles section that a bunch of high school punks had put out of place. “Tell me again why you’re bothering me instead of doing your job that I so graciously pay you to do?”

His friend scoffed, sitting down on the ground and leaning back on her palms. “It’s a genius idea and you know it. The store is doing great, and your brother is more than ready to take over as manager here. This is the perfect time to look into opening a new branch!”

“I’m perfectly content with just one store for now. Why are you so hung up on this?”

“I just have this feeling, Yoongs,” she continued. Yoongi watched as she leaned forward, subconsciously rubbing her soulmark that she’d received only half a year ago. It wasn’t much to see, just a simple ‘No.’ “I feel like we’re meant to move into the city proper and open a new branch. I just know it.”

“Oh you do?”

“Yeah,” she retorted, passion lighting up in her eyes. “Don’t you feel like the universe is all connected sometime? Like … like we’re all causing ripples in a pond that overlap with each other exactly like we’re meant to. And I just feel it in my bones that we’re meant to expand the store! We’re not supposed to keep making our ripples here forever!”

Yoongi sighed, looking down at her with sympathy. “Look. I’ll be honest with you, your idea is a good one. But,” he said quickly when she started to beam, “I don’t think it’s the right time just yet. Let me think about it some more and look over our finances. Let’s not rush into our ripples before we’re supposed to okay?”

His friend grinned, nodding and jumping up to hug him tightly. “That was a pretty good metaphor, don’t you think?”

“No, it was stupid. Now go man the register and leave me alone.”

“Love you too, Yoongs!”

“And stop calling me that!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared around the corner of the aisle he was on. He loved that girl, but she drove him insane. He hoped his soulmate wasn’t so extra, he was pretty sure he could only handle one overly dramatic person in his life. 

It’d been just over two years since his soulmark had shown up, and he had yet to hear the words on his wrist. At first he used to try and find ways to bring up Kanye West to every customer that caught his eye, but that got exhausting and disappointing really quick. 

So he decided to just let it be. His soulmate would show up when they were supposed to. 

“Yoongs. Psst, Yoongs.”

“Did I not just tell you to go man the register?” Yoongi asked in exasperation as his friend popped her head around the corner yet again. “What is it?”

“She’s back,” she said with wide eyes. “That girl.”

“What girl?”

His friend rolled her eyes and huffed. “Don’t play dumb, you know which girl.”

Yoongi swallowed. He did know which girl she was referring to, he had known right away. 

You started coming into the shop about a year ago, and he had been struck right away. It had been a particularly rainy day, and your hair had been dripping onto your shoulders, making the green of your sweater look particularly dark. He had introduced himself to you like every other customer (albeit his voice had cracked because you were staring at him with the prettiest, widest eyes he had ever seen), but you had only nodded at him politely and skittered away to look at some of the ukuleles he had just put on display. 

 He didn’t think much of it. Maybe you were shy, or maybe you couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to make any assumptions, so he just carried on with his business and rang you up for the Demi Lovato CD you bought, giving you the usual speech on the music classes and membership opportunities the store offered. You had smiled, nodded yet again, and then went on your way silently. 

That had been a year ago, and since then you had been coming into the shop at least once a week, but nary a word had been said to him. 

It only somewhat drove him crazy. For a while he believed that perhaps you couldn’t speak, but then he heard you ask his brother a question about the piano classes that the shop offered. 

So you could speak, you just didn’t want to speak to him. Great. 

His best friend had a theory that it was because you were his soulmate, but Yoongi didn’t think that could be true even though he had never seen your mark. You had bought two Kanye West records in the last year, and when he’d asked if you enjoyed Kanye’s music you had looked up at him a little scared and nodded hurriedly before darting out of the shop. 

Still not a word though. 

It was strange, but Yoongi had decided not to dwell on it any longer. You clearly didn’t want to speak to him for some reason, but you were polite enough and always bought something from the store — whether it was a record, sheet music, a CD, or some of the local band merch that filtered through every now and then. 

You were a loyal customer, just … a quiet one. Fine by him. 

“Dude, let it go,” Yoongi muttered to his friend as she continued to stare at him like he ought to do something drastic with this information that you were once again at the store. “And leave her alone, too. She doesn’t need the likes of you bothering her to talk to me.”

“The likes of me?” his friend shouted incredulously. “Brat. Anyways, I still think you should go say hello to her. She’s always watching you when you’re not looking. And not in a stalker way, but a cute, infatuated way. Go say hi.”

“Go man the register.”

“Ugh, fine!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as his friend left with a dramatic huff. A minute or two passed and he finally finished reorganizing the section, heading around the corner to grab a box of some new records to stock.

Then he saw you.

He couldn’t help but stop dead in his tracks. You hadn’t seem him yet, instead looking down at the new piano that had just come into the store yesterday. Your mouth was slightly open as you ran your fingertips over the keys almost … reverently. Your eyes were bright with wonder and Yoongi felt like the breath had been knocked out of him at the sight. 

It was a damn shame that he didn’t think you were his soulmate. 

He swallowed, licking his suddenly dry lips as he readied himself to speak to you. 

***

“That just came in yesterday.”

You jumped at Yoongi’s familiar voice, yanking your hand back from the keys of the absolutely stunning piano. You looked over, swallowing thickly as you took in his appearance.

He always looked good and today was of course no different. He had dyed his hair blonde a few months ago, and his roots had started to come in, but that only added to his semi-grunge look. Ripped jeans and a cuddle-worthy brown sweater donned his slim frame, and you somehow managed not to ogle him like a total creeper. 

You then remembered that he had just spoken to you in that low, smooth voice of his and was probably expecting you to respond somehow. 

You smiled at him briefly before turning back to the piano to admire it. It really was beautiful.

“It’s a Bechstein,” he continued, sounding almost … nervous? “Twelve years used, but it’s in great condition. One of our regulars had it passed down in his family and decided to let us have it for half the selling the price. It’s no Steinway, but … it’s damn nice. I almost hope nobody buys it anytime soon.”

You couldn’t help but hum in agreement, wanting to reach back out to the beautiful black and white keys but knowing that you weren’t supposed to play the instruments without express permission from the store staff.

You’d been coming to the store for a year now to shamelessly creep on your soulmate, you definitely knew the ins and outs of the store by now. 

It was getting downright ridiculous the way that you were refusing to speak to your soulmate. Your roommate was going insane about it, even more so since she met her soulmate, Taehyung. She and the famous singer had almost killed each other upon first meeting, but they were head over heels for each other soon thereafter, which meant she was insistent on you speaking to yours so you could have the same kind of relationship. 

But you were painfully afraid. Yoongi had said the words on your mark to him a year ago and you still had not said whatever words were on his wrist — words that you refused to try and get a peek of. 

“Do you play?”

It took you a minute to register that Yoongi had just asked you a question. You met his piercing eyes, almost melting at his soft smile. You swallowed and nodded. 

“I figured,” he said softly, moving slightly closer to you. You raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask ‘how?’ “The way you looked at it. Like you could already hear the notes you wanted to play.”

Your heart stuttered. 

Say something you idiot, you thought to yourself. He’s your soulmate and you’re pussyfooting around as if he isn’t. 

You opened your mouth to say something — what, you didn’t know — and Yoongi’s eyes widened. 

And nothing came out. Fear gripped your vocal cords and you huffed, turning back to the piano in frustration. What was wrong with you?

 You heard Yoongi sigh in disappointment and all you wanted to do was run out of the store. You were just about to to do that when he spoke up again. 

“Do you … want to play something?”

You looked up at him in shock. He was offering to let you play the Bechstein? There had been both a Bechstein and a Steinway for you to play on at the arts conservatory you attended as a teenager, but ever since then you hadn’t had a chance to play on anything other than your Yamaha. It was nice, but … it was no Bechstein. 

Yoongi laughed as you nodded frantically. He gestured for you to sit and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus on the piano and not your soulmate watching you. 

The first touch of the keys had the rest of the world disappearing — Yoongi, the shop, your worries, everything. 

Your fingers drifted over the keys with a honed elegance that only a lifetime of practice and love for the piano could create. 

It was a piece you knew like the back of your hand — a piece you had written, actually. The notes ebbed and flowed, painting a melodious picture of your life. You played the sounds of your mother’s love and dedication for you, you played the anxieties of high school and the competitiveness of your music program, you played the joy of teaching your students, you played late nights with your roommate laughing about the most random things together, you played the feeling of Yoongi saying the words on your wrist to you, you played your fear of revealing yourself as his soulmate and facing rejection, you played your very soul. 

As the last note finally rang out, you opened your eyes, your lashes fluttering as you crashed back into reality. 

You heard a few random customers and Yoongi’s chatty employee clapping and whistling and you couldn’t help but grin and turn around, bowing your head in thanks. You turned back to look at Yoongi, only to catch sight of him staring intently at your hands that were still lingering on the piano. 

Or more specifically, staring at your left wrist. 

Somewhere in the middle of all of playing, your long sleeve had ridden up your forearm, revealing your mark. And from where he stood over you, Yoongi could see the last half of the words in black ink. 

‘ … Agust D’s Records, I’m Yoongi.’

You froze. All of the warmth that came from playing the piano before you vanished as you took in the expression of complete and utter shock on Yoongi’s face. 

“That’s …” he mumbled, blinking rapidly. “That’s my name.”

You weren’t sure you were breathing. He finally looked up, meeting your eyes.

“Am I …” he trailed off, staring at you like it was the first time he’d ever seen you. Between your performance that had felt like it was literally tugging on his soul, to now knowing that you actually were his soulmate after all … “Am I your—”

“I’ve actually never listened to Kanye West,” you blurted out so quickly all the words slurred together. 

Once those words were out, it was like a dam had broken. 

“I got my mark just over a year ago,” you continued, the word vomit spilling out of you. “It told me where you worked and your name a-and I was so scared at first but then I told myself it would be fine so I came to meet you, but then I saw you and I — I completely panicked. I froze up, I was afraid you would reject me o-or something and so I just didn’t say anything. But then I couldn’t stay away and so I just kept coming back, but then I dug myself into too deep of a hole and didn’t know how to bring up the fact that ‘hey, surprise, I’m your soulmate and I’ve been semi-stalking you for a while?’ Not that I actually have! I swear, the only time I see you is here in the store.”

You stood up them, fidgeting with your fingers as Yoongi continued to stare at you in silence. 

“But I had to have some sort of reason to keep coming back, because I just felt wrong when I stayed away, so I would come in and buy something. And I saw that on the ‘staff recommended’ shelf there was always some Kanye West album and truthfully, I’m not that into rap music but I figured I would try since you seem to like him, but I never got around to it even though I bought like three of his albums. And I know you probably think I’m completely deranged and you’re probably right, but I just — I get really nervous, you know? And you’re so nice and yet we seem really different, so I was afraid that you—”

“Stop.”

You froze, your mouth open as Yoongi cut you off quietly, holding his hand up. 

Here it comes, you thought to yourself. He’s going to tell me I’m completely insane and to get the hell out of his store. Well, it’s been a good run I guess. 

But Yoongi didn’t do that at all. 

Instead, he took three calculated, slow steps forward until he was right in front of you, almost chest-to-chest. You held your breath, unable to look away from his eyes. 

He raised his hands, placing his palms on your cheeks. 

“Your voice,” he murmured, “is beautiful.”

Oh. 

“I … I’m sorry it took me so long to say something,” you stammered out softly, feeling a whole new spectrum of emotions as he looked deep into your eyes. 

Yoongi smiled then, a gummy, broad smile that knocked the breath right out of your chest. 

“Don’t be. Our ripples crossed right when they needed to.”

You blinked, hands reaching out to rest on his chest. “I’ll be honest, I … don’t really understand that metaphor.”

“I’ll explain it later. I know we just officially found each other, but can I kiss you? Please?”

You smiled broadly, and it didn’t bother Yoongi at all that you nodded instead of speaking.