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manwalksintobar · 2 years

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In Memoriam // Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou madest Life in man and brute; Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: Thou madest man, he knows not why, He thinks he was not made to die; And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, thou. Our wills are ours, we know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see And yet we trust it comes from thee, A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight; We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear; Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me; What seem'd my worth since I began; For merit lives from man to man, And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair. I trust he lives in thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise.

I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.

But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Or reach a hand thro' time to catch The far-off interest of tears?

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,

Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground,

Than that the victor Hours should scorn

The long result of love, and boast,

`Behold the man that loved and lost,

But all he was is overworn.'

Old Yew, which graspest at the stones

That name the under-lying dead,

Thy fibres net the dreamless head,

Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

The seasons bring the flower again,

And bring the firstling to the flock;

And in the dusk of thee, the clock

Beats out the little lives of men.

O, not for thee the glow, the bloom,

Who changest not in any gale,

Nor branding summer suns avail

To touch thy thousand years of gloom:

And gazing on thee, sullen tree,

Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,

I seem to fail from out my blood

And grow incorporate into thee.

III

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,

O Priestess in the vaults of Death,

O sweet and bitter in a breath,

What whispers from thy lying lip?

'The stars,' she whispers, `blindly run;

A web is wov'n across the sky;

From out waste places comes a cry,

And murmurs from the dying sun:

'And all the phantom, Nature, stands—

With all the music in her tone,

A hollow echo of my own,—

A hollow form with empty hands.'

And shall I take a thing so blind,

Embrace her as my natural good;

Or crush her, like a vice of blood,

Upon the threshold of the mind?

To Sleep I give my powers away;

My will is bondsman to the dark;

I sit within a helmless bark,

And with my heart I muse and say:

O heart, how fares it with thee now,

That thou should'st fail from thy desire,

Who scarcely darest to inquire,

'What is it makes me beat so low?'

Something it is which thou hast lost,

Some pleasure from thine early years.

Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears,

That grief hath shaken into frost!

Such clouds of nameless trouble cross

All night below the darken'd eyes;

With morning wakes the will, and cries,

'Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.'

I sometimes hold it half a sin

To put in words the grief I feel;

For words, like Nature, half reveal

And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,

A use in measured language lies;

The sad mechanic exercise,

Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,

Like coarsest clothes against the cold:

But that large grief which these enfold

Is given in outline and no more.

One writes, that `Other friends remain,'

That `Loss is common to the race'—

And common is the commonplace,

And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

That loss is common would not make

My own less bitter, rather more:

Too common! Never morning wore

To evening, but some heart did break.

O father, wheresoe'er thou be,

Who pledgest now thy gallant son;

A shot, ere half thy draught be done,

Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.

O mother, praying God will save

Thy sailor,—while thy head is bow'd,

His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud

Drops in his vast and wandering grave.

Ye know no more than I who wrought

At that last hour to please him well;

Who mused on all I had to tell,

And something written, something thought;

Expecting still his advent home;

And ever met him on his way

With wishes, thinking, `here to-day,'

Or `here to-morrow will he come.'

O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,

That sittest ranging golden hair;

And glad to find thyself so fair,

Poor child, that waitest for thy love!

For now her father's chimney glows

In expectation of a guest;

And thinking `this will please him best,'

She takes a riband or a rose;

For he will see them on to-night;

And with the thought her colour burns;

And, having left the glass, she turns

Once more to set a ringlet right;

And, even when she turn'd, the curse

Had fallen, and her future Lord

Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,

Or kill'd in falling from his horse.

O what to her shall be the end?

And what to me remains of good?

To her, perpetual maidenhood,

And unto me no second friend.

VII

Dark house, by which once more I stand

Here in the long unlovely street,

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more—

Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day.

VIII

A happy lover who has come

To look on her that loves him well,

Who 'lights and rings the gateway bell,

And learns her gone and far from home;

He saddens, all the magic light

Dies off at once from bower and hall,

And all the place is dark, and all

The chambers emptied of delight:

So find I every pleasant spot

In which we two were wont to meet,

The field, the chamber, and the street,

For all is dark where thou art not.

Yet as that other, wandering there

In those deserted walks, may find

A flower beat with rain and wind,

Which once she foster'd up with care;

So seems it in my deep regret,

O my forsaken heart, with thee

And this poor flower of poesy

Which little cared for fades not yet.

But since it pleased a vanish'd eye,

I go to plant it on his tomb,

That if it can it there may bloom,

Or, dying, there at least may die.

Fair ship, that from the Italian shore

Sailest the placid ocean-plains

With my lost Arthur's loved remains,

Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn

In vain; a favourable speed

Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead

Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.

All night no ruder air perplex

Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright

As our pure love, thro' early light

Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.

Sphere all your lights around, above;

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;

Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,

My friend, the brother of my love;

My Arthur, whom I shall not see

Till all my widow'd race be run;

Dear as the mother to the son,

More than my brothers are to me.

I hear the noise about thy keel;

I hear the bell struck in the night:

I see the cabin-window bright;

I see the sailor at the wheel.

Thou bring'st the sailor to his wife,

And travell'd men from foreign lands;

And letters unto trembling hands;

And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life.

So bring him; we have idle dreams:

This look of quiet flatters thus

Our home-bred fancies. O to us,

The fools of habit, sweeter seems

To rest beneath the clover sod,

That takes the sunshine and the rains,

Or where the kneeling hamlet drains

The chalice of the grapes of God;

Than if with thee the roaring wells

Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine;

And hands so often clasp'd in mine,

Should toss with tangle and with shells.

Calm is the morn without a sound,

Calm as to suit a calmer grief,

And only thro' the faded leaf

The chestnut pattering to the ground:

Calm and deep peace on this high world,

And on these dews that drench the furze,

And all the silvery gossamers

That twinkle into green and gold:

Calm and still light on yon great plain

That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,

And crowded farms and lessening towers,

To mingle with the bounding main:

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,

These leaves that redden to the fall;

And in my heart, if calm at all,

If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,

And waves that sway themselves in rest,

And dead calm in that noble breast

Which heaves but with the heaving deep.

XII

Lo, as a dove when up she springs

To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe,

Some dolorous message knit below

The wild pulsation of her wings;

Like her I go; I cannot stay;

I leave this mortal ark behind,

A weight of nerves without a mind,

And leave the cliffs, and haste away

O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large,

And reach the glow of southern skies,

And see the sails at distance rise,

And linger weeping on the marge,

And saying; `Comes he thus, my friend?

Is this the end of all my care?'

And circle moaning in the air:

'Is this the end? Is this the end?'

And forward dart again, and play

About the prow, and back return

To where the body sits, and learn

That I have been an hour away.

XIII

Tears of the widower, when he sees

A late-lost form that sleep reveals,

And moves his doubtful arms, and feels

Her place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,

A void where heart on heart reposed;

And, where warm hands have prest and closed,

Silence, till I be silent too.

Which weep the comrade of my choice,

An awful thought, a life removed,

The human-hearted man I loved,

A Spirit, not a breathing voice.

Come, Time, and teach me, many years,

I do not suffer in a dream;

For now so strange do these things seem,

Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;

My fancies time to rise on wing,

And glance about the approaching sails,

As tho' they brought but merchants' bales,

And not the burthen that they bring.

XIV

If one should bring me this report,

That thou hadst touch'd the land to-day,

And I went down unto the quay,

And found thee lying in the port;

And standing, muffled round with woe,

Should see thy passengers in rank

Come stepping lightly down the plank,

And beckoning unto those they know;

And if along with these should come

The man I held as half-divine;

Should strike a sudden hand in mine,

And ask a thousand things of home;

And I should tell him all my pain,

And how my life had droop'd of late,

And he should sorrow o'er my state

And marvel what possess'd my brain;

And I perceived no touch of change,

No hint of death in all his frame,

But found him all in all the same,

I should not feel it to be strange.

To-night the winds begin to rise

And roar from yonder dropping day:

The last red leaf is whirl'd away,

The rooks are blown about the skies;

The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,

The cattle huddled on the lea;

And wildly dash'd on tower and tree

The sunbeam strikes along the world:

And but for fancies, which aver

That all thy motions gently pass

Athwart a plane of molten glass,

I scarce could brook the strain and stir

That makes the barren branches loud;

And but for fear it is not so,

The wild unrest that lives in woe

Would dote and pore on yonder cloud

That rises upward always higher,

And onward drags a labouring breast,

And topples round the dreary west,

A looming bastion fringed with fire.

XVI

What words are these have falle'n from me?

Can calm despair and wild unrest

Be tenants of a single breast,

Or sorrow such a changeling be?

Or cloth she only seem to take

The touch of change in calm or storm;

But knows no more of transient form

In her deep self, than some dead lake

That holds the shadow of a lark

Hung in the shadow of a heaven?

Or has the shock, so harshly given,

Confused me like the unhappy bark

That strikes by night a craggy shelf,

And staggers blindly ere she sink?

And stunn'd me from my power to think

And all my knowledge of myself;

And made me that delirious man

Whose fancy fuses old and new,

And flashes into false and true,

And mingles all without a plan?

XVII

Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze

Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer

Was as the whisper of an air

To breathe thee over lonely seas.

For I in spirit saw thee move

Thro' circles of the bounding sky,

Week after week: the days go by:

Come quick, thou bringest all I love.

Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam,

My blessing, like a line of light,

Is on the waters day and night,

And like a beacon guards thee home.

So may whatever tempest mars

Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;

And balmy drops in summer dark

Slide from the bosom of the stars.

So kind an office hath been done,

Such precious relics brought by thee;

The dust of him I shall not see

Till all my widow'd race be run.

XVIII

'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand

Where he in English earth is laid,

And from his ashes may be made

The violet of his native land.

'Tis little; but it looks in truth

As if the quiet bones were blest

Among familiar names to rest

And in the places of his youth.

Come then, pure hands, and bear the head

That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep,

And come, whatever loves to weep,

And hear the ritual of the dead.

Ah yet, ev'n yet, if this might be,

I, falling on his faithful heart,

Would breathing thro' his lips impart

The life that almost dies in me;

That dies not, but endures with pain,

And slowly forms the firmer mind,

Treasuring the look it cannot find,

The words that are not heard again.

XIX

The Danube to the Severn gave

The darken'd heart that beat no more;

They laid him by the pleasant shore,

And in the hearing of the wave.

There twice a day the Severn fills;

The salt sea-water passes by,

And hushes half the babbling Wye,

And makes a silence in the hills.

The Wye is hush'd nor moved along,

And hush'd my deepest grief of all,

When fill'd with tears that cannot fall,

I brim with sorrow drowning song.

The tide flows down, the wave again

Is vocal in its wooded walls;

My deeper anguish also falls,

And I can speak a little then.

The lesser griefs that may be said,

That breathe a thousand tender vows,

Are but as servants in a house

Where lies the master newly dead;

Who speak their feeling as it is,

And weep the fulness from the mind:

`It will be hard,' they say, `to find

Another service such as this.'

My lighter moods are like to these,

That out of words a comfort win;

But there are other griefs within,

And tears that at their fountain freeze;

For by the hearth the children sit

Cold in that atmosphere of Death,

And scarce endure to draw the breath,

Or like to noiseless phantoms flit;

But open converse is there none,

So much the vital spirits sink

To see the vacant chair, and think,

'How good! how kind! and he is gone.'

XXI

I sing to him that rests below,

And, since the grasses round me wave,

I take the grasses of the grave,

And make them pipes whereon to blow.

The traveller hears me now and then,

And sometimes harshly will he speak:

`This fellow would make weakness weak,

And melt the waxen hearts of men.'

Another answers, `Let him be,

He loves to make parade of pain

That with his piping he may gain

The praise that comes to constancy.'

A third is wroth: `Is this an hour

For private sorrow's barren song,

When more and more the people throng

The chairs and thrones of civil power?

'A time to sicken and to swoon,

When Science reaches forth her arms

To feel from world to world, and charms

Her secret from the latest moon?'

Behold, ye speak an idle thing:

Ye never knew the sacred dust:

I do but sing because I must,

And pipe but as the linnets sing:

And one is glad; her note is gay,

For now her little ones have ranged;

And one is sad; her note is changed,

Because her brood is stol'n away.

XXII

The path by which we twain did go,

Which led by tracts that pleased us well,

Thro' four sweet years arose and fell,

From flower to flower, from snow to snow:

And we with singing cheer'd the way,

And, crown'd with all the season lent,

From April on to April went,

And glad at heart from May to May:

But where the path we walk'd began

To slant the fifth autumnal slope,

As we descended following Hope,

There sat the Shadow fear'd of man;

Who broke our fair companionship,

And spread his mantle dark and cold,

And wrapt thee formless in the fold,

And dull'd the murmur on thy lip,

And bore thee where I could not see

Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste,

And think, that somewhere in the waste

The Shadow sits and waits for me.

XXIII

Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut,

Or breaking into song by fits,

Alone, alone, to where he sits,

The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot,

Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,

I wander, often falling lame,

And looking back to whence I came,

Or on to where the pathway leads;

And crying, How changed from where it ran

Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb;

But all the lavish hills would hum

The murmur of a happy Pan:

When each by turns was guide to each,

And Fancy light from Fancy caught,

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought

Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech;

And all we met was fair and good,

And all was good that Time could bring,

And all the secret of the Spring

Moved in the chambers of the blood;

And many an old philosophy

On Argive heights divinely sang,

And round us all the thicket rang

To many a flute of Arcady.

XXIV

And was the day of my delight

As pure and perfect as I say?

The very source and fount of Day

Is dash'd with wandering isles of night.

If all was good and fair we met,

This earth had been the Paradise

It never look'd to human eyes

Since our first Sun arose and set.

And is it that the haze of grief

Makes former gladness loom so great?

The lowness of the present state,

That sets the past in this relief?

Or that the past will always win

A glory from its being far;

And orb into the perfect star

We saw not, when we moved therein?

XXV

I know that this was Life,—the track

Whereon with equal feet we fared;

And then, as now, the day prepared

The daily burden for the back.

But this it was that made me move

As light as carrier-birds in air;

I loved the weight I had to bear,

Because it needed help of Love:

Nor could I weary, heart or limb,

When mighty Love would cleave in twain

The lading of a single pain,

And part it, giving half to him.

XXVI

Still onward winds the dreary way;

I with it; for I long to prove

No lapse of moons can canker Love,

Whatever fickle tongues may say.

And if that eye which watches guilt

And goodness, and hath power to see

Within the green the moulder'd tree,

And towers fall'n as soon as built—

Oh, if indeed that eye foresee

Or see (in Him is no before)

In more of life true life no more

And Love the indifference to be,

Then might I find, ere yet the morn

Breaks hither over Indian seas,

That Shadow waiting with the keys,

To shroud me from my proper scorn.

XXVII

I envy not in any moods

The captive void of noble rage,

The linnet born within the cage,

That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes

His license in the field of time,

Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,

The heart that never plighted troth

But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;

Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it, when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

#poetry #Tennyson #love #grief #English poetry #heartbreak

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ezgithechaotic · 3 years

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The Parent Trap | Chapter Six; to love someone else

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

AU: The Parent Trap, dad!harry

series summary: Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.

chapter summary; There are so many thing to say, but so little time for Harry and Y\N.

author note; well hello there, ı’m back. It’s been really long and I’m so soryy about it. But I guess you guys are used to it. I will try to write the next chapter soon! Don’t be shy to send me a message if you would like to talk and be friends. I don’t bite, I promise!

I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

Taglist is open. Please send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged! (22\30)

The Parent Trap Masterlist, main masterlist

Life had a funny way of bringing people together, and it had no interest in their desires. Sitting on one of the blue couches, a coffee in her hand, the only thing Y\N wanted to do was run away and never look back. But she wasn't eighteen anymore; she had learned that running from your problems only circled you back to them. So, she did what every reasonable person would do, stayed put. But now, seeing her hand shaking while holding the silver spoon, Y\N was questioning every decision she ever made that brought her to this point.

So much for getting over him Y\N, well done.

"You look good."

The moment words left his mouth Harry cursed himself silently. You look good. Of course, she did. Is that what he all had? After almost nine years, Y\N still made him tongue-tied. He wasn't the Harry who stood in front of thousands of people to perform; he was a boy again, and he hated it. He was eighteen again, seeing his producer's sister and thinking, maybe he is capable of love. Despite feeling like it was yesterday, Harry wasn't eighteen anymore. He didn't have the opportunities to be stupid and in love. It had been a long time since Harry had lost that chance. Wishing he could say sorry and explain anything wasn't going to solve anything, and it surely wasn't going to bring him his old Y\N, who was naive enough to fall in love with a worldwide star. She knew better now. So, maybe the only thing he could come up with was you look good.

Even though a moment of sadness passed her face, Y\N was quick to pull herself together. She put a kind smile on her face, the way she did when one of her customers made her feel tired, but she still had to keep going. Harry had seen that smile before when he told her he had to cancel one of their dates, again or when he told her that they couldn't be seen together in public.

"You look good too."

There it was again, her velvet-like voice. Y\N had always amazed Harry; she could be kind to everyone no matter what, even when the person across her was the reason for her broken heart. Neither of them dared to ask about their sons and each other. How would you ask about someone you chose to leave behind?

"Can I..." Y\N could feel her anxiety riling up. She took a deep breath and tried sitting more straight. "How is he?"

Harry's heart almost skipped a beat. He couldn't decide if he was stupid to send him away. Would it be less awkward if Benjamin was there, or would it be a dread to explain to him why his mother was standing in the middle of their guest room?

"Look, I know we had an agreement." Y\N sighed. Harry didn't realize how much time it took him to come up with an answer until she spoke. "I only want to know how he is."

"He's... Well, he's good."

Harry apparently lost his ability to form any good sentences that day, but it looked like he was talking to a brick wall. Y\N left her cup on the coffee table, now leaning and resting her elbows on her knees.

"I feel like I'm doing a terrible job." Eyes fixed on the ground and watery, head between her hands, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Y\N so vulnerable. "Edward is the sweetest boy, I swear. He's the perfect kid any parent could ask for. And I feel like I'm the worst mother for tearing him apart from his brother, for not giving him the life he deserves. And the only thing I can think of is would he be happier if he were with you." She was up suddenly, pacing around the room.

"And how much I missed from Benjamin's life. Will, he ever know me, or Edward ever know you? Will they ever know each other? Will they ever forgive us for what we did?" She stopped, looking at Harry. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she looked into his green eyes. She wanted to keep going. Scream, shout, cry. But she stood there, looking at him, waiting like he could give her an answer.

Will I ever forgive myself for letting you go?

Y\N wanted to keep asking, but there was no point. She stopped a tear before it could reach her jaw, quickly. "God, I don't know how long I've been holding that in."

Harry was dying to apologize, to ask if she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He was dying to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he sat there, like an idiot.

"We were young, Y\N. We did what we thought was best. Wrong or right, there is no undoing it right now."

Hearing her name roll off his sweet mouth woke something inside Y\N. She had so many things she wanted to say but didn't know where to begin. Her mouth was frantically opening and closing back again, but nothing came out.

Sarah and Mitch were just outside the room, trying to listen to the conversation. "I swear he's so stupid," Mitch whispered. "Just say something!"

"Hey, be quiet. I'm trying to listen."

Before Mitch could say anything, he heard key sounds coming from the front door. He quickly turned to Sarah. "Camille wasn't visiting today, right?" He was praying that it wasn't Camille, but there wasn't anyone outside them who had keys to Harry's house.

"Shit."

"I know you're a great mother, Y\N; I know that. And I know we did wrong things, but that doesn't mean you're failing."

"I feel like I am." Y\N was still standing there, her fingers fidgeting with her white shirt. She wanted to yell, how could he possibly know what kind of mother she was? He was never there. Harry stood up with a purpose to walk to Y\N and maybe to hold her. But his actions stopped when the door to the guest room opened.

And there she was, Camille Rowe with all her glory. Blonde hair sitting on her shoulders, red-colored lips, and long lashes, she looked like she came straight from a runway. And Y\N tried with all her might, but she couldn't hate her. Even though her pants were horrible, even though she always used her beauty to get away with her cruelty. And, true, the diamond ring sitting on her finger was no help, but still, she had no hate for her. It wasn't Camille's fault that she was at his feet, basically asking Harry to fix everything because she was too vulnerable.

How Y\N wished she could love somebody else that wasn't Harry. She wished she could move on as he did. But it was stuck, her whole life was stuck since he left her without any explanation. Sometimes she would feel so ready to love someone else, to find anybody willing to take her this broken. She tried so hard, lying to herself, making everyone believe she got over him. She didn't listen to any of his songs, watch anything that could be related to him. She was running away for the last nine years, not once stopping and looking back. Well, look where it brought her to now, sitting in the same room with him and his fiancee, who had no idea how much history they had.

"I honestly love everything piece you do." Did she? Y\N couldn't tell if Camille knew everything or not. But if she did, she was a damn good actress. And Y\N was terrified of what could come after this if she didn't leave that house right now. "I would love it if you worked on my wedding dress."

Y\N's whole world was upside down at that moment. Her hair on her neck stood on end. Her whole body was shivering; she didn't know if it was rage or hurt. Still, the smile came up again.

"I'm afraid I'm too busy with my new collection."

"Well, I will have to find someone else, I guess." Camille laughed, her hand sneaking up Harry's leg. Y\N was burning, her blood felt like it was boiling inside her veins. She needed to get out of there, quick. "But I'm so glad Harry could reach somebody. He had been looking for that cardigan for days, now. I thought he was going crazy." She laughed again, unlike everyone else in the room but, apparently she didn't care.

"It was no problem, honestly. Jonathan is a dear friend of mine; I was just doing a favor." Y\N couldn't believe how calm she sounded. Maybe she should have chosen to be an actress.

"I'm sure you're very busy, but we would love to see you at the wedding. Right, honey?" Camille turned to Harry, waiting for his approval. Harry quickly nodded as if he was waiting to agree to everything she was saying. "Of course."

"I'll have to see, I guess." Y\N didn't know how much longer she could pretend like everything bathed in sunlight. So, she got up, ignoring the shaking in her legs. "I should go, my team is probably waiting for me."

"It was lovely to meet you." Camille held her hand out. Her grasp was hard like she was telling Y\N to start running and never look back again. Still, Y\N stood her ground, firmly taking her handshake and smiling. Her eyes meet Harry's for a second. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn't think anything that she could say would turn this around. So, she lied instead.

"Congratulation on the engagement. You two make a lovely couple."

Y\N couldn't believe she could lie so effortlessly, without any trembling in her voice. Still, shaking Camille's warm hand and seeing her next to Harry with a diamond on her hand made her want to get in her car and run away to somewhere very far away that she could throw up. So, she did that.

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mochiable · 4 years

Text

— enough. (a)

REQUESTED — hello!! i really like your work and how you write. could i request a scenario about han jisung cheating on reader and her forgiving him every time but then she can’t stay with him anymore and they have a big fight? sorry if it’s so specific, but i think you’d do a great work with this! i’ll understand if you don’t want to do it though, have a nice day!

wc: 1.7k

warnings: toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, swearing, emotional pain

requests are open!

you were fed up. jisung kept shouting your name in the distance, but you didn't want to know any more, you didn't want to hear any more. you were tired of everyone taking you for a naïve fool who didn't realise what was going on around you. ‘poor thing, she has no idea he slept with five other girls’, ‘i feel so sorry for her, how come she's still with him?’ you didn't know, you really didn't know how you could still be with him. maybe they were all right, you were a sucker, but that was going to change, you weren't going to put up with any more humiliation, and much less coming from him.

as soon as you arrived at the flat you shared with your now ex-boyfriend, you locked yourself in your room and took your suitcase out of the wardrobe to start storing your most necessary belongings. you didn't know where you were going to go, you didn't want to bother anyone, but it was either that or sleep in the street or stay in a forty square metre flat with the person you least wanted to see right now. either of the first two options was better than the third one, anyways.

when you finished putting all your clothes away and headed to the bathroom to pick up your make-up and all your creams you heard the front door open loudly and as hurried footsteps followed by several curses headed towards the bedroom.

“what are you doing?” the dark-haired boy asked watching you from the bathroom door, looking through the mirror as you put all the products in your vanity case, hands trembling and clutching things tightly.

“dancing a tango, wanna be my partner?” you replied sarcastically, taking all the courage you had left and turning around to face him, “what the fuck do you think I'm doing, jisung? i’m leaving,” you spat angrily, moving towards the door and bumping your shoulder against his to walk back into the room.

“no, no, no,” he repeated, shaking his head repeatedly as he moved closer to you and tried to get your attention, “listen to me, please listen to me," he pleaded, reaching up to you and turning your face to his with his hands on your cheeks, “it’s not what it looks like, i swear.”

“isn't it? let me guess," you began, bringing your hands up to his and roughly pulling them away from your face, “was it her who kissed you? or maybe, oh, i know, you drank too much and couldn't control yourself?” you roared angrily, pushing him hard in the chest, pushing him two metres away from you, “fuck you, jisung! i’ve had it. you've done nothing but humiliate and despise me. fuck, why can't you take me seriously for once? am i a joke to you, huh? is that it? do you think i’m so deluded as to cheat on me not just once but five times? do you enjoy watching me being mocked and laughed at behind my back? ‘oh poor girl, her boyfriend cheats on her and she keeps chasing after him like an idiot because she can't stand on her own two feet’!”

at first, your age difference was the reason for thousands of messages and threats directed at you. you were only three years older than him, and he was already an adult, you didn't see the problem, you both loved each other, or so you thought. the comments soon went from ‘old predator whore’ to ‘dumb slutty little girl’. you had to put up with how they came on to your boyfriend, and how he did nothing, smiled and even flirted back. however, when a boy came up to you, he seemed to wake up and didn't hesitate to shoo him away.

“no, that's not true. please, y/n,” he came back to you with a desperate expression on his face, managing to cradle your cheeks again and wipe away the tears you hadn't realised were falling from your eyes, “of course i take you seriously, darling. you're my everything. they're lying, i swear, y/n. i’d never do that to you, you have to believe me.”

you pushed him away from you again, and ran your hands through your hair, tousling it and burying your face in your hands. the moment you looked up again, you found your face reflected in the small mirror of the canterano in the room. a haggard, weak, sultry face. you dropped onto the bed, you were exhausted and you knew that this argument had only just begun.

“enough, enough,” you murmured, holding back the sob that was about to escape your throat, “stop lying, just stop! you don't love me, jisung. you never have and you never will. why do you want to keep me here if all you do is make me suffer?”

“no, that’s not true. i do love you, y/n,” he replied softly, crouching down in front of you until his eyes were level with yours. he brought his hands to yours, but you pulled away and stood up again, laughing bitterly.

“you have a terrible way of loving then,” you said, turning around and reaching for your suitcase, but jisung was quicker and wouldn't let you.

“i’m not letting you leave, not without sorting this out,” he said resolutely, snatching the suitcase from you and setting it in a corner, “it’s after midnight, you're not going out at this hour.”

“so now you care? where were you all those times i had to come home alone in the middle of the night because my boyfriend preferred to cheat on me with someone else?” you asked, moving forward again to grab the suitcase, but he got in the way and grabbed your arm, pulling you away from your things. you tried to pull away, but you knew he wasn't going to let go until you two fixed this, so you decided to continue, “you don't have to worry, there's no one out there who's going to hurt me more than you. you can stay calm.”

“tomorrow you can leave if you want, but tonight you're staying, okay? i can't let you leave at this hour, i’m not gonna let you," the grip on your arm was beginning to intensify, but he released you immediately when he saw the expression of discomfort on your face. he unhesitatingly wrapped you in an embrace and pressed you against his body, stroking your hair and resting his head on top of yours, “please stay, love. stay with me tonight.”

“how many others have you told this to? huh? how many others have you told to stay the night with you?” you asked between whimpers against his chest, clutching the sides of his t-shirt tightly in helplessness, “you treat me like shit, you cheat on me, you humiliate me and then you have the balls to tell me you love me.”

jisung, seeing that his words were having the opposite effect to the one they were intended to have, lifted your face and brought it close to his. he brushed your noses in a gentle but subtle gesture and, caressing the lower part of your eyes, he leaned towards you until your lips made contact.

however, the butterflies in your belly that you once wished would never disappear had, indeed, died. none of them was left. because jisung, with his lies and deceit, had killed them off one by one. until the last one that had remained until tonight couldn’t stand it anymore and vanished just like her sisters, leaving an empty hole in your stomach that resembled the one you had in your heart.

still wide-eyed, you brought your hands to his, which rested on your cheeks, and lowered them. jisung gradually broke the contact of your lips, until finally he rested his forehead on yours and let out an agitated sigh.

“you’re staying, right?” he asked once he’d pulled away from your face, looking at you with sympathetic eyes. but you no longer believed anything, you no longer trusted him.

“what would i gain by staying, jisung? i can’t stand any more humiliation,” you answered with a broken voice, trying with all your might he wouldn’t see you cry again. you hated showing weakness in front of him at times like this. you felt that if you did, he’d won again and you were tired of losing.

“please, y/n, please. you can't do this to me,” he growled desperately when you pulled away from him and went to pick up your suitcase. he tried to catch you when he saw you walking towards the door, but you turned and raised your hand, putting it in front of his face and telling him to shut up.

“i can't do this to you? i’m not the one who sent our relationship to hell, jisung. you decided to flirt with other girls, you decided to make out with them and you alone decided to fuck them. you’re the only son of a bitch here, and i’m not going to put up with you treating me like rubbish anymore,” you finished, taking the keys off your key ring and leaving on the front porch the one that opened the flat that was no longer yours. then, you turned to him and started to memorize all the details of his face, before saying your last goodbye, “have a nice life, han jisung.”

you left that apartment putting an end not only to a relationship, but to a lifestyle that had been destroying you for months. you didn’t know how you were going to overcome everything that had happened, but what you were sure about was that you weren’t going to go back and, evidently, you weren’t going to let anyone else treat you as if you weren’t a human being.

jisung’s punishment would be to wake up and remember everything he had and everything he could have continued to have if he hadn’t screwed everything up. now, when he got home he’d only find a cold and empty apartment. but that didn’t compare to how you’d felt during the last months of your relationship, and now it was his turn to feel the worst that can come from a toxic relationship, helplessness and resentment.

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julieloveupstead · 3 years

Text

"I'm Never Leave You" - Upstead

Chapter 4

- "Detective Rollins," she heard a female voice on the other end.

- "Hello, this is Detective Upton with the Chicago Police Department." - Hailey called the detective who had handled two similar cases to the one she and the team were handling a few years ago.

- "Hello. How can I help you, Detective?"

- "Today we started on a double murder case, similar to the one we found that the state was investigating a few years ago." - she explained to the woman on the other end. In the meantime, Sergeant Platt brought her, the autopsy results of the murdered boys.

- "Which one specifically?" - the voice on the other side pulled her from her reading.

- "It's about the beating, sexual abuse and then murder of two young men. We found drugs in the building with a similar tag. We think the two cases are connected." - Hailey elaborated.

- "And that's how I remember that case. We had a case like that, but we didn't have a suspect. When the son of one of the diplomats was murdered, the FBI took over the investigation, but as far as I know they didn't even catch anyone either. Practically, the investigation came to a standstill." - Detective Rollins said. But listen, email us with what you've found so far, and we'll compare it with ours and let you know." - suggested the Detective on the other end.

- "Okay, we'll send you everything we have right away, and I look forward to hearing from you." - and after a brief goodbye, Hailey hung up.

She went back to reviewing what she got from Trudy and then decided to call the FBI some more, who as Detective Rollins told her had taken over the investigation.

At the same time, Jay in Voight's office. Since the Sergeant wasn't there, he figured nothing would happen if he stayed there for a while, and If the Sergeant returned unexpectedly, Jay didn't care. If anything, after what he found out, he didn't care what opinion he would have of him or how angry he would be with him. As far as Jay was concerned, Voight might not be coming back. Back on the case, Jay had just spoken with an officer from the LAPD, and they also arranged to share information.

After the call, he returned to the bullpen, where Hailey was still talking. He sat down at his desk and watched her. He may have looked like a stalker, but he loved watching Hailey passionately do every single thing, even when they weren't together yet, the passion with which she gave herself to her work was remarkable, and he always appreciated that very much.

Hailey could feel Jay's burning gaze on her from the start and had to really try to keep her attention on what Agent Anderson-Li was saying.

- Jay, don't look at me like that," Hailey whispered as she ended the call.

- How am I looking? - Jay asked in an innocent voice, getting up from his seat and walking over to Hailey's desk.

- Well, like this - she pointed her hand at him. Jay sat down on her desk as usual.

- What do you mean? - he asked again, leaning over her.

- Like I'm your whole world - she whispered huskily.

- I can't help it if you're my whole world, Angel. - he whispered back.

Hailey gazed into his eyes and saw the loving look in his eyes until her heart beat a thousand times more, and if it wasn't for the fact that she was sitting, she was sure that she would have fallen intimidated by such great affection. She felt like she would never get used to how much Jay loved her.

For many years, she thought she didn't deserve to have a guy love her for who she was. Her father had admirably proven that for many years of her teenage life, and then the guys she'd been with when they found out what baggage she had left her behind. The exception was Garrett, but before things could get serious with him, he died at the hands of Booth and now that she's with Jay she can't believe that after everything he's learned about her and everything she's done he's still here looking at her with the same tender, loving and lustful eyes.

Since the day they started being together, Hailey thinks she's been dreaming and doesn't for the hell of it ever want to wake up from it.

- Jay, please don't say that - she couldn't help but have fears in addition to all the wonderful emotions she was feeling. Because what does he really see in her? After all, she's no one special. And after what had happened a few days ago, and not only that, all her pushback to cross the boundaries of the law, it all didn't look to her advantage. She was broken, and she knew that Jay accepted her like this 100 or even 200%, but she couldn't quell the fear that someday Jay would finally realize that there was nothing to glue together, or would he just be tired of it all and just walk away?

She used to think that the thing that kept her from telling Jay how I felt about him was the fear that he wouldn't feel the same way about her, but now she thought it was the fear that she would finally realize how complicated it really was and his leaving.

- Hailey...

- Guys, I found the owners of the house where we found these two boys. - Adam entered the bullpen, preventing Jay from finishing. They both turned towards him and waited for further information from their friend. - The owners are Margaret and Joseph Tremblay. - He walked over to the board and pinned up a photo, then walked over to the two detectives and gave them some cards. - Two years ago Margaret died after a months-long battle with cancer, shortly afterwards Joseph left for a retirement home. They had no children. - He explained.

- And do you know who he sold it to? - Jay asked.

- No one, Joseph was just renting it out, not to some Richard West guy. - replied Adam. - And I checked that no one with that name had rented the house recently. - He added when he saw the questioning look from his friends.

- So he was cheated? - asked Hailey.

- It seems so. - answered Adam. - The only question is by whom - said Jay.

- 'Okay Adam, we'll wait for Kevin and for Sergeant Smith and Officer Wilson, and we'll be done for the day, because we probably won't find one today anyway. - Jay sat down at his desk.

- Adam, do you know anything about Kim? - Hailey dared to ask her friend.

- 'Mhmm, her parents are sitting by her, and her sister texted me that her condition is stable, but the doctors are afraid to wake her up yet. - He replied, sitting down in his seat. Jay and Hailey looked worriedly at Adam, who, though he tried to hold back, had tears in his eyes. - I'm so scared for her. - He hid his face in his hands.

The pair of detectives looked at each other. They felt very sorry for their friend. Hailey knew exactly what the friend was talking about. After all, it had been over a year ago that Hailey had been in his shoes, and she remembered well the fear when she found out Jay had been kidnapped, and then waiting in the hospital waiting room for him to get some information and for him to finally wake up. It was like a nightmare. For months, she couldn't shake the images of Jay full of blood lying on the concrete floor and even to this day in her nightmares reliving it all over again.

She stood up and put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed in a gesture of support that Adam needed so much right now. Adam nodded in acknowledgement, Hailey smiled some more and went to the coffee room with a mug in her hand.

However, instead of making coffee, memories entered her head. She thought she had gotten over it, that she had accepted what had happened and moved on, but apparently this whole thing with Kim had caused the unwanted memories to return.

When Jay went missing, the worst part was the fear of not knowing where to look and that going around in circles was awful, and then the thoughts of whether she would make it in time or see him again. She was also angry with herself that something like this had happened, and until now she could not forgive herself that she had let such a situation happen at all. And when she finally managed to find him and saw his battered face her heart was breaking, but the fact that she found him beaten and bloody but alive helped give hope that all was not lost yet, that maybe they still had a chance. When Jay said he still had to come back for Angel, she barely held back the tears that started to appear at the corners of her eyes because it was all him. Jay Halstead, a man with a huge heart who always thinks of others first and himself last, even if it would cost him his life. And just when she thought the worst was behind her, it got worse. And waiting in that bloody room in the hospital waiting for any information about his condition and the emerging thoughts that this would be the last time she would see him was even worse. That's why he knows exactly what he might be experiencing right now.

Because knowing that the person you love so much is suffering, and you don't know if this is the last time you will see this person, is indescribable. Those things that you were afraid to tell him about, you may now not even have the chance to say anymore.

She closed the door and sat down on the couch. She brought her knees to her chest and just let go. She doesn't know at what point tears started streaming down her cheeks, and she didn't know if she was crying because of the memories, or because of Kim, or because of what happened in that damn warehouse, or maybe because of everything at once. She had to admit to herself that she felt tired of keeping herself in check in front of everyone, but most of all herself. She was already sick of it all. She felt a complete confusion in her head and did not know what she should do now. She knew that she would not be able to stand this way for long, that finally, after so many years, she had reached the limit of her endurance and did not know how to turn back.

When Hailey closed the door behind her, Jay still looked after her for a moment. He was worried, and he was worried a lot. He knew that the memories from over 1.5 years ago had to come back to her now because of Kim. Until now, Jay couldn't forgive himself for what he had done. When he was sitting in that basement and when they beat him and then after he was shot, his only thought was Hailey and her smile and how she would be mad at him. After that, he promised himself that he would never let something like that happen, that he would never let Hailey suffer. That's why he was so hurt by what Voight had done to her.

- Is Hailey okay? - Adam pulled him out of his thoughts.

- Mhmm, this whole Kim kidnapping thing has cost everyone a lot. - Jay didn't know how much he should say or if he should say anything at all, so he answered evasively. Adam just nodded.

- I remember when you were missing and Hailey was losing her mind. If it wasn't for her and what she did, I don't know if we would have found you. - Jay was puzzled by his friend's words and didn't know what to say, just stared at his companion.

He had never wondered how they had found him, he didn't know the need to revisit the subject. He was afraid that it would bring back bad memories and for him and most of all for Hailey, who he knew was going through a lot. - I know Hailey won't dare to do this, but I know her and I know that she loves you very much, you know that? - After a moment of silence Adam spoke again and again the honesty of his friend's words clobbered him. Now that he and Hailey were together to know that this wonderful person loved him was surreal, but in a positive sense of course, but when he heard it from an outsider, a person who doesn't even know they're together, it made his heart beat harder.

- I... Emm - Jay didn't know what he should say now, not to give too much away, and he was tempted to say out loud that he knew and that they were together, but he knew it wasn't something he should say himself.

- Jay - Desk Sergeant Platt came into the bullpen, delivering Jay from further conversation. Both men looked in her direction. - Nathan Robertson's parents had just arrived.

- Adam, will you come with me? - Jay looked at his friend, who nodded without hesitation. Before going downstairs, Jay took another look at the door to the break room where Hailey was staying and then approached Sergeant Platt. - Trudy, can I have a request? - The older woman just nodded, waiting for the young police officer to finally say something. - Could you sit with Hailey for a moment? - he asked quietly so that Adam, who was waiting for him by the stairs, could come over. Although he knew Hailey wanted to be alone, he didn't know if that was a good idea.

- Did something happen? - The Sergeant asked herself, surprised by her subordinate's request and most surprised by his worried look.

- You could say that. Serge, Hailey probably won't want to talk and will want to push you away but ... - He paused and looked away from Serge and looked in the direction his girlfriend was and then again at the older woman who was looking at him with a worried look. He realized suddenly that he trusted the woman standing across from him more than anyone on this command, much like Hailey, for whom Trudy was an important authority figure, and that was the only reason he'd dared after asking the Sergeant. - There's been a lot going on lately, and I'm just worried about her and I know she trusts you Serge like no one else and I trust you too. Hailey needs someone like you right now. - It was the first time he dared to say such a personal thing.

- Of course I'll sit with her. - Sergeant Platt hadn't been as moved by Jay's words in a long time as she was at that moment. The way Jay was worried about Hailey was heartwarming. It was the first time Trudy had seen, Jay so in love, and she was so happy that both of her best men were now happy.

- Thank you - Jay was grateful and sent the Sergeant a slight smile before joining his friend.

- Jay - before they went downstairs, though, Platt stopped them for another moment. - She almost forgot, I managed to identify the other boy. His name was Harry Bartel. He grew up in an orphanage and then was sent to a reformatory for theft and battery, where he had just met Robertson. - Jay nodded his head in understanding in passing, and then he and Adam finally went downstairs to the dead boy's parents.

Left alone, Trudy walked up to the locked room where she knocked on the closed door, and when she heard a quiet "please" after a moment, she entered.

Hailey was sitting on the couch and when she looked at the Desk Sergeant entering the room, she quickly wiped her wet cheeks and tried for a warm smile, but unfortunately a grimace came out.

- What's up, Trudy? - she said in a voice hoarse from crying, which she tried to mask with a grunt.

- Hailey, what's going on? - Trudy immediately noticed that she must have been crying, which immediately worried her.

- I don't know what you're talking about. - Hailey tried her best to sound normal and hide everything, hoping that the Sergeant would let it go. However, seeing the expression on the older woman's face, she knew she wouldn't succeed.

- Hailey, who are you trying to fool? - Platt sat down next to her subordinate and watched her vigilantly, sitting down at the table so that she could look at her. - Your boyfriend said it would be like this. - The older woman laughed, causing a puzzled look on Hailey's face.

- Did you talk to Jay? - Hailey asked herself in disbelief at the Desk Sergeant's words.

- Chuckles just confirmed what I've been seeing for the past few weeks, and I'm not talking about you, I mean what's going on with you. - She looked at her with a watchful, bone-penetrating gaze, making Hailey feel as if the older woman was reading her mind.

- Serge, it's all right, really - Upton tried again to convince the woman sitting next to her, and above all herself, that nothing was going on, but to no avail. With all her might, she did not want to let on that it was wrong, that something was going on. It's enough that he sees her so broken all the time, and that shouldn't be the case. Hailey doesn't like to show her weakness, that something hurts her, that there are millions of demons swirling around in her head that she can't deal with.

- You're a lot like me, you know? - said Platt in reply to Hailey, who was surprised by her words and waited for her to elaborate further. - From an early age I was taught that emotions are weakness, that if I am not tough, that if I show even the slightest weakness I will get nowhere. So I was like that at work and at home, which meant I was alone most of my life, but I didn't care too much because I worked in the police force, which was my dream, so as long as everything was going well professionally I didn't care that I had no boyfriend, no friends. At work, this frigidity helped me to survive in a world dominated by men. But then it started to bother me and when Mouch came into my life, everything changed. - It was a surprise that the Sergeant entrusted her with such private matters. She didn't really know why the older woman was telling her all this. - Look, Hailey, I'm not going to get you to confess to me, but I do want to tell you that if you want to talk to someone, and you don't necessarily want to tell Detective Chuckles, you know where to find me. - she assured Trudy.

Those words touched Hailey deeply. She closed her eyes and let out two deep breaths to calm herself. She wanted to tell Sergeant Platt the whole truth about what happened that day in that damn warehouse, but she was afraid that not only would she lose her job, but that Jay and the rest of the team would get in trouble, and she couldn't let that happen.

- Trudy, I appreciate your frowning at the truth, but I can handle it. - She turned her face towards the Sergeant. - But if something were to happen, or I wanted to talk, I know where to report. - she sent the woman a grateful smile.

- Okay - Trudy nodded, knowing she wouldn't convince Hailey to confide in her.

- Oh shit - Hailey looked at the clock hanging on the wall - I should send the documents to New York. - She stood up abruptly and without waiting for the Sergeant, she left the break room to meet Jay and Adam entering the bullpen at the same time.

- Do you guys have anything? - she immediately asked the men while crossing her arms over her chest.

- Nothing in particular. - Ruzek was the first to speak up.

- 'I don't understand how you can turn your back on your own kid,' snorted Jay as he dodged Hailey and sat down in his seat.

- What do you mean? - Hailey asked, looking at her boyfriend.

- Robertson was 15 when he first went to juvie and since then his parents had forgotten about him, and now they didn't even shed a single tear. Disbelieving. - Hailey could see that Jay was angry, at these people, and she wasn't surprised at all. She herself couldn't fathom why parents did so much evil to their children, it was incomprehensible. She walked over to Jay and put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in a gesture of support. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, Hailey smiled slightly assuring Jay that she was fine and that she didn't need to worry, Jay returned the smile.

- 'What about Kevin? - Hailey asked, stepping slightly away from Jay.

- And with me, two pieces of information - as if on cue, Kevin appeared in the bullpen. - First of all - he went straight to the board and started to explain what he had found. - There are no drugs in our warehouses with that tag, nor any narcotics cop any dealer dealing the same amphetamine we found in that house.

- But? - spoke up Hailey sensing that Kevin was not telling all.

- But one of my informants heard some time ago that a big player had recently appeared in town, but he doesn't know who it is. He said as soon as he finds out something, he'll let you know.

- And that's all you've agreed on for five hours? - said a sergeant from the Homicide and Burglary department with a commanding tone, appearing out of nowhere together with his subordinate, who Hailey thinks looks at Jay too often.

- I don't understand? - said a visibly irritated Jay, standing next to Hailey.

- I mean, detective, that ...

- Sergeant, is there a problem? - unexpectedly in the room appeared Sergeant Voight and in truth Hailey, really tried, but she couldn't stop herself from violently drawing in air and instinctively moved closer to Jay.

- 'Your people haven't established anything for five hours,' Sergeant Smith explained in a smug voice. She felt Jay's muscles solidify and then felt his hand on her back, at which she instinctively moved even closer to him. She needed to feel the contact with his skin, to feel that he was there because that was the only way she could keep from giving in to the impending panic attack.

- Okay, Jay get all the information together and then you and Hailey will come to me - at that word I swallowed my saliva nervously and felt Jay clench his fists tighter. I stepped back so that my back was touching Jay's chest, to calm my nerves, to keep from being plunged into panic.

She wasn't ready to face their Sergeant yet.

- Sergeant Smith, welcome to my office. - and with that Voight entered his office, followed by the Sergeant from Homicide, to talk behind closed doors.

❁❁❁

- Adam go to the hospital and sit with Kim. - spoke up Jay after some time of work.

- What? - asked a surprised Adam.

- You stare at that phone for 30 minutes - said Hailey, turning towards him.

- Go Kim needs you - added Jay.

- Thank you - Adam started to pack his things and a moment later he was gone.

- You too - Jay turned to Kev.

- Thank you, but I will stay and help you. - protested the officer.

- Okay, whatever you want - replied Jay, shrugging his shoulders. - Hailey - Jay turned to his partner, who looked at him with a questioning expression on her face. - We've already sent everything to New York, and we'll probably have to wait a few hours for an answer anyway, so you can go home. - Come on. I'm not leaving you guys. - she said confidently.

- Hailey - Jay walked over to Hailey and sat down on her desk. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment and communicated only in their own way, without words.

- Jay, Hailey come to me - a grey-haired man leaned out of the office and Hailey regretted her decision to stay on District. Jay put a hand on his girlfriend's shoulder and whispered to her to go home after all, then got up and walked over to the Sergeant.

- Hailey has to do one thing with Kevin, so I'm going to have to suffice you myself,' Jay said in an unobjectionable voice. Hailey could see how angry he was and how hard he tried not to show it in front of her and Kevin, who completely didn't understand what was going on.

Hailey didn't want to go out and leave Jay alone, but on the other hand, she was afraid that she would lose control of her emotions as soon as the door closed behind her and the three of them stayed in that office.

- That's how one of my CIs spoke up, wanting to meet. - Kevin spoke up, trying to support his friends.

- 'Okay, go ahead - Voight spoke up after a moment, then walked into his office, followed by Jay, who closed the door behind him and sent her a smile to let her know that everything was okay. Hailey tried to smile as well, but for some reason she couldn't do it and a grimace came out.

- Come on, Hailey - she was pulled out of the shock she was in by the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

- Yes, I'm coming - she shook her head to get rid of unnecessary thoughts. She quickly gathered her things and a moment later she was already in Kevin's car.

She didn't want to talk and Kevin didn't press the issue, although Hailey could feel his worried look on her and knew he had a lot of questions. She laid her head against the glass and watched the passing streetlights. She closed her eyes and let a few tears run down her cheeks. She knew this was the first time Kevin had seen her like this, but she no longer had the strength to pretend to be strong, and she knew Kevin was one of those people she wasn't ashamed to show emotion around, and she also knew he wouldn't ask any questions if she wasn't comfortable. So now they were driving to her house and in silence, punctuated by street sounds.

#upstead #upstead fanfiction #upstead fic #jay x hailey #jay halstead #hailey upton

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walpurga-nacht-academy · 3 years

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“Any practitioner of magic that’s received even a modicum of training in the field has, at one point or another, heard of the term ‘grimoire’. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, its purpose unknown and the power that it possesses inestimable. However, their prevalence is also fading.

As magic studies become more and more accessible to mages of all walks of life, it is considered futile for witches and warlocks to keep personal tomes of spells and hexes anymore. The uniformization of magical practice has brought about an age in which collaboration between our kind is considered not only beneficial, but also ideal. The practice of taking apprentices is no longer an individual choice that each magician makes for themselves, and thus the need for secrecy - the fear of others invading our most personal matters and thus robbing us of our knowledge has become quite absurd.

Nowadays, grimoires have started to gain a reputation as old-fashioned magical tools, relics of the past or tools of forbidden lore. Less than 200 remain still, collected by the Ministry of Magic’s illustrious archivists and kept in many museums across Twisted Wonderland for easy access to those that seek to expand their knowledge. Yet despite their heavy efforts many of these crucial tomes fall prey to the passage of them, deteriorating as their magic fades away. Preventing the loss of these books is quintessential, if not for us, then for future generations. Thus, many countries have launched conservation projects in order to salvage what is left of our inheritance.

It is due to these projects that my own efforts have not been in vain. For years I have searched all over the world to recover and preserve the eight grimoires which had once belonged to the eight great witches of the Bald Mountain, figures shrouded in such mystery that these books are considered the only valid proof of their existence. They are thick volumes, averaging about 1,000 pages each, something quite unusual for that period, and written in codes and foreign languages that have long passed into obscurity. Translating them required intensive work and research, and even so I was able to conquer only sixty percent of the original text. The rest will be lost to history, I am afraid to say, for there are few people able to interpret the original dialects and signs of these spellbooks.

I hope that in the future there might be somebody more courageous and ingenious than me, who will decipher these tomes in their entirety. There is precious knowledge to be learned from these pages, power that has been lost over time, and power that might help the future. It is thus my request that for every person who reads this book detailing the journey I have taken since I decided fourteen years ago that I must resolve this mystery and prevent it from slipping through the cracks of progress, that you think to dedicate a little bit of time and money to the eminent researchers that still struggle to maintain their memories alive.

In this regard, I would like to dedicate this book to the many people and organizations that have made possible the publication of this volume. First, there is of course the Magical Research Board, The Ministry of Magic and the Magic University who have kindly and dutifully supported me financially. The research grant that they have awarded me with has helped me carry my investigation through several countries, as well as access resources that would have been otherwise impossible for me to make use of.

I would also like to express my gratitude towards the ruling families of the Afterglow Savannah and the Valley of Thorns, for their generosity in allowing me to study the history of their kingdoms in order to better understand the social and political dimensions to two of the witches’ that are said to hail from these places.

I would also like to thank all the translators and historians that have taken time out of their busy schedules to help with my manuscripts - pointing out translation errors, mistakes regarding historical dates and events, or even my continuous use of the word “mystery” of which I am guilty even in my opening chapter I must sadly admit! Thus, I would like to mention among many Miss Line, and her lovely daughter Safia, whose generosity saved my life when I was to drown at sea;

my Lord Duban of the Land of Hot Sands, who enchanted me with tales of viziers and street rats who court princesses;

Nefu, whose knowledge of the low town in the Savannah rivals none, I am sure of that;

Lord Himalia of the Land of Pyroxene whose heart is as great as the acres of land he owns;

old, wise Louisa who welcomed me in her hut before her beloved Cockatrice managed to tear me to shreds;

my dear friend Daphne, whose courage is greater than even the rage of a Kerberos breed when it sees its owner attacked;

Thursday, who proved to the world that despite their short stature dwarves should not be taken lightly after all;

and General Vanrouge, whose skill with the sword is as unmatched as the knowledge he possesses. To all of them, I would like to express my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude for the help they have given me. It is truly unmistakable that good friends are more valuable than a thousand golden statues!

Though they are departed, I wish to thank my parents as well, for having instilled in me such good morals and values. I am eternally grateful to all your guidance and love, and hope that you rest safely above in the sky.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my dearest Alkin, who is first among familiars and friends alike. His companionship and experience has proven to be invaluable to me during my travels, and there are no words to express the warmth with which I regard my beloved brother.”

- Introduction to Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

Grimoire of the Rose

In the sea I used to be a poet.

You do not believe me. That is alright. I understand. My speech is stilted. My pauses are long. My mind, once sharp and swift as the marlin’s gait, now always searches its corners for words that came easily before. I have forgotten them all now. I glance around with wild eyes. The vastness around us scares me.

You think, ‘Ah, this woman is not well.’ And perhaps you are right.

You think, ‘She must have suffered greatly.’ That is not so.

Please do not pity me. I do not deserve it.

As all fools I’ve made peace with myself.

As all wise men I wish to warn others.

Forgive me. Speaking in your tongue is hard for me. But please bear it. I would like to tell you my story. It is not long or sad. Just short and silly. You will surely laugh as you read it. That is alright. I wish you would laugh. It eases my soul when I hear others laugh. It reminds me of the ocean.

But I wish to tell you my story. Please listen.

It starts with a beautiful princess born in a wealthy kingdom.

No, that princess is not me. I was born on the shore, among the sand and shells, under the great night sky. I have never seen a palace, nor worn a gown. I have heard that they are beautiful. Princesses wear them at balls, with golden slippers and dance away the night. This princess must have worn one too. She must have been very beautiful. And loved. All beautiful women are loved.

No, I do not know what made her beautiful. I have never seen her. But I like to imagine it must have been so. It helps me rest.

As I said, my story starts with a princess born in a wealthy kingdom. She was her father’s only child, a sweet, delicate girl with fair hair and golden eyes.

Yes, I am lying now. For I never laid eyes on her. I say these things because it helps me rest.

I am repeating myself? Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult for me. I wish to tell you my story. Will you listen?

My story starts with a beautiful child, born to a widowed king, who paid three gold pieces to the undertaker to build a temple over his wife’s grave, where he went to pray every evening. I do not know why humans built temples. My kind does not.

I have asked him, but he did not know either.

He loved her too. They all did. She was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. I was loved too. I was beautiful too.

My story starts with the birth of a beautiful child, whose father built a temple ashore the land where my mother had borne me. It was the darkest night she had ever seen, and the stars shone bright. My mother cried as I came out, small and pink and weeping. I was so small I fit in her arms with ease. She was frightened I would die of cold. She bundled me up and ran to the sea.

You think it’s strange. That is alright. Forgive me. I will explain.

My mother ran with me to the sea, for my father was giving chase. She reached the waters before he had a chance to grab her. That is as well. For if he did, he would have pulled my mother’s skin away.

Yes, my father loved my mother. All men love us. They cannot help it. It is their sin.

He found her upon the beach and took her to his hut and made her his wife. She bore him sons, I don’t know how many for I never asked, and then me. My father’s world came crashing down upon him. My mother wept with joy. When I came she knew Mother Sea would welcome her back. She bore me upon the shore so that Mother would bear witness.

When mother’s feet touched the water, she had already been gone. I do not know if my father followed. I think he must have not. Mother Sea does not welcome his kind. You cannot breathe when Mother holds you. That is very pitiful.

Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult.

There are no men among us. It is only us and Mother. She loves us deeply and we love her. And the men that Mother hates also love us. It is a difficult love. No, I do not know if we love the men too. We must love them. We swim every year to the shore to take our skin off and be like them - the human women that they love. And they love us too. Because we are more beautiful than their women.

Forgive me.

They love us, and they desire us. They take our skins and bring us to their sheds and take us in their beds. We bear them sons and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. We cannot help but love them. No, it is not love. It is love. Your tongue is very difficult.

We love them and we love them. We must, for Mother no longer loves us when we love the men. She does not recognize us anymore. She cannot hold us when she doesn’t know who we are. She is frightened of us then. So we love the men because we cannot love Mother anymore. We miss Mother. But she doesn’t miss us.

It is very pitiful.

When we are human we cannot love Mother, so we wait for daughters to be born so she will love us again. No, only daughters. Never sons. Mother does not love our sons. They cannot see or hear Mother. But daughters - us - we can. I heard Mother before I had been born. She sang to me of the sea foam, and the waves and of my mother’s skin and where my father hid it. I told my mother this. She dug the chest buried underneath the juniper tree with her bare hands as I sang to her. She was crying because she heard Mother’s voice in mine.

I do not know what happened to my father. I have never returned to that shore. I have never met my brothers. I do not wish to. Mother does not either. She told me to be careful. She held me to her breast as we watched the angelfish, and told me to never go to the land of men and take off my skin. She told me to keep away.

But it was a waste. She knew this. We must go to the shore every year. We must take off our skin.

My mother did so the next year as well. I never saw her again. She must have been found by another man. That is as well. I would soon follow in her footsteps.

My story starts with the birth of a fair child, beloved by all, and especially by the young poet who wished to marry her. He was a handsome man, but he was poor. This is unfortunate in your land. Forgive me.

Why did he love the princess? Because she was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved.

Yes, all beautiful things must be loved.

Why?

Because they are beautiful. That is all.

The poet loved this princess because she was beautiful, but she did not love him because he was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

Yes, I loved the poet too. Because he was beautiful. No, I did not love him. I loved him. Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish you could understand.

He did not understand either. Though he was a poet. It was odd. He told me he could not hear me sing when I spoke, and did not hear me speak when I sang. But Mother hears us. She hears me and my sisters as we sing-speak and speak-sing to her. Only Mother can hear us.

But still I loved him.

Yes. No, I did not love him. Please understand.

I sang to him under the night sky and he kissed my lips. I spoke to him about love and he kissed my cheeks. He loved me on the shore until dawn. No, it was love, not love. Forgive me.

When Mother released the sun from her hold, he kissed my eyelids. He had beautiful lips. I loved them dearly. He was a beautiful man. All beautiful things must be loved.

He did not take me for his wife. He loved the princess.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

I am repeating myself. Please understand.

‘You are taking my skin,’ I told him. ‘You are taking my skin. What will I do without my skin? Mother won’t take me back without my skin.’

‘Forgive me.’

He spoke so sweetly. Do you understand? All beautiful things must be loved.

‘The princess of this land - I love her dearly. I wish to marry her. But I am poor. I am not worthy. I wish to be worthy. The princess - she wishes for a coat more beautiful than the sunrise. I have searched this land - from the mountain to the sea, from the fields to the hills, but I have not found a coat more beautiful than yours.’

‘I cannot give you my skin,’ I told him. ‘You must take me as your wife. I cannot give you my skin for another. I must have my skin to return to Mother.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids - and then he was gone. He took my skin to the princess. She loved it dearly. She loved him dearly. They were to be married within the year. She wore my skin as her veil. It was a beautiful veil. It was a beautiful wedding.

All beautiful things must be loved.

I gave chase. Yes, I did. I followed after him - my husband.

I called to him. But he did not stop.

I wept for him. But his heart did not yield.

I wept for Mother. But she could not hear me.

I wept for our Master. He said I was a fool to trust the word of man. He thundered. He roared. He drove me away with arrows made of fire and spiteful words. He did not care. He did not listen.

Please listen.

I wish to tell you my story.

There was once a child born upon the land where a temple was built with just three gold coins. This child was so beautiful that when she spoke, the birds would listen to hear her song. When she danced, the ground would soften underneath her feet so no harm would come upon her. When she smiled, the sun bowed so it would not deter from her beauty.

He loved her. She scorned him. He was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

I loved him. He loved her. I loved him and loved him.

Your tongue - forgive me.

She came to me upon the shore.

All beautiful things must be loved.

My husband - he left me upon the shore. He took my skin and left. He loved the princess. I loved him.

I wanted to return to Mother. But Mother did not love me anymore. She did not hold me. She could not hold me. I wept. Mother’s arms - they seemed to wrap around my throat. I could not breathe.

She came to me upon the shore. My Lady.

My sisters - they tore away their skin. A leg, an arm, a breast, an ear - they had sewn it all together. They gave the coat to me. They said Mother would hold me now.

She did not. She could not.

I loved Mother. I loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved Her.

She could not love me. He did not love me. She did not love him.

They were to be married within the year.

It was a beautiful wedding.

It was a beautiful veil.

‘My skin,’ I said. ‘My skin, my skin, my skin - You must take me as your wife.’

‘I do not love you.’

‘You must. Mother does not love me anymore. You must.’

His roots went deep. They touched her mother’s grave. They touched my mother’s grave.

He loved her. She loved him. No, not love. Love.

Please understand.

All men love us. It is their sin. We must love them too, when Mother no longer loves us.

Please understand.

‘My child, my rose,’ she spoke. Her eyes were so sweet. I wept. She kissed my eyelids. She kissed my tears. All beautiful things must be loved.

I loved him. I let him bloom. I gave him light. I gave him water. I fetched it every day from the well and watched him grow. My husband.

It was a beautiful wedding.

‘My child, my rose, my sweetest heart.’

She held me. Mother could not hold me. She held me and kissed me and loved me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

‘I do not love you,’ my husband lied. ‘I cannot love you. I do not want to love you. Please understand.’

All men love us. It is their sin.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

I am repeating myself.

Forgive me.

They take us from the shore into their huts and into their beds. We bear them children and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. And wait for daughters to be born.

Every year he gave me blossoms. I crushed them underneath my feet. He fed on my blood.

I loved him. And I loved her. And I loved Mother. And I loved her.

‘My child,’ she kissed me. ‘My rose,’ she kissed me. ‘My sweetest heart,’ she kissed me.

I sheath myself in wicked thorns and sing of my Lady’s love.

Please listen. Please understand.

My mother’s grave. Her mother’s grave.

He took her into his hut and into his bed. He took her into the garden and stripped her of her skin. He hid it underneath the juniper tree where mother heard me sing.

All men must love us. It is their sin.

She was a beautiful child. He was a dutiful king. He paid three gold pieces for the temple. It was made of stone and wood and the bed inside it was warm.

They take us from the shore and into their beds.

I loved him. He died in spring. I burned him. I kissed the ashes.

Mother would not listen.

Mother could not understand.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

Your tongue is very difficult.

I wish to tell you my story.

Please listen.

Notes

“Translating this introductory part of the grimoire has proven to be by far the easiest part of my endeavour, as there has not been much to translate at all. It seems that unlike her sisters, the Witch of the Rose wrote in the common tongue of that time, which fortunately for me is not very different from our current one. Line tells me this might be because the language of the selkie has no written form. In fact, its complexity is so great, no written form could properly capture its beauty.

It is an interesting notion to me, a student with meagre interest in languages, at the very least before I become employed in this project. There is no proper way to prove this, however, as according to what Line tells me, she can barely remember even the few things she picked up from her grandmother. It is so with every selkie that lives on land for too long - slowly they forget the tongue of Mother Sea (an ancient pagan deity, I believe) and learn the tongue of their husbands. Line herself seems to remember mostly old songs that she teaches to little Safia too so she can remember her ancestors even a little. She tells me they are the last ones.

Line’s great-great-grandmother was taken from the sea by her husband as well - a practice which was considered normal back in the day - and as she never managed to have any daughters was forced to live the rest of her life on this foreign land. She tells me this story with a sort of melancholic detachment as she brushes her daughter’s long, golden hair. This is standard for their species it seems - all daughters have golden hair and golden eyes which makes them look terrible and inviting to the men that come across them.

Line also tells me that the selkie language has over 34 words to express ‘love’. She says that the witch must have been trying to capture them all as she wrote down her confession, but she can only remember a few of the ones her grandmother taught her. Thus, there is ‘love gleaned from above the sea foam’, ‘love that is realized by the stroke of midnight’, ‘love which blooms only at the wake of dawn’, ‘love which burns one as they feel it’ which is different from ‘love that scorches one as they let go of it’. She does not know the word for the love felt for one’s husband, but she tells me that the love for one’s daughter is translated as ‘love for a budding flower which blooms on the bottom of the ocean’.

She tells me all this with a mournful look - the expression of a woman who knows that when she passes there will be a little less of her legacy left. The grimoire that I show her has a shell accessory on the cover that when opened produces the most beautiful melody in the world. When I showed Line this she started weeping and once she calmed down she explained that it was the same song that her grandmother used to sing when she was little. I believe it must be an old folk song, though she cannot confirm it for me, since she admits that there are barely any words that she recognizes. Though she can tell with some certainty that it is a song of forgiveness - that the witch is begging her mother to welcome her back to the sea. Little Safia listened to the song as well, but I could tell that beyond the soothing melody nothing stuck out to her at all. It broke Line’s heart.

I stayed there for almost two months learning what I could about the selkie. It did Line good too since she felt that even if she were to die, little Safia and her children would not be robbed of her heritage. I was touched by this sentiment - so much that I swore that once I have finished my business collecting and translating the grimoires I would make sure to amass in one volume the entirety of Line’s teachings during the time they graciously let me stay there.”

- Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

“It has now been more than ten years since I have made that promise, which I have managed to keep after all. If you were to look in any library right now, dear reader, you might spy tucked away in one of the shelves a little book of no more than 100 pages, more than half filled with illustrations and drawings, while the other half is full of songs and poems and little phrases that Line shared with me as we sat huddled around the fire at night. I’ve been told it is a commercial failure - that nobody but the most dedicated anthropologists give it more than a glance. But it does not matter to me. It took four years for the 100 copies to sell. I have recently ordered 100 more.

To others these books might be nothing more than curiosities, oddities, a change of reading material - but it is not so. Not in the slightest. These are the words and experiences of a woman whose ancestry has been erased almost entirely and plunged into obscurity. By no means can I simply let her life or history be disregarded in such a manner. Especially now since I am the only one left fighting.

It was two years after I departed from Line’s house that I received a letter from the young lord who oversaw the village she lived in. I was in the midst of a lesson with Old Woman Louisa when I was informed that due to a tragic accident little Safia lost her life at sea, followed three months later by her mother who died of grief. I was left numb by the news - barely registering it at all and inconsolable for weeks after. I had to leave Louisa’s abode as my mourning made the beasts under her care uneasy, and with no goal in mind simply proceeded forward to the Isle of Lamentation. A fitting spot to vent my grief.

I have had the good mind to send the young lord a letter asking him to keep the hut in which they lived in good condition, and returned there two years after my travels ended. It is now a museum, my dear reader, dedicated to Line, Safia and all the women who suffered at the hands of their destiny by being taken from their home to live on these strange lands. The last that will even suffer this destiny, for Line and Safia’s deaths did not mark merely the loss of two great souls and hearts from the world, but also the loss of an entire species. There are no more selkie that roam the ocean, and if there are any on land they must have long forgotten they even were.

To them I wish to dedicate this small volume that I have compiled, relying on the memory of the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my life, and the innocence of the sweetest little girl that I have had the good fortune of knowing.

May their souls rest among the stars, free of pain and suffering, curled in Mother Sea’s bosom.”

- Songs of Mother Sea: A Short Guide to the History of Selkie Culture Through Poems and Music

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #astra selene #witch of the rose #selkie #twist #twisute #twist oc #twisute oc #fanmade lore #twisted wonderland fanschool #walpurga nacht academy #the little mermaid #postmodern fairytale #fractured fairytale

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oceangenasi · 4 years

Text

My Merthur Playlist

I spend so much time making myself sad with my Merlin/Arthur playlist that I decided to share it and make you all sad too!

Heavy on the pining and sadness, but also on the beauty & deep love in their relationship 🥺🥰😭

When the Day Met the Night - Panic! At the Disco // gold rush - Taylor Swift // Only Love - Mumford & Sons // King And Lionheart - Of Monsters & Men // The Energy Never Dies - The Script // I Will Wait - Mumford & Sons // Shrike - Hozier // A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

Commentary below the cut!

1. "When the Day Met the Night" by Panic! At the Disco

When the moon fell in love with the sun / All was golden in the sky / All was golden when the day met the night

Yes, it’s literally the Dynamic. Sue me. I titled a fic after this song because like, the color symbolism?? Gold is the best of Arthur: his crown, his sigil. And gold is the best of Merlin: his magic. Gold is the best of them, formed when they come together.

When the moon found the sun / He looked like he was barely hanging on / But her eyes saved his life

How many times have Merlin’s golden eyes saved Arthur’s life?

As long as you can make a promise / not to break my little heart / And leave me all alone

In the song, this is the only condition the moon makes for giving her love to the sun. And it’s all Merlin wanted, was for Arthur to stay with him. But he left anyway :(

Well he was just hanging around / Then he fell in love / And he didn’t know how / But he couldn’t get out

I fully believe Arthur didn’t mean to fall in love with Merlin. It happened by accident and before he even noticed it himself.

2. "gold rush" by Taylor Swift

Everybody wants you ... What must it be like / to grow up that beautiful?

I imagine this song as Merlin pining after Arthur, who is charismatic and beautiful and beloved. Especially in their early relationship when he’s like. This guy is a jerk and I hate that I’m falling in love with him.

And the coastal town / We never found will never / See a love as pure as it / 'Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea / 'Cause it will never be

The pining energy!! They didn’t get to run away and live a peaceful farming life together. Depending on how closely you read canon, it’s possible they never even kissed. I think a lot about Merlin’s yearning and his grief, carried around with him for years.

3. "Only Love" by Mumford & Sons

Courtesy of @merlinoutofcontext and her gorgeous Merthur x Mumford & Sons playlist.

Alone again / Didn't they say that only love will win in the end

Do you know how emo I am about how lonely Merlin is? The answer is very. Merlin is full of so much love and gives it to so many people, and they die and he just has to continue on, alone with his grief and his secrets.

And I hunger and I thirst / For some shiver / For some whispered words / And the promise to come

Merlin’s magic and his love for Arthur can often be read as twin secrets. He’s waiting to confess, he’s afraid of how Arthur will react. He wants so badly, but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have what and whom he longs for.

I didn't fool you but I failed you / In short, made a fool out of you

I kind of love how bad Merlin is at lying. This definitely seems like something he’d say about himself and Arthur, even if I don’t think it’s true. Arthur is more angry about the lies than the sorcery, in the end. It’s about the broken trust!

4. "King And Lionheart" by Of Monsters & Men

Howling ghosts, they reappear / in mountains that are stacked with fear

Did they... write this song about the show? They didn’t, but ghosts and fear-filled mountains are both things the boys have dealt with many times.

And as the world comes to an end / I’ll be here to hold your hand / Cause you’re my king / And I’m your lionheart

This line absolutely undoes me. Merlin, holding Arthur, at the end of it all. His bravery, his magic... it’s all for Arthur. Only for him.

5. "The Energy Never Dies" by The Script

We could all be dead tomorrow / but our love will carry on / When you know your days are numbered / And you’re looking in my eyes / It’s not the end / Because the energy never dies

A major theme on this playlist, because it makes me go feral: their love for each other will live on beyond their first, mortal lives. Merlin carries that love with him for years, when it’s all he has left of Arthur.

There’s no where / There’s no when / There’s no start / There’s no end / Cause this love / It transcends / I found you before / And I’ll find you again

Song choice was inspired by this photoset by @thesongofvillains, which I am never not thinking about.

6. "I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons

These days of dust / which we’ve known / will blow away / with this new sun

So I really could just copy-paste this whole song but like. This bit is about Arthur becoming king after Uther’s death. A little “son” vs. “sun” punnery too? :)

So break my step and relent / You forgave, and I won’t forget

I literally wrote a fic about these two lines. Arthur rejects Merlin initially after the magic reveal, but then he forgives him. And Merlin loves him for it.

Now I’ll be bold / as well as strong ... A tethered mind / free from the lies

Magic! Reveal!

Paint my spirit gold ... I will wait for you

Merlin’s magic is gold, and it’s for Arthur. He’ll wait for centuries.

7. "Shrike" by Hozier

I couldn’t utter my love when it counted / Ah, but I’m singing like a bird ‘bout it now / I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted ... The words hung above / but never would form / like a cry at the final / breath that is drawn

Arthur, dying in Merlin’s arms, unable to say everything he needs to... he only has time to say “thank you,” which is more important than confessing his love. Could also see "couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted” being about Arthur’s failure to legalize magic and bring about the Golden Age that Merlin dreamed he would.

Remember me, love / when I’m reborn

Unlike most of the songs on this list, this one is Arthur to Merlin, asking him to wait and remember. And he will.

8. "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri

How to be brave? / How can I love when I'm afraid to fall? / But watching you stand alone / All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

Merlin is full of fear -- for himself, for Arthur -- but every time Arthur does something amazing and inspirational like the Round Table or his speech at Camlann, Merlin’s standing there with all the love in his eyes, shining outward from him.

And all along I believed I would find you / Time has brought your heart to me / I have loved you for a thousand years / I’ll love you for a thousand more

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa??? Merlin walking the earth for 1500 years, believing Arthur will rise to return to him? He means these lines very literally.

#merthur #merthur playlist #bbc merlin #merlin/arthur #merlin x arthur #op #arthurpendragonns #merlinedit

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little-chattes · 3 years

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Ok so I’ve done a complete re-read through and one thing that kept nagging at me was how little Gideon and Harrow’s relationship makes sense given its quite frankly abusive origins. Harrow spends her whole life making Gideon’s a living hell and Gideon just… forgives her. Total and complete forgiveness for an irredeemable girl.

At first I took the sudden shift in their relationship as lazy writing to rush along the end of the story, but that didn't make any sense either. Muir strikes me as an intensely purposeful writer. Then I remembered that Muir is also an intensely Catholic writer and it hit me. Muir isn’t writing a story about a healthy human relationship, oh no, she’s writing a story about Christ’s relationship with The Church… if Christ was a sword toting butch lesbian and The Church was a sardonic bone witch. Call it tender blasphemy.

Now Gideon’s role as a Christ figure is fairly easy to parse out given that her dad is… God. But for the sake of self indulgence (I have to put my 15 year long flirtation with Christianity to use somehow) I’m going to go through all the parallels anyway. There are a LOT of them.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Miraculous Conception

Luke 1:34-38

34 But Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I [e]am a virgin?” 35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason also the [f]holy Child will be called the Son of God.

Gideon is conceived by artificial means when one of God’s own servants (Mercy) delivers a sample of John’s genetic material to Wake, a ‘normal’ human woman who chooses to carry Gideon in her womb. Notably, the sample lives far beyond its point of expected viability, thus making the conception somewhat miraculous (“Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact” HTN 441).

The Cuckold

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the [a]Messiah was as follows: when His mother Mary had been [b]betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, since he was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her, planned to [c]send her away secretly.

Gideon the First decides not to kill his lover, Wake, and releases her out the airlock (AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE SAW ME AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME” from Harrow’s vision of Wake’s note, HTN 124) just as Joseph took pity on Mary, his betrothed, by deciding to divorce her quietly instead of making her infidelity public which would condemn her to death by public stoning (Deuteronomy 22:21). Gideon the First knew that Wake was pregnant and didn’t tell John because he thought the baby was his. Similarly, Joseph goes on to raise Jesus as his own son.

The Birth

Luke 2:7

And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a [f]manger, because there was no [g]room for them in the inn.

Neither baby Jesus nor baby Gideon were given a proper cradle, one being laid to rest in a manger where the animals ate and the other stuffed in a transplant bio-container (GTN 23).

The Dead Children

16 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

King Herod intends to kill the prophesied King of the Jews and instead of finding the specific baby, he just has a bunch of them slaughtered. However, Jesus escapes the slaughter of the innocents by Herod when his parents secret him away to Egypt.

When the great aunts gas the nursery and kill the 200, Gideon is meant to die along with them but escapes her fate.

Now this event has a completely different biblical connotation for Harrow.

Firstly, the murder of the 200 children represents Original Sin. In the bible, Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, and as their descendants, all of humankind is doomed to also bear the weight of that sin from the moment we are born until the day we die. This is a fact that is drilled into Christians as soon as we’re able to understand it, we are born wretched and unworthy sinners, and there’s nothing we can do ourselves to fix that.

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

Harrow is a multitude, she is 200 children, the entire future of her house. Shes not just one human being,, she’s the whole damn church.

Naz/Nav

he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene.

Although Gideon is not from the Ninth, she is given the Ninth name Nav when she arrives as a baby. Similarly, Jesus is known as Jesus of Nazareth, though that is not where he was born.

The Poor Bondservant

Jesus' role as a servant is emphasized many times in the bible. He was a carpenter's son born in a stable

Philippians 2:5-8

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

Gideon is described as being made “a very small bondswoman” (GTN 24)

The Sword

Matthew 10:34

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

The Wretched Sinner

Harrow is wretched, self loathing, and cruel.

She is in thrall of the enemy of god, a figure who was once gods most favoured warrior, cast into hell.

She is like the depiction of the sinner who loves the devil

It's important to note that Harrow isn’t a single person, she is a multitude, the entire future of her people condensed into one body.

The Enemy of God

20 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, nholding in his hand the key to othe bottomless pit1 and a great chain. 2 And he seized pthe dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and qbound him for a thousand years, 3 and threw him into othe pit, and shut it and rsealed it over him, so that she might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while.

Before the fall, Satan was described as a “guardian cherub” who resided in the garden with God (Ezekiel 28:14)

(a funny aside, in the bible the devil is known as the great deceiver but in HTN Muir specifies that Alecto is incapable of lying)

A Life of Abuse

Isaiah 53:3

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,

a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

he was despised, and we held him in low esteem”

They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff" (Luke 4:28–29).

Gideon lives a life of mockery and is abused by Harrow.

An Unlikely Savior

Despite the fact that Gideon does not fit the expected image of a Cavalier, Harrow chooses Gideon to be her sword and protector.

Despite the many openings Gideon has to make Harrow pay for the pain she caused her, she remains loyal to her

Trust

Harrow realizes that she cannot face the lyctor trials without Gideon, and places her trust in her

Christians are told they must place their trust in jesus in order to reach salvation

Purifying Water

Acts 2:38

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Harrow confesses her sins to Gideon and puts herself at her mercy

Gideon forgives Harrow totally and completely, she baptises her

One Flesh

Mark 10:8

and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.

“The imagery and symbolism of marriage is applied to Christ and the body of believers known as the church. The church is comprised of those who have trusted in Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have received eternal life. Christ, the Bridegroom, has sacrificially and lovingly chosen the church to be His bride” (x)

Ephesians 5:25-26

25 gHusbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and hgave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by ithe washing of water jwith the word,

They take the vow of necro and cav, one flesh one end

Gideon’s forgiveness of Harrow is reaffirmed

Harrow risks her life to stay and fight with Gideon, even if it means her death and thus the destruction of her death. Her love for Gideon is now greater than her love for the Body.

The Sacrifice

John 19:34

Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.

They will look on the one they have pierced'" (John 19:36–37).

Gideon chooses to die for Harrow, death by piercing

and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

In order to complete the lyctor process, Harrow both physically and spiritually consumes Gideon

Because of Gideon’s sacrifice, Harrow attains eternal life at the right hand of god

The Tomb

The Resurrection

1On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Harrow turns her body into a tomb for Gideon, a tomb fashioned after that on the Ninth

Resurrection on the Third Day

Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. Luke 24:46-47

“So many months had passed: and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again.” (HTN 374)

Just in case you missed this important piece of information, Muir repeats it three times.

Go, and tell them, then, that he that was dead is alive, and lives for evermore, and has the keys of death and the grave,"

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hpdabbles · 4 years

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Lovely Nightmares

Based off the Dig Two graves by @childotkw. Thank you again for permission to use as based idea!

“We find the defendant guilty on all charges.”

Harry stares upwards in shock as Tom Riddle- the boy he considered a friend, the one he told everything to, the one he believed made it all worth while to go to Hogwarts- turn his head away from him after damning him with his lies. He did well, playing the terrified bystander to someone who lost themselves in bloodlust and violent tendencies.

His witness statement made a few eyes tear up in pity for the muggleborn who had been tricked by the halfblood into cruel silence for the mistreatment he had to endure under Harry’s thumb until a fresh corpse forced him to speak out. He took everything he once thought made their friendship real and twisted it, to make him appear a murder.

A murder that the Ministry of Magic has now sentence to life in Azkaban.

Harry had not been fond of Myrtle Warren, mostly due her forceful flirtish behavior against him and other boys as well as her whining voice but he would never have hurt her much less kill her. In fact Harry often put himself between the girl and the bullies who followed her around. How people could forget that he never know.

Yes the last time he spoke to her, left the Ravencalw in tears but that was because Harry had rejected her as gently as he could. After she ran away from him unable to stand the rejection, she was found hours later dead in one of the girls bathroom.

Harry had been horrified and truly sorry to see the confuse ghost flout about lost in a way only the departed could be. She was so young, a soul that can not find rest even after her death. He along with the rest of the school were evacuated from their dorms, everyone speaking about the murder. The houses were keep separated in order to keep better track of the young, while preparations were made to have everyone sent home

It would be Hogwarts last year if the killer could not be found as it no longer meant the future of magic were safe within their walls. Harry was sadden to see such a important place go, especially as one of the first students to originally walk it’s halls, but he had been more worried about Tom because there were rumors that Warren had been killed for being a muggleborn.

Tom Riddle, the human mortal, was also a muggleborn. It tore Harry up inside to think he could be next. A victim. That he could disappear from this world.

He went to see him when he got the chance only for Tom to point him out to a pair of Aurors with wild desperate eyes “He did it! Harry Potter killed Myrtle Warren!”

Harry tried to defend himself but with the evidence Tom managed to present to the authorities he was dragged away with the school watching. The worst part had been Myrtle who was flouting one inch above the ground in the grand hall, her unseeing eyes watching him go with tears rolling down her face. “Why Harry...I loved you”

Her confession made it all the worst for him. Harry knew the Ministry of Magic tended to believe guilty until proven otherwise but even before he stepped into his court hearing he knew it was a kangaroo court.

They all believed he did it, the court hearing was just a formality.

“Harry James Potter shall be sentence to life in Azkaban for the crimes including the murder of Muggleborn Myrtle Warren, possession of illegal potions, Possession of dark magic, and commenting a murder on Hogwarts sacred ground.”

“What?! But I didn’t do it! Tom is lying! He’s lying!” Harry shouted in outrage struggling even as Aurors appears to drag him away. A strong grip on his shoulder and legs to the point of bruising is nothing compare to the smug eyes of Tom Riddle as the doors start to close. Harry allows his eyes to flash the bright green of his father’s magic for a second just to watch that attractive face spam in surprise. “You’ll pay for this Riddle. I hope the guilt eats you alive. I hope it never lets you rest!”

“That’s enough out of you” sneers the woman who is moving him. Harry turns to her just in time to watch her wand light up before everything goes dark. As he is falling, he forces words past his lips so the whole courtroom can hear his final words.

“I will make sure everyone in this room pays.” They do not know they ring with not just truth but with a curse. It would take them days to discover it but by then it would far too late.

He wakes to the sound of crashing waves, freezing cold and the screams of the inmates. Harry had been stripped of his Gryffindor uniform leaving him black and white stripped robes, his feet were bared and he has bruises all along his body. He laid on the stone ground, with no windows, no bed or bathroom from what he could tell. Flickers of near by torches made it hard to see but he thought there was a woman across from him leaning against her cell bars like a broken doll.

A dementor stood at his open cell door, likely left that way so that one of them could “accidently” feed on him while the guards were away, hovering uncertainty. Harry scowled at it. “What are you looking at?”

The creature twisted it’s head, taking a breath. The cold increased, causing shivers to run along Harry’s body, his human side effected by the magic of sorrow even though his father’s blood keep him level headed. It would take a while but eventually the coldness would sustained. The creature made a odd crocking sound that attracted the attention more of it’s kind.

The woman let out a whimper when the flouting masses of darkness glided by her cell. She threw her self away from them, pressing her bone skin back to the far wall. Harry silently sent her a apology even as his body finally adjusted to the Dementors peering at him from under their cloaks of shadows.

“I’m not a circus act” Harry snapped at them, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. A satisfyingly pop run up and down his back which sent the dementors into a frenzy, more of that odd croaking filling the air. It took him a moment to realize they were excited by him.

He squinted at them. Ah, these were young. Maybe only two thousand years old. They had never come across him or his father, because they were behaving much like teenagers meeting their idol. Not that he could blame them, Harry’s dad was pretty important to the likes of them.

A giant black dog rose up from the shadows in the corners then, causing the Demontors to go wild as the dog strutted by them wagging it’s tail to a pair on the right. The creatures did three flips in the air as they swoon. They would be gloating later to any of their kind that the great Grim had given them a haughty smirk no doubt. Harry rolled his eyes as the door twisted into his uncle Sirius.

“Harry!” The man said joyously, his dark curls framing his grinning face as the adult waved a finger at him. The spark of laughter in his silver eyes- a nice choice of his humanoid form Harry thinks. This one most definite matches humans’ idea of beauty- lets the half being know his uncle finds this all hilarious. “Why am I picking up my nephew from mortal prison? James is besides himself, young man. He allowed you to come down the these realm for a few years and you get thrown in jail!”

“Riddle framed me.” Harry shrugs slightly embarrassed his new life on Earth ended so abruptly. “He told everyone that I murdered someone.”

Sirius frowned, his canine peaking over his lip as he studied the boy who quickly laid down face first allowing his soul to detach from his body. “I thought you two were close. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know but i intend to make his life hell.”

The Grim tilted his head as the soul of his nephew- Death’s son created between the personification of the end and a muggleborn woman named Lily many many eons ago- rose from it’s physically anchor his father created.

Since Harry is both half alive and half dead he could come and go between worlds. Usually James-as Death preferred to be called- ever few millennia would bend to his son’s boredom and send him down to Earth. It was a nice vacation from all the filing, soul collecting and transporting of souls the boy had to do. In truth James saw it more as sending Harry off to summer camp to experience more from his mother’s side instead of reincarnating him into a human anchor he design.

Lily lived in the Beyond, as she was full mortal, while James and Harry lived in a never ending castle in Between. They visited Lily in her private heaven often with James confidently heading over there after work but Harry yearn for the real world and not the one created by James’ will or Lily’s fondest memoires.

He had experience empires rise and fall, had taken many names and faces to match whatever whim of appearance James took up-last millennia he had sported blond hair and blue eyes which meant Harry did as while- but no one had ever made him feel as alive as Tom Riddle has.

“How do you plan to do that?” Sirius asked waving at the group of Dementors goodbye while opening his shadow so Harry could travel to his father’s realm.

“I’m going to appear in all of his dreams until the day he dies.” Harry growled sinking into the darkness. “The dream scape is the place I can bend to my will and Riddle will rue the day he ever double-crossed me.”

“Alright but you are going to be the one explaining to your father that you want to appear in a teenage boy’s dreams and not me. He never forgive me if I helped his dear baby Harry flirt like that.”

The darkness swallowed them up on Harry’s squeaking of denials his body left under the protection of Dementors who were the only witness to the strange happening.

Miles away Tom Riddle looked over at the Gryffindor table missing the strong green stare that always looked back him more then he will ever be willing to admit. He shivers abruptly when a cold sensation of a hand runs along the back of his neck to his shoulders.

That night he dreamed of Harry Potter by the black lake, smile soft and green eyes glowing. He took Tom’s hand to guide him into the water with a sweet laugh that made everything slow down as Tom jumped through the waves of a invisible breeze. Harry looked happy as they splashed about, the sky a clear blue for once and Tom could not look away from the vision Harry made.

Midway through the dream the water turn to blood, Harry’s smile fell and his heavy betrayed eyes bore into Tom’s as he the smell of copper rose. The mortal found himself incased in blood slowing dragging him down as he struggle to escape the chains the liquid had become around him.

No matter how hard he fought nothing could stop him from sinking further and further down all the while Harry watched him slowly drown. Tom tried to scream for help, to reach out towards him but the boy was unmoved until all he could see besides the red was Harry’s lips moving.

“Why Tom...why did you do it?”

Tom Riddle woke screaming drench in cold sweat.

#Harry Potter #hpdabbles #Lovely Nightmares #Tom Riddle really went and messed with Death's kid #Sirius is the Grim #In a Au where James is death and Lily the human made him fall in love #Harry's technically still at Azkaban #Tom may or may not learn to feel bad #Party 1 maybe?

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hoodwinkd1 · 4 years

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Your Eyes Whispered Ch 1-3

I originally posted this story on AO3, but wanted to bring it to my Tumblr now that I’m back on here. Enjoy!

Fic Summary: After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Ch 4-7 here.

Chapter 1: I was enchanted to meet you

It's no small thing, murdering your father in cold blood.

Not that anyone, even Beron, was surprised.

Eris looked at the bloody sword in his hand and then at his father's corpse, lying on the ground at his feet. He closed his eyes as the power of the Autumn Court rushed over him like a tidal wave of fire.

The new High Lord knew that he would have to deal with the consequences of his coup today. But tomorrow, after the dust settled and he dealt with his treacherous brothers, he knew exactly where he needed to be.

The night turned into a swarm of activity as the castle reacted to Beron's death. Advisors fought for a seat at the table, servants spread the rumors like wildfire, his mother gently took him to bathe as it all became too much. Eris slept that night, without terrifying dreams for the first time in centuries

--- He woke to the sunlight filtering through the trees. He had to leave now, before anyone could find him and monopolize his time any futher.

Eris winnowed as soon as he was dressed, landing on the outskirts of a village that had seen better days. He had only been here once in his life, ninety-five year prior, decades before Amarantha took over. His father had sent him and one of his younger brothers to several towns in the Autumn Court as part of their duties. This one had been a bustling center of trade and power, known for its capabilities in producing talented Fae children and training them in magic.

Eris remembered his utter boredom as he watched the parade put on in his honor. His brother Marick had scoffed at the idea of watching children perform small magic tricks, but Beron had insisted they attend to find any who were powerful enough to warrant interest from him. His father always had a nasty habit of stealing children away from their parents to become part of his court.

Eris also remembered the moment his life shifted. As the children moved to the center of town square, beginning their show, his eyes drifted slightly to the left.

And landed on hers. The teacher.

The mating bond snapped, harder and faster than anything.

If she felt it, she gave no indication. Her eyes returned to her students.

Eris swore that this bond, this life-changing connection, would not be ruined like every other good thing in his life. He shoved all the overwhelming feelings and instincts deep into himself, securing his facade into place. The Autumn Court would never know another side to him besides the arrogant, powerful Heir.

But now his father was dead. He was the most powerful Fae in the Court.

Eris wasn't sure how he would find her, or if she even remained in this town. Or, Cauldron damn him, if she was even alive.

This town had suffered. Almost every building showed signs of abandonment or violence and he could sense that the number of Fae in the area had been more than cut in half.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, unsure. He was terrified to reach inside himself and attempt to tug on the bond, anxious he would find nothing on the other end. Finally, after passing yet another empty house with smashed windows, he pulled himself together and grabbed for the bond.

Gasping as the feeling rose up from within him and overwhelmed his mind, Eris began walking, not entirely in control of his body. He walked by one block, then another, before stopping in front of a one-story building. It stood out as one of the few that looked well-maintained, with all its windows intact and even a flower bed next to the door.

His mate. Alive. In this house. His hand knocked before his mind processed the enormity of emotions at this moment.

One breath passed. She opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she frowned, wary of strangers. He took in everything about her, from her dark hair, slipping out of a frizzy bun to her comfortable clothing, probably pyjamas.

“My apologies,” he started. “I--you surely don’t remember me.”

She turned her head slightly, brown eyes taking in his face. “Have we met? I prefer straight answers from strange males at my door.”

“My name is Eris. I promise I wish you no harm.” Her eyes widened.

“My lord, you must forgive me,” she responded, sharpening her tone to hide her surprise. “It’s not often that royalty appears on my doorstep.”

Eris noted her tense muscles and reluctance to let him in. This was not a female who trusted.

“Forgive me for showing up uninvited. I have a...personal matter to discuss with you and I would rather do it in private.” He attempted a reassuring tone. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please,” he trailed off, unsure what to possibly say to convince her. His horrible reputation probably preceded him.

She looked him in the eye. “Do you know who I am?”

“I only know that you teach children. I was here for a demonstration, decades ago.”

Shockingly, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Certainly, you could have blasted through my wards and yet you chose to knock,” she explained, gesturing him in with a wave of her hand. “How bad can this personal matter be?”

Eris walked in and saw a large, empty room with a mirror on one wall. She led the way over to a table next to a small kitchen. They each chose a chair, then looked awkwardly at the other.

“Can I get you something--”

“No, please, sit down,” he interrupted.

She sat. And pinned those piercing eyes on his.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his soul dying for the answer.

“Rhiannon.” And it was like the entire world shifted, as if he couldn’t imagine any name more beautiful.

“Rhiannon,” he said softly. “I have no good words to say this. When I was visiting, all those years ago, I saw you as the children gave their performance.” He hesitated.

“Lord Eris, I would rather you say it bluntly,” she jumped in. “To be quite honest, I’m extremely worried at the moment.”

“Please, just Eris,” he corrected. “And yes. You’re right. Of course. Well, I felt the mating bond that day. With you.”

If only his enemies could see him now. Keir would keel over of laughter watching him stumble through a simple conversation.

Rhiannon had gone completely still. She stared at him, as if waiting for the punchline. He shrugged.

“You did say bluntly.”

She stood suddenly, stalking over to the kitchen. For some reason unbeknownst to Eris, she began making a pot of tea. He waited.

As the kettle whined, she waved her hand, directing two mugs out of the cabinet and onto the table. Of course. The teacher of magic children would have to have magic as well.

He said nothing, still, as she brought over the tea. Rhiannon poured herself a cup and then watched him do the same.

She broke the silence as he took his first sip. “You’re being serious.”

“I would never joke about something like this,” Eris remarked.

“Why now? That had to have been, what, a century ago?” she demanded. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the daylight from the window above her head.

He looked down at his cup. “I killed my father yesterday. I didn’t think it safe to acknowledge you before that.”

“You---what?!” she yelped, almost dropping her cup. “I said blunt, not absolutely earth-shattering.”

He choked back a laugh. “My apologies. I’ve had a stressful few weeks. But truly, I worried what my father and brothers might do to a partner of mine and never would wish to put you in any danger. So now, at least, I know that threat is handled.”

She considered this. “I have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“I understand. More than you now,” Eris acknowledged. “I don’t have any expectations of you. I only hope that we might spend time together, getting to know one another.”

“Get to know you. The High Lord. As my...mate,” she echoed. “I could, I think I would be fine with that.”

“As whatever you want,” Eris disputed. “As I said, I don’t expect a thing.”

“Then as friends. And privately, at least at first.” Rhiannon looked him over. “You’ll have to come here, during hours I’m not teaching or with others.”

He couldn’t believe she had responded positively. Eris would have agreed to any terms she set.

“When can we start?”

She smiled at his obvious enthusiasm. "Tomorrow night. And you're bringing dinner."

Eris couldn't control the huge grin at her smile. This female would probably ruin him and his reputation. Not that he minded in the slightest.

"Anything you want."

Chapter 2: not where the story ends

TW: Mentions of past sexual assault and panic attacks. Nothing graphic or specific, but please do not read if this will harm you. I"ll put XXX before and after any mentions if you need to avoid.

So the High Lord of the Autumn Court had shown up at her door. And thrown her life entirely off-course by announcing they were mates.

Rhiannon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort her thoughts and feelings into some sort of organized pattern. Her little two-story house and work studio felt suffocating, too small for all the chaos in her head. Throwing off the covers, she grabbed a pair of boots and a coat, winnowing to the street.

The town of Malefic, once a bustling city, stood quiet that night. Rhia wasn't surprised. After five decades of Amarantha, the population had decreased to only a couple thousand. She was relatively sure she could name almost every single Fae, and none of them were night owls.

She strolled down her street, aiming for a field of wheat at the edge of town. It helped to be in a wide, open space where she could see the entire night sky.

Eris Vanserra, the oldest son of the cruel Beron Vanserra, had shown up at her door. One of the most callous and powerful males in Prythian had knocked on her door and awkwardly asked to come in. And he had been, well, sweet. Kind. Attentive.

He'd explained some of his reputation, claiming that his father only valued power from his sons. He told her so much about his history, his regrets, his shame. And she had actually shared some of her life as well. The pull between them had opened her lips, despite her brain screaming at her to think rationally about all the red flags.

Because, unfortunately, even less powerful and less feared males could do so much damage. A fact Rhia knew all too well.

So many citizens had fled or sought aid from the capitol when Amarantha took over. Many others were killed or thrown into those horrendous camps. But Rhia and several other powerful Fae came together and warded the town. They could only cover a square mile, but it was enough at first. For twenty seven years, they maintained the wards, grew their own food, raised children to fight, and lived in fear, but not terror. They had all appreciated how much worse life could be.

Until a group of males snuck through the wards. To this day, Rhia never found out how they managed to get in.

The town woke the next morning to ransacked supplies and distasteful graffiti. The adults breathed a sigh of relief, for they knew how much worse it could be.

XXX

Sofine Linswell woke to her best friend sobbing on her bathroom floor.

Rhia woke to her best friend picking her up off the bathroom floor and hugging her close.

One of the males, as the group had split up, had stumbled upon a small, two-story house and work studio, probably looking for supplies like his companions. Unfortunately, this male found a sleeping, vulnerable female and did what any terrible, depraved soul would do.

Rhia hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed for months, and even now still had nights where she couldn't sleep in the small bedroom.

It had been decades and her life had returned back to almost normal, especially after Feyre Cursebreaker saved the day. She could even have casual sex again, but only with males she knew didn't have more than a drop of magic in them. The fear of being forced to lie still, struggling against invisible bounds, made it difficult for her to trust anyone with more power than she had.

Sofine, her best friend of more than a century, had talked her through many panic attacks over the years before they figured out her aversion to powerful males. Luckily, their little town saw almost no newcomers and Rhia knew her strength could dominated any of their neighbors. Not that she ever needed to, but the thought comforted her.

XXX

But the Cauldron had the most fucked-up sense of humor.

Eris Vanserra had shown up at her door. A male that had infinite more magic and power than she did.

Worse, he was awkward and kind and vulnerable with her. Her stupid brain couldn't just write him off or send him packing.

He hadn't been close enough to touch her once last night, so Rhia had forgotten about her issues for a few hours. But as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind drifted to what it would be like to lie next to him and all the darkness came rushing back.

She hadn't told Sofine yet. The night seemed like a dream, like an unbelievable story you tell yourself to fall asleep.

Eris had given her a piece of parchment before he left and told her to write if she wanted him to come over again. He'd been so obviously nervous that she would never write to him that she'd smiled and told him to keep an eye on it. Yet now, under the midnight sky, she was overwhelmed at the idea of taking a step forward.

She sat in the wheat until the sky started turning pink. Another day of teaching, lunch with Sofi, and cleaning her house.

Winnowing back to her kitchen, Rhia started making a pot of tea. Only caffeine would make this day run smoothly.

Waiting for the boil, she glanced over at the table and saw the piece of parchment glowing. Confused, she went to pick it up.

I apologize if this is intrusive. You probably think I'm incredibly desperate (because I am incredibly desperate). But I just wanted to say that I will take any part of you that you would give me. If you're willing to put me out of my pathetic misery and give me a chance.

She laughed. The rumors simply could not be true. This male couldn't be the same as the cruel, misogynistic bastard that tortured his brother's lover. She couldn't say how, but she knew that for certain.

So, as the sun spilled over the horizon and another peaceful day started, she wrote back.

Chapter 3: passing notes in secrecy

Eris couldn't believe it. It simply couldn't be true.

His advisors, his friends (well, all two of them), even his mother had commented on his mood. He was smiling, often unprompted, and making jokes. The palace full of nobles had no idea what to do with a High Lord that made jokes.

And he was getting his ass kicked in training. Gerwin, one of the two friends, looked down at where he lay on the floor.

"It really shouldn't be that easy for me to take down a High Lord," he grumbled. "First there are rumors of you acting like a fool in meetings and now this?"

Eris stood, pretending to brush some dust off his shirt. "No one thinks I'm acting like a fool. Just differently than my father." The last word got stuck in his throat on the way out, dampening his mood a bit. All of Prythian knew what he did and yet he still hadn't told the actual story to anyone. It felt like a confession, proof his guilt, an irreversible action that might suddenly inspire his Court to abandon him. Although he knew rationally that was unlikely (he had widespread support that came from not being a violent, evil bastard), Eris still felt like he could lose his throne at any second for any reason.

He faced off with Gerwin again, focusing and actually winning the fight.

Eris raced to his chambers after his training session, at a speed more fit to an energized child than the most powerful male in the Autumn Court. He threw open his bedroom door and scrambled to open the top drawer of his nightstand. There sat a glowing piece of parchment.

She actually wrote back, he marveled. Even though she had been writing back at least once a day for the past week, each message still brought Eris a flash of joy and shock.

Their first interaction had been tense and awkward. Her body language had clearly indicated she was uncomfortable with him in her home, but she hadn't kicked him out. The conversation was good, great even, but stayed to safe topics like her town's endeavors and his fumbling advisors. Eris fully believed he had thoroughly fucked up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and would never hear from her again. Except she kept writing.

I hope you understand this taxation argument, because I surely cannot. Some of us were meant only for brute force and fighting, not percentages and financial sheets. He had complained about one of his endless meetings yesterday, where the Financial Minister had almost burst a blood vessel when Eris suggested taxing the rich more than the poor. Outrageous.

He grabbed a pen and chewed on it thoughtfully. His responses were finely crafted to keep the conversation flowing easily and show off some of his stellar personality. His mother's voice, kindly accusing him of acting like an adolescent, floated through his mind. It was rather childish to spend this much time thinking about a female and wooing her, something he'd never really worked hard at before.

I'm glad to know you claim expertise on brute force, since apparently I no longer can. My friend just destroyed me in a training session, in a way that was very embarrassing for me and unbecoming of a High Lord. If I had more friends, I might even accuse him of treason just to avoid my utter defeat again. How are your students?

---

Did he have some sort of magic that could figure out her schedule? He must. There was no other explanation for how Eris managed to send her a message right before she had an important commitment. Rhia had shown up to her classes, a town hall meeting, and now dinner with Sofine with blushing cheeks and an unmanageable smile.

"Ha! There it is! That silly expression you keep getting," Sofine accused, pointing a finger at Rhia's dark red cheeks. "I've been complaining about my leaky sink for two minutes and you sit there staring off into the distance."

"Sorry, sorry, it's just been a long week," Rhia mumbled, turning to grab some bread off the counter so Sofine would stop trying to read her expression. "Classes, students, you know how it gets."

"I surely don't! Students make you groan and complain; this is like....this is more of..." Sofine trailed off, trying to put a finger on what could have her friend so distracted. "Well, honestly, if I didn't know you better, I'd say this was more of a schoolgirl crush." Rhia had no response to that, so she stayed quiet. Sofine gasped, her mind clearly spinning to fill in the gaps,

Maybe staying quiet was going to get her in more trouble. "Sofi, I love you so dearly, but I clearly don't have a 'schoolgirl crush' and I'm not sure how I would've managed to keep that a secret from you." Rhia hoped it would be enough. They were both over a century year old and yet sat here gossiping about crushes. Absurd.

Luckily, her friend let it go and the rest of the conversation was blessedly normal. After finishing a bottle of sparkling wine together, the females decided to call it a night. They both had the day off tomorrow and had huge plans to attend the local farmer's market.

Humming to herself, Rhia began to slowly clean the glasses off the table. Her thoughts trailed away from the town and towards the capitol. Eris. She hadn't written back to him yet.

Perhaps writing to the High Lord of the Autumn Court who was also your mate after half a bottle of wine wasn't the smartest idea in the world. Rhia hushed that logical voice in her brain and grabbed the paper to reread his response. Silly, how such a little joke about a rough training session caused her to blush again.

There was no second-guessing, no careful editing, no worry as she wrote back. The High Lord taken down by a simple training instructor? I would have loved to see it. My students are little terrors as always, though none are powerful enough yet to spar with me. I suppose I'll go through a similar embarrassment when they are.

His response came so quickly. Was he sitting in bed, just waiting for her to write him back? She giggled at the image, then giggled at her giggle because she wasn't the type of Fae to giggle normally. And the word giggle sounded funny.

My pride is quite grateful you weren't there to see it happen. A second later, as if an afterthought, another line appeared. And if you ever actually would like to see me, all you have to do is ask.

Her insides warmed. She blushed, yet again, at the shameless flirting. But at the same time, her brain kicked into overdrive at the idea that this was more than letter writing and idle flirting. The High Lord wanted to see her and she wanted to see him, a terrifying thought that would normally send her running. Luckily, the wine kept her mind open and her words flowing.

Maybe I only want to see you get kicked beaten knocked around in training.

Scratch that sentence I don't think I'm making sense. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

"Oh shit," Rhia cursed at her confusion. The wine certainly wasn't making anything clearer.

Let me try again. I'd like to see you in my kitchen again.

In your kitchen? How specific. I'll be there whenever you tell me. And, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you would still enjoy watching someone beat me up in a sparring ring. Eloquence fails us all sometimes, it's quite alright.

Aren't High Lord supposedd to be busy? Her handwriting had started looking noticeably sloppy as her eyes began to droop. I have no plans tomorrow night.

Excellent. Tomorrow night. And no, we simply appear busy while others do all the work. It's a very simple and fun job.

I'm going to bed. Otherwise I might make more of a fool of myself. Rhia doubted that Eris would mind some sloppy handwriting and confusing messages, but she knew worse things might come out if they stayed up late in the night, writing on this stupid piece of paper.

---

Eris couldn't believe it. He was seeing her again tomorrow, technically today since midnight was long passed. He closed his eyes, feeling something that felt a bit like redemption and forgiveness grow within him.

#eris #eris vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjm #autumn court #a court of thorns and roses #beron #beron vanserra #eris stans we rise #acosf did eris dirty

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pessimisticlatte · 5 years

Text

Glass Roses - Chapter 9

~Marichat ~ Adrienette ~ Lukagami ~ Nino x Alya ~ Chlobrina ~ Nathalie x Emilie ~ Tikki x Plagg ~ Duusuu x Nooroo ~

~Eventual reveal~ Quick notes: the nickname Plagg gives Duusuu, ‘Dus’, is pronounced ‘Doose’. Kinda like goose but with a ‘D’. Sorry if it’s confusing~

~~~~~~~~

A tingling in the base of her spine pulled Tikki from the nap she was having in Marinette’s school bag. There was a Kwami in the area with their aura on full blast; they weren’t hiding, in fact, Tikki wondered if they were looking for someone. For another Kwami. Tikki pressed her find together in worry and felt down the bond she had to Plagg, who was currently eating his weight in cheese in Adrien’s satchel a few feet away. Before Tikki had known that Adrien was Chat Noir, she’d been actively ignoring his presence in Madame Bustier’s classroom, he annoyed her to no end and she would rather pretend that he hadn’t bonded to her than ask why the hell he was in the same classroom as her. Plagg hadn’t moved, and as far as Tikki could tell, hadn’t sent his aura careening out across Paris. She’d forced him to dampen it the first time she saw him after they were given to Marinette and Adrien; Tikki had practically slapped sense into Plagg saying that he didn’t know where Hawkmoth was and Nooroo’s fragile state could be very, very dangerous if the Butterfly Kwami caught his aura.

Plagg felt Tikki’s tug on the bond and yanked his side, drawing an angry huff from the Ladybug Kwami. She turned herself invisible and passed through the fabric of Marinette’s bag and the wooden floor beneath them, floating, unseen, through the glass window of the class below, Tikki followed the strong pulse of magic up to the roof of the school. Across the roof, a small lilac figure sat, playing with the feathers of her tail; Tikki hadn’t seen Duusuu in so long and she felt a joyous laugh bubble up in her tiny chest at the sight of her friend. At an incredible speed, Tikki charged at Duusuu and lifter the Peacock Kwami into the air, spinning her into a hug.

“T-Tikki?” Duusuu’s voice was strained from how tightly Tikki was holding her.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Duusuu!” Tikki released the Peacock Kwami and looked her over, making sure she was in good health. “How did you get away from Mayura? How did you get away from Hawkmoth?”

“It’s a story that will take a bit of explaining and I don’t have long, I need to get back to Mayura before Nooroo realises that I’m gone,” Duusuu grabbed Tikki’s fin and dragged her over to the gutter to sit beside her.

“Is Nooroo alright?” Tikki’s eyes widened at the sound of the Butterfly Kwami’s name. She hadn’t seen him in so long and he’d always been the most fragile out of all of them; his deep connection to the emotions of others meant that he was easily spooked, and stressed.

“As good as he can be with what’s happening,” Duusuu’s voice was sad. “He doesn’t like what Hawkmoth makes him do, he really doesn’t like having to use his power to hurt you and Plagg but he’s long past arguing. I’m all he’s got right now and the longer I’m gone, the more he worries that I won’t come home.”

“You bonded to him?”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you all about that right now, Tikki, I really don’t have much time,”

“Yes, alright, well, I’m happy for both of you, Duusuu, I know that there isn’t a better Kwami to take care of him and keep him stable than you,” Tikki took Duusuu’s fin in hers and spoke with earnest sincerity.

“N-Mayura and I want to get Nooroo away from Hawkmoth,” Tikki’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why would Mayura want to take the Butterfly Kwami away from Hawkmoth? Did Mayura want to become the reigning supervillain in Paris? “We realised that what we were doing was wrong and that it would be easier to stop Hawkmoth if there was someone on the inside.”

“But why, Duusuu? Why now?”

“She’s worried that Hawkmoth is going to endanger her son, Tikki, Mayura doesn’t want anything to happen to him and she’s already lost enough,”

“Why did she join Hawkmoth in the first place then?” Tikki was angry. This was too little, too late. Marinette and Adrien had risked their lives countless times against the villains utilising Nooroo and Duusuu’s powers; Mari had been battered and bruised and broken, she’d lied to her family and friends and sacrificed so much for someone barely verging on adulthood. Why would Mayura join Hawkmoth if her son was at risk?

“He made promises to her, promises to bring the person she loved back from the dead,” Duusuu had heard the anger in Tikki’s tone and had laced her own voice with urgency. “Mayura only just realised that bringing the woman she loved back to life wouldn’t help her son, but hurt him. He’s a fragile boy, I really don’t know him well but she talks about him a lot, and he’s already lost one mother, Mayura doesn’t want to tear him apart by bringing her back.”

Tikki replayed Duusuu’s words in her mind. Mayura thought that she was doing what was best for her son but she’d recently come to the conclusion that it wasn’t what he needed. “Why does Hawkmoth want to bring Mayura’s love back from the dead? What tie does he have to her?”

“M-Mayura’s son is not hers by blood, her beloved and Hawkmoth were married, the boy is theirs but Mayura loved him and raised him as her own. Hawkmoth neglected the boy and never gave him the family he deserved because he was too busy with work and now with bringing his wife back; Mayura knows the boy better than his own father does and she knows what the boy’s mother would want her to do. She wasn’t her son to be happy,”

“Who is Mayura, Duusuu?” Tikki gently squeezed her friend’s fin. As a Kwami with the power of creation, Tikki had a deep connection to life. The plants that grew around her and the animals that played, Tikki could feel the beautiful thrumming of their life force everywhere. She didn’t have the power to take it away but it was her job to preserve it. Plagg’s destructive powers tied him closer to death, thus they were yin and yang. He was also insufferably annoying. “Are you able to tell me? You don’t need to say who Hawkmoth is but if I can get Ladybug or Chat Noir in contact with her as a civilian, it will be so much easier to save Nooroo.”

Duusuu glanced at the horizon briefly. “Her real name is Nathalie, Nathalie Sancouer, she works as an assistant for Gabriel Agreste,”

“She works for Gabriel Agreste?” Tikki’s heart hammered against her chest. “I-,”

“Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth, Tikki, and he’s trying to bring his wife, Emilie, back to life,” Duusuu’s voice was low and urgent, a far cry from the high pitched, million miles an hour way she normally spoke. “Nathalie is trying to protect Adrien Agreste, he’s lost so much and he’s finally reaching a point where things are evening out. He’s happy, and Nathalie doesn’t want that taken from him if Emilie comes back. Nathalie knows that Emilie won’t forgive Gabriel for what he’s done to their son and that her reappearance will send Adrien spiralling.”

“I can’t believe it, Duusuu, and if it had been anyone else but you or Nooroo who said it, I would’ve accused them of lying. I-it makes sense though, Adrien has been without a mother for so long and so fragile, I can understand Gabriel wanting to bring her back but I understand Nathalie’s want to protect him too,” Tikki looked out over the rooftops of Paris and allowed her eyes to linger on the shining white of the Agreste Mansion in the distance.

“So you’re going to help?” Duusuu’s large eyes took up most of Tikki’s peripheral vision.

“Of course we are. Plagg doesn’t have a choice,”

“Aw, geez, Sugarcube, you’re not even going to buy me dinner before signing me up for a dangerous adventure?” Plagg’s lazy voice drawled from behind them, immediately annoying the ever loving shit out of Tikki.

“Plagg!” Duusuu released Tikki’s fin and flew to the Cat Kwami, embracing him.

“You’re really bad at hiding, Dus,” Plagg looked absolutely thrilled to be making physical contact with someone. The grimace on his face and the annoyed twitching of his ears definitely gave away just how much he was loving Duusuu touching him. “Ya maybe wanna stop broadcasting your damn location before someone comes looking for us?”

“Who, exactly, would come looking for us, Plagg?” Tikki folded her fins across her chest and shot Plagg a glare. “Nooroo is locked up with Hawkmoth, Trixx and Wayzz are literally on our side, and the others are in the Miraculous box back at my guardian’s house.”

“I turned it on hoping to find one or both of you,” Duusuu released Plagg and floated between the Ladybug and Cat Kwamis, watching the angry gaze Tikki had Plagg trapped in.

“We haven’t seen you in, what? Maybe a thousand or so years, Dus, how the fuck did you find us?” Plagg didn’t break the staring contest he was having with Tikki as he addressed Duusuu.

“I traced your sentiment,” Duusuu floated between the two and glanced between them. “You have some really weird placed that you’ve marked as sentimental locations but I thought that checking here on a school day would be the best first option. Your sentimental auras were also a lot stronger here than the other places you’d both marked them at.”

“I forgot you could do that,” Plagg tried to look around Duusuu to make a face at Tikki, Duusuu floated directly in front of his face to stop him; drawing a dark laugh from Tikki.

“I haven’t seen you guys in a long time though so your auras were very faint, but coming here was my best bet. You said that Trixx and Wayzz are here too?”

“They are, their guardians are friends with ours,” Duusuu turned to face Tikki as she spoke, swiping her fin out to stop Plagg from floating around her and annoying the Ladybug further than he already had.

“Rena Rogue and Carapace,” Plagg nodded and tried to round Duusuu again, who stopped him by moving directly in front of him each time he changed positions.

“Do they all know who each other are?” Anxiety was rising in Duusuu, what if one of the guardians wouldn’t be able to help them? She couldn’t imagine anything worse than putting her friends, and her bonded, in danger because of the unpredictability of humans.

“Rena, Carapace and Chat all do. Ladybug knows who Rena and Carapace are, I don’t know if Rena and Carapace know who she is though,” Tikki played with her fins in her lap.

“Gees, Sugarcube, how many times are you gonna say ‘Rena Rouge’ and ‘Carapace’ in one sentence?” Tikki glowered at Plagg, who actually had the good sense to shrink back behind Duusuu to protect himself from the Ladybug Kwamis cutting gaze.

“A-...w-...would you be able to tell me who they are?” Duusuu’s anxiety was reaching boiling point, she now wasn’t sure if it was because of her terror surrounding Paris’ only hope or that Nooroo might be reaching out to find her.

Plagg and Tikki shared a look, one of the calmest ones Duusuu had seen them give each other in the past few million years that she’d known them. “No,” Tikki shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“D-don’t you trust me, Tikki?” Duusuu’s eyes gleamed with tears. Plagg placed a fin gently on the Peacock Kwami’s thin shoulder.

“We do trust you, Dus, but it’s for the safety of our guardians. If Hawkmoth gets a hold of you and uses Nooroo to draw the truth from you, they could die,” Duusuu wan’t used to Plagg actively providing physical contact. He wasn’t very touchy feely, he actually hated when anyone or anything touched him without permission. Duusuu was well aware that he hadn’t enjoyed the hug she gave him earlier but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. “They’ve got families and friends and lives, taking down Hawky is different than stripping some teenagers of their lives if they fail.”

“You have to understand, Duusuu, Ladybug is the best guardian I have ever had and I can’t betray her and put her in danger if we can’t get Nooroo away from Hawkmoth,” Tikki floated over to Duusuu and took the Kwami’s fins in her own, her large eyes pleading with her friend. “If we fail and Hawkmoth finds out, that’s the end of the line for Plagg and I. It’s the end of the line for Wayzz and Trixx and all our guardians too no matter how hard they fight.”

“I-I understand,” Duusuu looked between her two friends and nodded. “May-...Nathalie would want to keep them safe too if she knew that they were high school students.”

“I think she’d want to keep them safe even if they weren’t,” Tikki’s voice dropped volume as she reassured her friend. Looking to Plagg for assistance. “Tell her that Plagg and I will talk to Ladybug and Chat Noir. We’re going to get them to help, we’ll also talk to Wayzz and Trixx. I’ll also talk to Sass and Longg, they’re guardians are Viperion and Ryuko, who are also friends of our guardians.”

“Pollen? I know that Pollen has a guardian now?” Duusuu squeezed Tikki’s fin and glanced worriedly at Plagg.

“Pollen’s guardian is...temperamental, to say the least,” Plagg didn’t sound too happy as he spoke about Pollen’s guardian. “But Pol is back at Tikki’s place with the others.”

“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘the others’,” Tikki frowned and looked at Plagg again, briefly.

“Ladybug was able to restore the Miraculous temple in Nepal so there’s more than just our Miraculous box now, and yours and Nooroo’s, even though the rest of your box was destroyed,”

“My-, Nooroo and my box are alive?”

“Yes, but we don’t know where they are, Dus,” Plagg had taken all the joking undercurrents out of his voice. Duusuu had never heard him so serious.

“We’ll find them, though, Duusuu, once you and Nooroo are safe. But in Plagg and my box, back at Ladybug’s house, has Mullo,” Tikki tipped her head like she was counting off the names in her mind. “Ziggy, Xuppu, Daizzi, Orikko, Barkk, Stompp, Kaalki, and Roaar.”

“I..I haven’t met any of them,” A shiny tear dripped over Duusuu’s cheek. “You weren’t all together when I saw you and Plagg last.”

“I know, Dus, but they’re good and you would like them a lot. Nooroo too,” Plagg put his fin on top of Tikki and Duusuu’s joined ones.

“I..I haven’t actually met Longg or Sass either,” Duusuu’s admission was sheepish.

“Them and their guardians are top notch, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” The end of day school bell run out across the campus, almost deafening the three Kwamis on the roof.

“You need to get back to Nathalie, Duusuu, you told me that you didn’t have much time and the longer we keep you here the more stressed Nooroo will get,” Tikki released Duusuu’s fin and pressed a kiss to her friend’s smooth cheek. “I’ll get Ladybug in contact with Nathalie and, if you need to speak to either of us,” Tikki gestured to herself and Plagg. “Send out a pulse and one of us will come to you. We cannot come if it’s at the Agreste Mansion though.” Plagg shot Tikki a weird look which Duusuu definitely didn’t miss, she didn’t understand what it meant but she knew better than to ask. “It’s too dangerous for either of us.”

“Okay, I understand,” Duusuu returned Tikki’s kiss by embracing the Ladybug Kwami and gently pecking her cheek. “Stay safe, both of you.”

“You know us, Dus, we always stay safe, safe is my middle name!” Duusuu chuckled through a sob as she turned to Plagg and gave him a kiss too.

“Your middle name is Vladimir, Plagg, and it’s also your last name because we don’t have last names and you’re the idiot who decided that you need one,” Tikki sounded so weary.

“Yeah, Plagg ‘Safe’ Vladimir,” Plagg puffed his chest out proudly like that made total sense. Tikki shook her head. “You stay safe too, Dus, I don’t know what Sugarcube here would do if something terrible happened to you.”

“I’ll stay as safe as I can,” Duusuu was unexpectedly embraced by Plagg as she made her promise. She flew to Tikki and squeezed her friend one more time. “G-goodbye, you two.”

“Bye, Dus,”, “Goodbye,”, Tikki and Plagg’s farewells melted into one as Duusuu began to fly away. Suddenly, Duusuu was knocked into a spinning embrace by a zooming red figure.

“Give Nooroo a hug for us, Duusuu,” Tikki slowed their spin and looked into Duusuu’s eyes, tears of her own shining along the irises. “Don’t tell him that it’s from us but it would make me feel like he knew we were coming for him. We are coming for him, we’re going to save him and stop Hawkmoth from destroying Paris.”

“I will, Tikki, I’ll give him the biggest hug I can,” Duusuu tried to make her voice sound as strong as she possibly could.

“Congratulations on bonding with him, I’ve been waiting way too long to say that to you,” Tikki smiled brightly. “You two have been skirting around each other for millennia. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you...so much,” Duusuu squeezed Tikki and pulled away. “Catch you on the flip side, Tikki.”

Duusuu made herself invisible and, just like that, left Tikki floating in the middle of space a metre off the roof of Francoise Dupont with Plagg behind her, more silent than he ever had been in his entire existence. Tikki floated back to him and let Plagg hook his fin around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Normally, she hated being this close to him, he was annoying and smelt like bad cheese but he made her feel safe and calm. Tikki would rather launch herself into the sun than admit to Plagg that she actually did love him, despite how much he annoyed her, and the parallel between Marinette and Adrien’s relationship and theirs was hilarious. Plagg kissed the side of Tikki’s head and rubber her arm.

“Dus is a strong gal, Sugarcube, don’t worry about her too much,” Tikki leant her head into Plagg’s embrace as the two of them watched the spot where Duusuu had disappeared. “What did you mean by ‘she needs to get back to Nathalie’, by the way?”

“Oh...I forgot that you hadn’t heard the beginning of that conversation,” Tikki looked up at him. “Nathalie is Mayura, Plagg, and she wants to stop Hawkmoth for Adrien.”

“Ah, I heard that conversation,” Plagg squeezed Tikki into his side. ‘Between Adrien and Nathalie, he called her mum and thanked her for raising him. If I was in her place, that’d be a huge change of mind for me too.”

“A-adrien called her mum?” Tikki’s voice was laced with disbelief. “That’s why Duusuu called Adrien Nathalie’s son. She has been there for him since his mother disappeared, so I can understand how much him saying that would mean to her.”

“He deserves to be happy, Sugarcube, and Dus was right in saying that Emilie’s reappearance would tear him apart,” Tikki could feel Plagg nodding against her head.

“So you didn’t hear that Nathalie was Mayura but you heard why she wanted to stop Hawkmoth?” Tikki pulled out of Plagg’s grip slightly and looked up at him with slitted eyes.

“Nah, I did hear that she was Mayura but it was a good way to bring up Adrien calling Nathalie ‘mum’,” Plagg’s laugh was loud but not the mocking tenor that Tikki was so used to.

“You’re an asshole, Plagg,” Tikki pulled away fully and punched Plagg in the side with all her might, sending Plagg tumbling through the air, laughing.

“Should we get back to Adrien and Marinette? I mean, the bell went like 20 minutes ago and what’s the bet that they’ve both noticed that we’re missing and trying to avoid each other as they look for us?” Plagg stopped tumbling and looked at Tikki upside down, his ears moving slightly as he moved from side to side.

“The bet is very high that they’ve both noticed that we’re missing but I doubt he’s avoiding her as he looks for you, if anything, Adrien is trying to find me before she does so he can reveal that he knows that she’s Ladybug,”

“Adrien knows that she’s Ladybug?!” Plagg immediately flipped himself the right way up, his tail swaying in agitation. “How long has he known?”

“Uh….a while?” It was Tikki’s turn to shrink back, Plagg would never hurt her but she didn’t like when he raised his voice at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Sugarcube? I’ve been trying to get them together for ages,” Plagg immediately lowered his voice as he saw Tikki cower from him. “That makes me happy, so happy for him. He’s got a mum now and is closer to getting his girl.”

“They-they’re dating, Plagg,” Tikki floated closer to him and allowed him to wrap her into a hug again. “But she doesn’t know who he is yet, she’s dating Chat Noir and has asked him to wait until she asks him to reveal himself to her.”

“It won’t be long, Marinette is a curious girl, I really haven’t spent long with her but the time I did spend with her after we fought Reflekta and Reflekdoll was like being interrogated,” Tikki giggled, rubbing her head against Plagg’s pointed chin as he spoke.

“We should get back to them,” Tikki pulled out of his embrace and rocked gently in the air.

“Yeah, we really should,” They floated down to the roof. “She’ll be fine, Sugarcube, she’d stronger than you know.”

“Thanks, Plagg,” Tikki gave him a thin smile.

“You know I love you, Sugarcube, and that I’d never lie to you. If I didn’t think Dus could take care of herself, I would’ve gone with her. You know I would’ve,” Plagg placed a fin on Tikki’s cheek, his slitted green eyes glowing with such heartfelt sincerity, Tikki felt it light a fire in her chest.

“I know,” Tikki blinked slowly. “I love you too.”

She whispered the last part as she sunk through the roof and made herself invisible. They’d never been the most careful when meeting all over the school but the events of Kwami Buster had made them so much more cautious. Tikki followed her bond to Mari through the halls of the school as she grinned to herself. Several million years and a life bond but she’d never said those three words to him; he probably didn’t hear them but it didn’t take back the fact that she’d said them.

Plagg floated on top of the roof, his eyes blown wide and his head spinning. She loved him too. She’d finally said it. She loved him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kagami sat on her bed with her tablet balanced on her knees, the messages app open with Luka’s name at the top. For the last 15 minutes Luka had been writing her a message, the three dots appearing and bouncing within their bubble before disappearing, then reappearing. She was growing jittery.

The bubble disappeared and didn’t return. With a sigh, Kagami dumped her tablet on the bedspread beside her and smoothed out her skirt. With a sudden loud vibration, Kagami grabbed the tablet and looked at the glowing screen.

‘I like you’

‘And I haven’t known how to tell you’

‘I’m not scared of you rejecting me but I am scared of you never knowing’

‘You are incredible, Echo, so so so incredible and I want you to know that’

Each text was sent in its own bubble, not the paragraph Kagami had been expecting.

‘I don’t know if you’ve read these but I really do like you’

‘I wouldn’t tell you that I did if I didn’t’

‘Please respond when you read these, I just need to know that you have seen them’

Her chest felt weirdly light, a white sparkling light danced on her eyelids as her eyes kept skipping over the words ‘I like you’.

A giddy smile broke across her face as she responded: ‘You’re pretty alright too, Strings’.

Kagami pressed send as she giggled at the stupid nickname she’d just come up with for him. The bubble appeared again then was replaced with a message in a few seconds.

‘Pretty alright? Pretty alright, Echo? You wound me’

Kagami: ‘That was my intention after all’

Luka: ‘I just confessed to liking you and I’m pretty alright?’

Even though she couldn’t hear his voice, she knew he was joking around with her. Luka was such a happy go lucky guy and Kagami understood that he would never actually get mad at her and talk about it over text. Luka didn’t do arguments over text, he preferred calling or being in person, Kagami was actually surprised that he hadn’t called her to admit his feelings for her. Oh god, he had feelings for her. He-he liked her back...he’d written a song for her and allowed Nino to play it out loud knowing that Kagami would translate it. She flopped back on her bed pressing her lips into a wide smile.

Kagami: ‘Maybe you’re more than pretty alright’

Luka: ‘What is more than alright miss Tsurugi?’

Luka knew that Kagami wasn’t a fan of bad grammar and he’d just gotten her to stop adding fullstops to the end of her text messages because he said it made her sound angry all the time. Her response, of course, had been “Well, I am angry all the time” but she’d relented.

Kagami: ‘Pretty attractive’

Kagami: ‘Pretty talented’

Kagami: ‘Pretty intelligent’

Kagami: ‘Pretty funny’

Kagami: ‘Pretty lucky’

Luka: ‘Why am I pretty lucky?’

Kagami: ‘I’m jealous of how awesome your girlfriend is’

Luka: ‘My girlfriend?”

Luka: ‘Did you just call yourself my girlfriend?’

Luka: ‘Kagami’

Luka: ‘Kagaaaamiiiii’

Kagami: ‘Well, you won’t know until you ask me to be your girlfriend, or you can keep calling your left hand ‘babe’...?’

Laying on the couch in the living room of the houseboat, his guitar resting across his stomach, Luka let out a roaring laugh that was immediately shushed by Juleka, who was sitting at her computer scrolling through pictures from her last modelling shoot.

Luka: ‘Oh please, darling Echo, will you be my girlfriend?’

Kagami: ‘Are you really going to ask me out over text, Couffaine?’

Luka: ‘Shit, my bad,’

Kagami’s phone, which was sitting on her desk a metre or so away started to buzz. She picked it up and swiped answer call to Luka.

“Beautiful Kagami, your eyes are like pools of honey and your hair shines like midnight, your laugh is more intoxicating than any drug a human could create, would you please do me the honour of being my girlfriend?” There was a small bit of noise in the background of Luka’s call, the sound of waves lapping on the hull of the houseboat. Kagami stifled a laugh. “Echo? You there?”

“Well, Mr Couffaine, I’m going to have to read over your application and call your references to make sure that you’re fit for the job,” Kagami licked her lips, trying to keep her voice from cracking as the strength of the laugh growing in her chest edged toward overpowering her.

“Dammit, ‘Gami, you’re killing me,” Luka put on a fake wounded tone, pleading.

“I’ll call you back soon with my answer, Mr Couffaine,” Kagami immediately hung up and threw herself onto her bed. She released a loud, happy squeal into her pillow; feeling like a normal girl for the first time in her entire life. Her whole life had been pressing her feelings down and keeping them to herself but now she’d let them out. Kagami Tsurugi was so overwhelmingly happy that she was literally screaming into her silk covered pillow. Once her screams had died down and reduced to joyful giggles, Kagami picked up her phone and called Luka back.

“Ka-,”

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” Kagami cut Luka off before he could finish saying her name. He let out a cheerful whoop and took the phone away from his year to let out a loud shout.

“God, Echo, never do that to me again,” Luka’s voice was mirthful but hoarse as he returned to the phone.

“I can’t promise that, Strings,” Kagami rolled onto her back and looked up at the white painted ceiling above her.

“Strings?” Luka chuckled at the new name.

“That’s my nickname for you now, because you’re a guitar player,” She let out an awkward chuckle and felt her cheeks burn. “You don’t like it do you?”

“No, no, no, I don’t like it,” Kagami felt her heart sink. “I love it.”

“It’s not creative or anything, like yours,”

“It’s perfect, like you,” Luka’s voice was soft and reassuring, sending Kagami’s heart soaring. “You really couldn’t have given me a nickname anymore...you. You have a tendency to be very literal and even hearing you call me ‘Strings’ is absolutely perfect.”

“I’m sorry,”

“Sorry for what?”

“Being so literal,” Kagami kicked her already untied sneakers off her feet and off the bed.

“Don’t apologise for that,” Luka let out a thumping sigh like he’d just thrown himself onto a bed or a lounge. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it because I don’t think I can stop it,” Kagami wriggled her stocking covered feet against her bedsheet.

“Good,” Luka imagined Kagami laying on her bed with her phone pressed to her ear as she spoke to him. Her short, inky hair splayed out on her pillow as her long fingers traced along the wrinkles in the sheets beneath her. The new couple fell into an easy conversation, complaining about the assignment Takayama sensei had assigned them to complete in German, laughing at each others jokes. Time drifting away in the sound of their voices.

~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was sitting on the top stair of the flight leading up to her classroom, chewing her already very short fingernails. When she’d slipped her pencil case into her school bag, she’d noticed that Tikki wasn’t in there. She’d pulled open her purse, the one that she kept slung over one shoulder and bouncing on the opposite hip, and moved around the small collection of things inside it, hoping that the Kwami had merely changed where she’d decided to have her nap.

Tikki wasn’t in Mari’s purse either, which sent Mari’s heart racing. Adrien had asked her what she was looking for and she’d immediately fallen into her old awkward way of speaking to him. Babbling about not being able to find her phone, Adrien had given her a cheeky smile and pointed out that it was in her hand which had turned her entire face neon red, sending her falling into a bookshelf and knocking several textbooks crashing to the floor. He’d helped her pick them up and put them back, of course, asking her questions about her plans for the weekend.

She tried not to think about Chat and how her curiosity had piqued when she’d returned to class and received a short message several minutes later. ‘I love you too’, her head had felt so light it could have lifted her off the ground and sent her crashing into the roof, she didn’t respond because she’d been too busy trying to hide her blush from Adrien who was paying a disturbing amount of attention to her today. Not that she didn’t enjoy being the center of Adrien Agreste’s attention but it made her think of Chat and how much she just wanted to chill in his company.

“Marinette?” Marinette whipped her head around at the sound of Tikki’s soft voice, looking for the Kwami. Tikki slowly regained her visibility.

“Tikki! I was so worried!” Mari reached her hands out, Tikki immediately took a seat in them and allowed Marinette to press a slightly shaky kiss to the top of her domed head. “Where were you?”

Tikki glanced around. “Can I tell you when we get home? I don’t feel that here is the safest place,” Mari nodded and clicked her purse open with one hand, gently slipping the Kwami into the soft bag.

“Okay, we’ll be home soon, Tikki, then you have to tell me everything,” Picking up her school bag and slinging it over her left shoulder, Marinette walked down the winding stairs and out the front doors of the school. Nino was leaning on the wall beside the door once Marinette exited them, his headphones over his ears as he bobbed his head along to the music filtering through them. With a small wave and a grin that Nino returned with finger guns and a tongue click, Marinette pushed her earbuds into her ears and started playing one of Jagged Stone’s new songs; it wasn’t technically released yet but Jagged had given Mari an early copy of the album because she was, afterall, the best album and clothes designer he’d ever worked with. Against Marinette’s protests, Jagged had set up a savings account for Mari under her name and deposited the pay that she wouldn’t accept into it. After she’d turned 16, he’d been insistent on paying her for the work she did for him, Marinette had said that being able to work for him was payment enough but Jagged wouldn’t take that for an answer. She was several thousand dollars richer than she had been a few years ago now thanks to Uncle Jagged.

Humming along to the song, Mari thought of snuggling up with Chat tonight and telling him all about her day.

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

“‘Sup, Adrikins,” Plagg dropped through the ceiling and clunked onto the top shelf of Adrien’s metal locker.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Plagg,” Adrien clutched his heart. “You just scared the actual shit out of me.”

“Just how I like it,” Plagg rolled around on the shelf and looked up at Adrien with indifferent green eyes. “Got any cheese?”

“Of course I don’t have any cheese! You ate it all,” The Cat Kwami laughed maniacally.

“Huh, maybe I did,” Adrien shook his head and slammed his locker closed. Plagg materialised through the metal and floated next to Adrien’s ear, whining. “That’s not fair.”

“Get in the bag, Plagg,” Adrien held his bag open and shook it at the floating creature who gave him a disdainful grimace.

“Did you even notice that I was gone?” Plagg rolled around in the air, ducking away from Adrien in case the blonde boy tried to grab him and put him in the bag. Of course, Adrien knew that he couldn’t grab Plagg if Plagg didn’t want him to, so Adrien let out a weary sigh and sat on one of the wooden benches, glaring at his Kwami.

“Not until you thunked into my locker, I stopped keeping track of you since I learnt the extent that you’d go to for cheese,” Adrien slumped against the metal pole behind him that held the clothes hanging rack students would put their clothes on when they changed for physical education.

“Ouch,” Plagg floated over to Adrien in a corkscrew whirl. “Why so antsy?”

“I wanted to kiss her,” The teenager slammed his hand against his forehead, angrily, and groaned loudly. The groan morphing into a quiet scream before dying down.

“I’m guessing you mean Marinette?” A smile broke out on Plagg’s face. Adrien didn’t know that he knew about Marinette and Chat Noir being an item.

“Um...yeah...how did you know that?” Adrien raised his head and looked at the Kwami with suspiciously slitted eyes.

“A little Ladybug told me,” Plagg’s voice turned sing-song as he made yet another corkscrew loop in the air in front of Adrien’s face.

“Tikki told you that Mari and I are dating?” Adrien clenched his hands into fists on his knees.

“Well, you didn’t tell me, did ya?” Adrien flicked Plagg just enough to get an ‘oof’ from him. “Don’t worry ya little blonde head, pretty boy, Sugarcube wouldn’t tell Marinette that you know unless she asked first.”

“You are such a little shit sometimes, did you know that?”

“Tikki’s been telling me since the dawn of time,” Adrien grabbed his bag and began zipping it up. “Woah, woah, woah, you gonna let a passenger get in his seat first or is this one-a those unsafe carnival rides?”

“Nino is waiting for me outside so it’s either you jump in now or try to hitch a ride as I leave,” He held up the bag.

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Plagg floated into the bag and nestled into the pocket made to hold Adrien’s phone or whatever. Adrien zipped the bag closed and hooked it over his shoulder none too gently, knockin one of his textbooks against Plagg who yelled at him loudly.

Adrien met Nino out the front, the DJ leaning against the wall playing on his phone as he listened to his music. Seeing Adrien’s shoes in his peripheral vision, Nino flipped his headphones off and paused his music.

“I just saw Mari head off home,” Nino ribbed Adrien and smirked at him. “You gonna go all cat-man and pounce?”

“Shut up, Speilberg,” Adrien rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go see her as Chat tonight.”

Nino’s smirk widened. “You gonna blow her mind?”

“Ew! Nino, no!” Adrien pushed Nino with a disgusted look on his face. “We’re taking it slow! She doesn’t even know who I am under the mask yet! Like hell we’re going to have intercourse.”

“Sex, Adrien, it’s called sex,” Nino laughed as the two boys started walking together toward the Agreste Mansion. It’d taken Adrien ages to convince Gabriel that he was completely fine to walk home from school and not be picked up; Gabriel had only relented as long as Adrien was still picked up after fencing along with Kagami, who would then have dinner with Adrien while her mother and Gabriel ate together.

“God, Nino, stop it,” Nino poked his tongue out at Adrien who rolled his eyes.

“So, was it weird today? Being so close to her and not being able to be boy-friendly?”

“It was shit, absolute shit,” Adrien shook his golden head. “Do you know how hard is it to see her smile and not want to kiss her?”

“No,” Adrien looked at Nino, confused. “Oi, she’s not my girlfriend, man. My girlfriend knows who I am and has no problems making out with me in public.”

“You’re so gross,”

“Says you, lover boy,” Adrien’s glare was pure venom. “Come on, you’ve been all ‘Mari this’, ‘Mari that’, ‘look at Mari’s hair today’, since we walked to school this morning! It’s been less than a day and she’s got you whipped.”

“I haven’t spoken about Mari once today,” Adrien let out a grumble.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Nino bumped Adrien with his shoulder.

“Fine, okay, I might’ve spoken about her once,” Nino raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “Twice,” Nino continued to look unconvinced, quirking his eyebrow higher. “Three times?” The shake of Nino’s head told Adrien that there was no way he was going to believe that Adrien was not whipped. “Okay, I’ve spoken about her a lot.”

“Glad to see that you’re finally out of the denial stage, I’m so proud of you,” Nino ruffled Adrien’s hair was a grin, Adrien tried to duck away and crashed into a lamp post. They had to stop their walk as Nino absolutely lost it laughing and Adrien rubbed his head, grumpily. Once they resumed their walk, Nino kept poking fun at Adrien for the dilemma he’d brought upon himself.

Reaching the outside steps of Casa de Agreste, Nino waved Adrien goodbye and continued on his way home. Adrien pressed the buzzer next to the gigantic double oak doors and waited for a response.

“Agreste residence, how can I help you?” Nathalie’s voice filtered through the small speaker. Adrien pressed the return speech button below the bell he’d rung to get her attention.

“It’s me, Mum, I’m home from school,” Calling Nathalie mum was still new and ever so slightly awkward but the more he accepted her as his mum, she’d been the only motherly figure he’d ever had afterall, the happier he became.

“Hello, Adrien, the door is unlocked, I’m in my office if you need me. The door might be locked so just knock to let me know that you’re outside,” Nathalie sounded happy, out of breath for some reason, but happy.

“Thanks, Na-Mum,” Adrien grinned as he responded then he pushed one of the large doors open and walked into the cavernous foyer of the mansion. A large marble staircase took up most of the space, leading up to the next level and splitting off to different sides of the second level. Checkered black and white floors covered the space as meagre artwork and decor sat very spaced out around the room. Adrien walked up the stairs and made his way to his room, the back up phone in his pocket buzzed as he pushed his bedroom door open with his shoulder and dumped his bag in front of his closet. Leaning casually against the wall, Adrien dug his phone out of his pocket, the normal one not the back up. The normal phone had a couple of messages, which Adrien ignored and chucked onto his bed with very little worry for it landing safely. Digging deeper for the backup, Adrien’s heart skipped a beat.

The nickname ‘Buggababe’ shone on the screen above a text signalling that she’d sent him a picture. Ever so slightly worried about what she might’ve sent, Adrien opened up the phone and saw that Mari had sent him a meme. How did he get so damn lucky? She’d sent him a goddamn meme!

The meme was one of a lady being held back by another while she yelled at a white cat who looked bewildered. On the screaming lady were the words ‘Mari’ and on the bewildered white cat ‘Chat putting himself in danger’; she’d made it for him. Marinette had made him a meme and he couldn’t feel more loved if he tried.

Furball (Adrien was unaware that Mari’s contact for him was ‘Furball’): ‘Did you make that meme for me, purr-incess?’

Buggababe: ‘Would you be mad if I didn’t?’

Furball: ‘I’d feel less special if you didn’t’

Buggababe: ‘Yes, silly kitty, I made it. No one else knows that we’re together so who else would have made it?’

Adrien felt the irony of her statement rock through his body. Others did know that they were together, Nino and Alya, two of her best friends, knew but she hadn’t even told them at school.

Buggababe: ‘Chaton, would you be mad at me if I told my best friend about us?’

Furball: ‘The journalist or the fencer?’

Buggababe: ‘Alya, the journalist. I’m not sure Kagami would know how to react’

Furball: ‘By all means, shout it from the rooftops, Corazon, let all of Paris know’

Buggababe: ‘I’ll take that as a yes’

Furball: ‘So you’re going to shout it from the rooftops?’ Adrien attached a smirking emoji with that message.

On the receiving end, across Paris, Mari snorted out a laugh and rolled over on her bed. Tikki said that she needed a little while before she told Marinette where she’d gone at school so Mari used that time to message Chat.

Buggababe: ‘No’

Furball: ‘First you tell me that you wouldn’t endanger yourself to get me out of class and now you tell me that you’re not going to announce our love to the entire world? Rude’

Buggababe: ‘You’re rude’

Furball: ‘You’re rude’

Buggababe: ‘You’re rude’

Furball: ‘You’re cute’

Buggababe: ‘Shut up’

Adrien badly wanted to send Mari a picture of him poking his tongue out but he remembered Alya’s threat and Tikki’s begged request to let Marinette ask him who he was in her own time. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than upsetting her balance.

Buggababe: ‘I’ve got to do something, I shouldn’t be too long but I won’t be able to text while I’m doing it’

Furball: ‘Okay, don’t die’

Buggababe: ‘Aren’t I supposed to say that to you? You’re the one with no sense of self preservation’

Furball: ‘You wound me’

Buggababe: ‘Try not to set Paris alight while I’m gone’

Furball: ‘I’ve lasted nearly 18 years without burning anything to the ground, I think I can last an hour or so’

Buggababe: ‘Just because you’ve almost lived to adulthood doesn’t mean you won’t accidentally destroy Paris’

Furball: ‘Oh, ye of little faith’

Buggababe: ‘If your boyfriend was a notorious idiot, you’d have little faith in him too!’

Furball: ‘I guess I’m lucky then that my girlfriend is a gorgeous genius’

Buggababe: ‘If you saw me at school, you’d eat your words’

Buggababe: ‘Brb’

Furball: ‘Miss you already’ [read 17:37]

Adrien grinned and headed off for a shower.

~~~~~~~

“Tell me what happened, Tikki,” Marinette was cross-legged on her bed looking intently at the Kwami. Her phone had been tucked beneath her pillow and she’d assured Tikki that she would have her undivided attention.

“Duusuu came to see me,” Tikki spoke quietly and fidgeted with her fins.

“Duusuu? Duusuu is the Peacock Kwami, right? The one belonging to Mayura?” Mari saw the uncomfortable look on Tikki’s face as she used the word ‘belonging’. How could she forget that Kwamis liked belonging to people as much as humans did? Tikki and Plagg and Duusuu were all sentient and had a right to choose what happened to them, even if that right was limited; they weren’t objects. “The one working with Mayura?”

“Yes, Duusuu is bonded with Mayura,”

“Why would Mayura’s Kwami come looking for you?” Marinette toyed with the tasseled edge of a throw blanket she’d tossed carelessly over her bed this morning.

“Mayura doesn’t want to work with Hawkmoth anymore,” There was a pregnant silence between Tikki and Mari as the words hung in the air between them.

“How do you know that Duusuu isn’t lying to you, or playing with you?”

“I’ve known Duusuu for a long time, Marinette, I would have known if she was lying to me,”

“She could’ve changed, Tikki, you haven’t seen her in god knows how long,”

“Marinette, I’ve told you about Kwamis bonding, right?” Marinette nodded, confused as to why this meant anything right now. “Duusuu and Nooroo, the Peacock Kwami, bonded. They’re tied together. They are nothing like Plagg and I. I love Plagg to pieces but I would sell him to the devil for a stale corn chip and a ball of lint. Duusuu would rather die than let anything happen to Nooroo.”

“But something has already happened to him, he’s being used to make supervillains,” Marinette’s voice was taking a hard edge. Tikki was sweet but she was also an immortal being who should know better than to trust people who appeared out of the blue and dropped a too-good-to-be-true opportunity into her lap.

“Nooroo is the Kwami of emotion, just like I’m the Kwami of creation and Plagg is the Kwami of destruction. My ties to the life forces of this world are like Nooroo’s ties to the emotional auras of the people around him. Because he feels so much all the time, he’s in a near constant state of stress, he couldn’t fight back if he tried,” Tikki knew that her words weren’t exactly the truth. Duusuu had hinted that Nooroo had tried to fight back but had given up. “Duusuu is the Kwami of sentiment, because her magic stems from people’s love for things or places or people, she’s not as fragile as Nooroo but the thought of causing him more pain terrifies her. I could see it in her eyes.”

“Why now?”

Tikki rubbed her fins together and looked uncomfortably around the room, praying that Adrien would pick that exact moment to drop onto the balcony as Chat Noir and send her into a hiding place. “For you to understand why Mayura chose now, I think you might need to ask Chat to reveal himself. It would be best for you two to find out together, as civilians,”

“B-but that could put his family in danger...and mine…,” Mari’s bottom lip wobbled slightly. She was curious to see who he was under the mask and she had been planning to ask him to show her tonight but if Tikki thought it was better for them to discover Mayura’s identity together then she must be very dangerous. Mari couldn’t put Chat’s family in danger, she didn’t even know them.

“I know, Marinette, this is why I didn’t want to tell you when we were at school. But Mayura could be the only way of stopping Hawkmoth and saving both my friends,”

“Nooroo and Duusuu are your friends?”

“Kwamis aren’t inherently bad, it’s our guardians that choose to make us so. Nooroo didn’t want to help Hawkmoth create supervillains but he didn’t have a choice and when Duusuu bonded to him, she was willing to go to the ends of the universe to stay by his side. Mayura wouldn’t have willingly sent Duusuu to find Plagg and I if this was for malicious means,”

“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘willingly’,”

“If Duusuu hadn’t been sure that Mayura wanted to protect her and Nooroo and help them, Duusuu wouldn’t have left to find us. Sometimes, sentiment and intent go hand in hand, if Mayura intended to hurt them then I promise to you on my life, Marinette, that Duusuu would not have put herself in danger to find Plagg and I,”

“Okay,” Marinette rubbed her eye.

“Stop rubbing your eye, it’s not good for it,” Tikki flew forward and pulled Mari’s fist away. “So you’re going to ask Chat to reveal himself?”

“Yes, but you have to promise me that it’s going to be safer for him and I to know who each other are so we can take down Hawkmoth,”

“It’s safer for you two to know, I promise,” Tikki wrapped her arms around Marinette’s fist as much as she could and squeezed. “And we’ll have to reveal ourselves to Alya and Nino eventually too. We’re going to need all the help we can get if we want to stop Hawkmoth and save Nooroo.”

“I trust you, Tikki,” Marinette kissed Tikki’s head and spoke with the quiet sincerity that Tikki adored about her guardian. “I’ll ask him to come over.”

“Wasn’t he going to come over anyway?”

“Well, yes,” Marinette’s cheeks flared crimson. “But I want to prepare him so he doesn’t freak out when I ask.”

Tikki’s laugh was like tinkling bells. “Trust me, I don’t think you could freak him out if you tried,”

~~~~~TAGLINE~~~~~ @maniic-pixie-dream-girl @lady-charinette @katieykat513 @mochegato @starkerismyking @nifflerstorm @aussie-lesbian

DM to be tagged :P

Can someone draw some super cute fanart of Plagg holding Tikki on top of the school? You would absolutely make me cry

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lectophile · 4 years

Text

Words of Wisdom: Crooked Kingdom

He had become a great beast, and yet that beast would devour him.

A card game is like a duel. It’s the little cuts and slashes that set the stage for the final killing stroke.

The really bad monsters never look like monsters.

Words like to ride the water.

Why build such monuments to death?

You’re a stolen painting...

I’m pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation.

We meet fear... We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.

Better terrible truths than kind lies.

No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.

Could forgiveness come if she killed not to survive but because she burned with living, luminous hatred?

You are forsaken. As you have turned your back on me, so will they turn their backs on you.

She could not pretend those words had been conjured by strategy or even animal cunning. The magic they’d worked had been born of belief. An ugly enchantment.

He felt free, dangerous, like lightening rolling over the prairie.

His only crime had been putting his faith in his son.

Trust but verify.

Because the law here is profit.

He feeds corruption with corruption.

Even better men can be bested.

Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time.

You build in safeguards for failures, but something in the safeguards ends up causing an unforeseen failure.

Never underestimate the public’s desire to get something for nothing.

We are not our fathers.

You don’t win by running one game.

He was just a boy fueled by a white flame of rage, one that threatened to burn the pretense of the hard-won civility he maintained to ash.

The Saints hear prayers wherever they’re spoken.

Praying and wishing are not the same thing.

Sometimes the trick to getting the best of a situation was just to wait. If you didn’t like the weather, you didn’t rush into the storm—you waited until it changed.

The silence between them was dark water. He could not cross it. He couldn’t walk the line between the decency she deserved and the violence this path demanded. If he tried, it might get them both killed. He could only be who he was—a boy who had no comfort to offer. So he would give her what he could.

But that debt is mine to pay.

...that fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.

You sink into trouble like it’s a warm bath.

I wait with open ears and a ready heart.

Your enemies are my enemies, and I stand with you against any foe...

There is no greater honor than to stand by your side.

Meeting you was a disaster, but I am grateful for that disaster. I needed a cataclysm to shake me from the life I knew. You were an earthquake, a landslide.

You aren’t a follower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.

He didn’t need to be popular to survive.

You were angry. Angry wears off. I needed you righteous.

There’s always a price to be paid for greatness.

Everyone can shoot, but not everyone can aim.

I cannot be anything other than what I am, and if my gifts can help people, then it’s my duty to use them.

What kind of mother would I be to my son if I hid away my talents? If I let fear be my guide in this life?

You knew what I was when you asked me to choose you... Do not now suggest that I be anything else.

No matter the height of the mountain, the climb is the same.

It was a planet and she was its moon.

What a luxury to turn your back on luxury.

You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are.

We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.

Our work is death, and it is holy.

You cannot fear death and be it’s true emissary.

But I ask no money for the lives I take. They are the jewels I wear. They are my glory in this world and will bring me honor in the next.

I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools.

We want to create something that outlasts us.

But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.

When they backed you into a corner, you cut a hole in the roof.

But he couldn’t fix something he couldn’t catch a hold of.

It was all black desert, starless sky, barren earth.

That had been heat, fire, light. This was a cold flame, one that burned low and blue.

We are tied to the power of creation itself, the making at the heart of the world.

But maybe death wasn’t just one thing.

It came after the shipwreck, when the tide moved against you and the sky had gone dark. It was the first sight of land, the hope of shelter and even salvation that might await you on a distant shore.

The city had come alive, and it was angry.

There’s no time to constantly be apologizing for existing.

But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.

This action will have no echo.

Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined. If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it.

I’m dying anyway, I’m just doing it slow.

I love you with all my lying, thieving, worthless heart...

He’s the house. He has the resources to play until your luck runs out.

I can’t live in a city where I can’t hold up my head.

It was a mad, spiky monster of a plan, and that was what it had to be for them to succeed.

There was always an angle, and he was an expert at finding it.

Words have not been invented for such an occasion.

Every sin makes the shadow stronger, until eventually the shadow is stronger than you.

The distance between them felt like nothing. It felt like miles.

Violence was easy.

He clung to the tether of her voice.

It hurt to stand here like this, so close to the circle of her arms.

He ignored the sting in her heart.

He didn’t deserve peace and he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but if he was going to die today, maybe the one thing he’d earned was the memory of her—brighter than anything he would ever have a right to—to take with him to the other side.

He might as well go to meet his death in style.

Crazy enough, but not stupid enough.

This city’s price is blood, and I’m happy to pay with yours.

Why run from the amazing things you can do?

This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire.

Rich men want to believe they deserve every penny they’ve got, so they forget what they owe to chance. Smart men are always looking for loopholes. They want an opportunity to game the system.

The toughest mark is an honest one.

Sometimes, a proper thief doesn’t just take. He leaves something behind.

The dead will wait, but I won’t.

But this was different. This was decay.

And that was what destroyed you in the end: the longing for something you could never have.

So let’s go show them they picked the wrong damn fight.

Maybe she should feel ashamed, maybe even frightened. But she hadn’t been made for shame.

But just as surely as life connected everything, so did death.

She was the Queen of mourning, and in its depths, she would never drown.

It willl be your honor to serve me in death.

The blood you spill is the blood of kings. You are not fit for such a gift.

We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.

There is no shame in meeting a worthy opponent. It means there is more to learn, a welcome reminder to pursue humility.

She had chosen to live freely as a killer rather than die quietly as a slave, and she could not regret that.

Even now, n this last moment, she looked like a girl from a story, destined for greatness. She was a queen without mercy, a figure carved in ivory and amber.

May you make more than misery in your next life.

Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste.

Fate has plans for us all.

It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

There’s so much in the world you don’t have to be afraid of, if you could only open your eyes.

Lightening doesn’t like a master.

Be free, as you were meant to be. Be a warrior, as you always have been.

I have been made to protect you. Even in death, I will find a way.

You will meet him again in the next life, but only if you suffer this now.

Funny thing, when you train an animal to obey, sometimes they get too easy to command. Better to keep them a little wild.

You don’t win by running one game.

You can only sharpen a blade so far. In the end, it comes down to the quality of the metal.

Loving you made him better.

He went easier into the next world knowing he’d done good in this one.

Laughing at my jokes. Forgiving me when I was foolish. Never trying to make me feel small. It doesn’t matter if it’s next month, or next year, or ten years from now, those will be the the things I remember when I see you again.

Try to catch hold of me and you’ll find you’re trying to hold air.

But it was one thing to be a thief in a house and quite another to be a guest.

He had been so much of her world for so long.

Be the thing they all fear when they close their eyes at night.

She’d need only move the smallest amount and they would be touching. He was that close. He was that far from reach.

She understood suffering and she knew it was a place she could not follow, not unless she wanted to drown too.

She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying.

Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And then people who wrong them too.

Her mind refused the image before her. This could not be real. It was an illusion, a false reflection, a lie made in rainbow-bird glass. She would breathe again and it would shatter.

The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent.

Her heart was a river that carried her to the sea.

You think you’re finished with a place, but that doesn’t mean the place is finished with you.

#crooked kingdom #grishaverse #grisha #leigh bardugo #Inejghafa #kaz x inej #kaz brekker #Rietvield #jordie #jasperfahey #wylandvaneck #wyland x jesper #nina zenik #matthias x nina #inej x kaz #matthiashelvar #smallscience #ketterdam #novyi zem

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 5 years

Text

This is just some Evanstan that I dabbled in years ago with priest!Chris and demon!Sebastian. I never really got the chance to finish but I figured I could share some of it just for the hell of it. ((heh, get it?))

Demons don’t always lie.

They can, of course.

They can spin yarns as twisted and long as the roots of the oldest trees themselves. But what fun can come from telling lies to creatures who will believe a flower is not poison just by capping it with a blossom? Creatures who will walk the path to Hell just because it’s lined with rose petals?

There is none. Which is why it is better to tell truths.

A truth, however, is not always as simple as humans believe. Truths can be just as twisted and long as silver-tongued lies and have just as many consequences. For when a demon tells the truth, take great care in listening to what they say. Each and every word. They may not be lying, but the truth they tell may very well not be the truth you hear.

This is the harsh lesson learned of every human who unknowingly makes a deal with a demon.

Rain pounds on the church. It’s one of those nights. It’s been years since they’ve been able to afford a new roof. Thin and creaky, it makes even lightest of rains sound like thousands of angry footsteps running across it. Thunder claps hard and frequently, after bright strikes of lightning that flash through the church. Coating the altar, the almost-ever empty pews, the long, maroon carpeted aisle in an eerie white light before it all falls dim again.

Father Christopher–just Father Chris to the neighborhood kids and still Chris to his family and friends–sits in the back office. Lit only by the table lamp. His eyes strain as he counts through the week’s offerings, comparing them with the church’s financial books. Uneven. By a lot. A whole lot. Chris sighs and slouches. Feels those all-too-familiar tears begin to prick at his eyes. They hurt as they try to push their way out. He won’t let them.

Chris takes hold of the gold cross around his neck. Simple, plain. A gift from his mother the day he told her he planned on being ordained. He wanted to help people. Thought priesthood was the best way. Now he whispers prayers to a God that might no longer be listening.

The lights flicker with another crash of thunder. Big, fat drops of rain slam up against the stained glass window. Chris closes the books. He locks the money up in the safe. There’s raffle this weekend. For the Christmas tree sale at the end of the month. Maybe that will give them enough month for the rest of the month’s bills.

Turning the office down--lights off, computer off, everything in order--Chris puts his jacket on and heads into the church to leave for the night. He bows his head at the altar, blessing himself before bending down on one knee. Offers a quick prayer to the Blessed Mother and to his Lord and Savior, and would have just left, made it home to his quarters across the street if not for the light. Like an eye glaring at him in the middle of the dark, wooden wall across the aisle.

Over the confessional booth.

Chris stops and stares at it. Unblinking and heart pounding. He glances at the front doors. Shut up tight and locked just as they have been for hours. As they’ve needed to be for the past few months if someone is there alone. The neighborhood is just not the way it used to be, not like it was when Chris was a child. Has someone broken in? A polite thief that just happened to lock the doors behind them? Chris might chuckle if he didn’t feel so oddly off-balanced.

Danger has goosebumps rising up on his skin, pulling the fine hairs up along with it. He could leave, of course. Just walk right out those doors and lock them up behind him. Call the police and wait for them to arrive. But it…doesn’t feel right. Chris’s a priest. Meant to help people no matter what the situation. Wind shouts up against the front of the building. Sings a melancholy tune that shoots through the Holy water.

He takes one last look at the doors, his last means of escape, and then back at the confessional booth. Chris swallows the hard lump that’s formed in his throat and shrugs out of his jacket. His feet drag across the carpet, bring him over. Hand trembling slightly, it feels draftier than usual in here, he steps into his side of the booth. The door seals him inside. A coffin-like fit as he sits on the wooden bench inside. The air feels dead. Unmoving. Sweat dots his brows, wiped away by the back of his hand as he sucks in a few deep breaths. Quells the quickly forming anxiety attack before it takes over. Chris has never felt so unnerved in here before.

Chris uses another private moment to gather his bearings. Still unsure if there’s anyone there at all. If there’s a threat or just someone who needs help. Thunder shudders in the skies above. He slides the partition open.

“H-hello?” Chris says.

There is someone there. Chris can just make out their silhouette as they shift positions. His stomach clenches.

“Are you the priest here?”

“I…” His voice is strained. Hard to get out. “I am. Are you in need of guidance, my child?”

Chris hears a soft chuckle. “Guidance? In the business of offering directions these days, are you?”

He hesitates. Has heard the few who still come for reconciliation try to dance around their confession.

Chris responds, “But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.”

He’s met with a moment of silence. A brief sniff and a long, heaved out sigh.

“John 16:13,” he replies softly.

“You know the Bible.”

“I read it in my youth.”

“How old are you?”

His voice is quiet when he says, “I’ve seen some years.”

“Do you need help, my son?”

“I don’t know that you can give me the help I need, Father.”

“What sort of help do you require?”

“Well…” He pauses. Might lean his head back against wall. “I have blood on these damn hands of mine.”

A chill shudders through Chris’s entire body. The once hot, stuffy booth feels laced with ice. For just one second, he could swear misty fog comes out with his breath. A trick of the light. Had to be. Chris is tired. The storm. Stress. This confession.

“We’re speaking…metaphorically…of course?”

Not much can be seen outside of the confessional booths, but the entire place must light up with another strike of lightning. The illumination climbs in and jumps up at Chris from the crack under the door. What little light the bulb above him provide snaps out. Chris glances up. Hears the person a thin wall away move. The light blinks back on.

“If you say so.”

Chris thinks over that for no more than a few seconds. Needs to address the obvious before anything else.

“Have you hurt someone tonight?”

“No.” His answer comes out cool and casual. Too light to be a lie. Chris is used to being lied to. “Can we do this right, Father?”

“Right?”

“Yes.”

At first, Chris isn’t sure what he means. Not until he sees the shadow of a person slide off the wooden bench and fall to his knees on the stool facing him. The red light above his side of the obscured window goes on the second he’s kneeling. The penitent makes the sign of the cross and laces his fingers.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he whispers. “It has been…” He stops. Doesn’t pick up again on his own.

Chris does for him. “A long time since your last confession?”

“Da. Yes. I can’t remember.” Chris sees his head shake. “No. That’s not true. O minciună. Forgive me. I do remember. It’s just...complicated.”

“It’s okay. What sins are you here to confess?”

“My relationship.”

“Your relationship? Are you in some sort of trouble, son?”

“I’ve done bad things, Father.”

“Because of your relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Is there fear in your relationship?”

The light above him flickers again. Chris glances up at it. The wire it hangs from seems to be swaying slightly. As though an uninvited wind has passed through unnoticed.

“You don’t know what fear is,” his penitent answers.

“Would you like me to call the proper authorities for you?”

“No. They can’t help me. There’s only…one who can help me.” He pauses again. Takes a deep breath. “I was hoping, maybe, you could send a message for me.”

“Are you…are you talking about God? Are you asking me to send a message to God for you?”

“Is that not what you do?” he asks. “Talk to God for those of us who cannot?”

Chris doesn’t realize he’s holding onto his cross again until he turns it between his fingers. A nervous twitch. One he picked up a long time ago. The urge to do something with his hands. Fingers busy at all times.

“Everyone can talk to God, my son. You just need to accept Jesus into your heart.”

“Nu. No. It does not work like that for some of us.”

“It works like that for everyone. God is in all--”

“No!” A hand slams up against the copper grille. “Not everyone!” There’s a strange sound. Feral. Like the growl of an animal. Chris backs away a bit. “Forget it. This was a mistake.”

He rises to his feet. Rushed. His pace hastened like he wants desperately to escape the booth. The door is already opened by the time Chris catches up with him. Hops to his own feet and almost opens the door. Forces himself not to. That’ll break the confidentiality sought for. He can’t do it.

“Wait!”

He’s got his hand gripped so tightly around the knob it almost hurts his palm. There’ll be an intent, that’s for sure.

Chris doesn’t hear anything for a moment. Not until the second door closes. Quietly latching and then there’s silence again. Eerie, unnatural silence that slips through like a breath over a pair of lips. His eyes flick up to the red light above the window. It’s off.

Off.

On.

The brightness of it, even though there’s no real shine to it at all, startles Chris when it flares up. He needs to put his hand on his chest. Push down on it to keep from breathing too hard.

“Why?” He’s asked. “Why do you want me to stay?”

Chris is still on his feet. He sits down. His knees are shaking so hard he’s not sure how he managed to stay up so long.

“I want to help you,” he whispers back. “You sound lost.”

“I am lost,” he replies. “But you can’t help me.”

“I don’t think you believe that.”

“Chiar așa?” He might chuckle. Chris isn’t sure nor does he understand the language he’s spoken more than once now. Latin based, he believes. “And why is that?”

“You didn’t leave. You could have. But you chose to stay.” Chris strokes his fingers over his chin. Feels the rough stubble there and does it again. And again. “You want me to help you.”

“You won’t even do what I asked,” he points out.

“I’ll pray for you,” Chris says. “If that’s something you want. But…isn’t there more I can do for you?”

Fingers’re picking at the tiny spaces in the grille. Pink skin that pushes through for a moment in one spot and then again in another.

“You want to call the police for me? You think that that will help, da?”

“It might.”

“It won’t, though. I know it won’t. It’ll only get more of you hurt.”

“Who’ll be hurt?”

“People.”

“Listen to me. If someone is threatening you, threatening to harm you in any way, we can offer you sanctuary here.”

“You still do that sort of thing?”

“You can stay here if you feel you’re in danger. We can call a safe house for you.” It wouldn’t be the first time Chris has had to do it. He’s helped usher more than a few abuse victims in the less than two years he’s been here. “They’ll escort you to a safe place.”

“There is no place safe.”

Chris can barely hear that. The words have come out like the shadow of a breath. A tremble hits him hard. He wants to hold this person. This penitent that’s both unnerving and heartbreaking.

“Please…” Chris whispers. Presses his palm to the spot those pink fingers last touched. “Let me help you.”

“And what will happen when you don’t?”

His voice is different. No longer soft, holding hints of arrogance and beyond-the-years wisdom. It’s smooth as velvet and yet rough like a back alley fuck. Chris feels his throat tighten. He knows that voice. Somehow. Been hearing it his whole life. In the back of his head. Feeding him lies and insecurities.

“W-what?”

“What happens when you don’t help me? When you let me down? Just like you always do?”

“Always…?”

“Let everyone down, Father. This is what you do, isn’t it? What you fear the most?”

“I don’t…”

“Come now, think about it. Who haven’t you let down?”

Chris’s hands shake as he pushes those images from his head. Of his loved ones’ downcasted eyes on him. Disappointed, ashamed.

“What about your family? Where are they while you’re here?”

Chris doesn’t want to think about it. About all this time that’s separated him from them. They’re proud of him. They are.

“What about the family you wanted? The kids you wanted.”

No. He can’t think that way. Or about the pitter-patter of little feet that’ll never grace a home.

“You don’t even believe in God anymore, do you?”

His stomach flips at the mention of thoughts he’s never spoken aloud. Thoughts whispered in his ear during the blackness of night. It’s getting cold in here again. A cool breeze slithers along Chris’s skin. Pricks at it. Hurts even.

“Think of all the people in your congregation.”

Not all that many. Enough, though. Too many that he preaches to every Sunday. Chris shivers. Rubs his hands across his arms as he tries to keep warm, thoughts of his own shortcomings and failures floating around his ears. Rising out of his soul and latching onto him tightly.

“All listening to you. Up there while you talk about things you don’t even believe in. You preach and you guide and read from your silly little book and they all watch you knowing that you’re nothing but a hypocrite. Help me? How can you help me when you let everyone else down?”

“Please…stop…”

Tears are sliding down Chris’ face. He wipes them away and feels more when that voice goes on.

“Help me? Tell me something, Father. When you lie awake at night thinking about all the things that you’ve sacrificed for the God you don’t even believe in, what hurts more? Letting your family down? Your community down? The Vatican down? Yourself down? Maybe the whole fucking world down. You’ve done it your whole God damned life, haven’t you?”

“I…”

“Haven’t you?”

The light above his head bursts, glass shattering over him. All’s left now is the harsh, red glow of the small bulb above the window. Chris is shaking. So hard that the rosaries he wrapped around his hand sometime during those taunting words were being carved into him rattle against the wall. He’s shivering. From the cold. He’s so, so cold. And dizzy. The dark walls spin round and round. Darkness descending upon him. His elbow leans up against the windowsill and Chris’s head feels so heavy, he has to rest it in his hand.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Ever since you were a child.”

It’s not a question.

Chris whimpers. “Yes. I…I can’t do this. I’m a failure.”

“Why did you even become a priest?”

“Because…I wanted…to help…people.”

“But you don’t.”

He cries harder. “No.”

“Because?”

“I…can’t do anything right.”

There’s a clicking noise. Quick, rapid movements that sound like lots of tiny bits falling to the floor. It takes Chris a moment to realize it’s his teeth clacking together. His shivers have gotten violent. That is his breath he’s seeing. Coming out of his mouth with each heavy, miserable pant.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why is he saying these things to this stranger? Confessing fears that keep him up in the middle of the night. Anxiety in the form of monsters and lies that creep up and nestle comfortably in his mind until he figures out a way to best them.

Chris squeezes his eyes closed. Tears sneak out anyway. Streaming down his face and make a mess of his cheeks, his lips, his nose. There’re noises in the booth with him. Creaking noises. Ice cracking and slithering up the walls. He can’t see it. He hears it. Creeping closer and closer, caging him in this freeze he can’t escape. A cage of ice lit up in fires of red.

“Please…don’t…”

“They needed you. And you weren’t there.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” His voice cracks. “Please…”

“You let them die.”

Chris shakes his head. Over and over and over. Face scrunched, painfully. Buries it in his hands and can’t find the words to refute these accusations. In the back of his mind, hidden behind all these evil thoughts that prey on him whenever possible, Chris knows it’s not true. He knows he did everything he could.

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?”

Chris’s hand finds the end of his rosaries. His lips fumble over Hail Marys as he’s asked the same question over and over again.

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?”

The creaking ice gets louder and louder. It booms in his ears, so loud he can barely even hear his own breathing. Echoes of it carry along the walls of the church. Cracks and snaps as it thickens and hardens. Leaves Chris trapped in this eternal icy tomb.

He slams palms against his ears. Tries to block out the sounds. Needs to block out the sounds. It hurts. The ice, the noises, the questions…

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?!”

“Everyday!” Chris screams. He drops to his knees on the kneeler and sobs into his folded arms. “Everyday...”

“And you think becoming a priest could absolve you of your sins? You think your soul won’t writhe with anguish and misery in the icy fires of Hell? You think you can find forgiveness for yourself just because you became a priest?”

“I’m not going to Hell,” Chris swears it through his teeth. Feels a bit of the ice retreating. “God…wouldn’t…He wouldn’t punish me.”

“Wouldn’t punish…” A sick, twisted laugh filled the entire booth. More than one voice. Wrapping around Chris and making him cold once more. “Is this the same God we speak of, Father? The same God who banished humanity from paradise over a fig?” His voice is getting louder. Unearthly loud. “The same God who flooded Their most precious creation in a hissy fit? The same God whose fire tore through Sodom and Gomorrah? Do we speak of the same God, Father, who stole the lives of innocent firstborns? That God? That God, Father?”

“STOP IT!” Chris punches the wall. Has to. He needs to get him to shut up and can find no other ways to do so. Chris is breathless. Vision faded and blurry from all the tears. There’s a pain in his throat as he finds his voice, pushes it out meek and hoarse to ask, “Who…who are you?”

“When seeking answers, Father, one must first ask the right questions.”

Most frost bursts from Chris’s lips. He can see it now. The ice, just a thin layer of it crawling, inching--achingly slow--out of the grille. Tremors rock through his body as he stares wide-eyed at it.

“What are you?” he whispers.

The grille is meant to keep people on either side unseen. Chris can just make out the thick set of lips that come up close to it now.

“I am the things that go bump in the night.”

Chris smothers his face in his arms. Nausea rolls all over him. Wave after wave of sickness that he swallows down. Skin pale and clammy. Terrified.

“I’m sorry…” he weeps. Doesn’t know why. Chris just feels an overwhelming need to find forgiveness. “I’m sorry…sorry…I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? Father, are you all right?”

His voice has changed again. Changed back to that lost soul who first started talking. Chris picks his head up. From a seated position. Not on the kneeler, but on the bench. A breath catches in his throat. He glances around. The light is back on. No broken glass. No cold either. There’s no ice. Nothing. Not even a lingering chill of any kind. Chris feels warm and comfortable, physically. Fingertips brush his cheeks. There aren’t even any tears. None to be found. He’s not been crying at all.

“Father?”

Eyes droopy and heavy, Chris is afraid he may have fallen asleep. Had a nightmare. Horrible, twisted. Real and vivid like the very worst of his own fears sneaking up and suffocating him.

“Are you still there, Father?”

His voice sends a shiver through him. Like the one in his dream--nightmare.

“I…I think it’s best if you leave,” Chris says.

Those fingers are back again. Pushing at the grille. Chris wonders if they long for physical contact. Contact he cannot give.

“Perhaps you are right.” It sounds like he might be crying. He sucks in a jagged breath, even sniffles, and Chris can see him wipe his arm across his eyes. “I...Father?” Chris doesn’t answer. He whispers, “I’m sorry, Father.”

The light above the window goes off. When it does, Chris feels a huge weight slip away with it. As though he’s had a massive headache caused by the glaring red eye that’s been cured with its departure. The door opens and doesn’t close again. Chris can’t hear anything else, but he stays in the booth for a little longer anyway. Not just out of confidentiality. He can’t move. Can’t really feel much of his body.

His mind is hazy. His stomach feels queasy and he’s not sure why. Something just happened. Something as heartbreaking as it was horrifying. Bits and pieces of fuzzy memories brush the edge of his brain and fade away again.

When he regains the sensations in his body, when his legs no longer feel like jelly, Chris is tired. Exhaustion aches in the very marrow of his bones. He might not even make it to his place if he doesn’t get out of here soon. Picking himself up, he wants to get out of here. The room spins around him. Chris holds himself up, hand pressed up against the door. He needs to go home before he’s ill.

He manages to get the door open. Stepping out, he’s greeted by a loud boom. A noise that echoes throughout the whole church. Vibrates through his entire body. The front door crashing into the wall. Left wide open. It’s still pouring. Rain hitting the church hard as though trying to break through the roof. Chris’s place is only just across the street. He doesn’t need to bother with his jacket. The door to the other side of the confessional booth is ajar. His hand reaches for it. For both a bit of balance on his wobbly feet and to shut it before he gets outside. Chris peers inside.

Small chunks of ice melt into the carpet. An intricate layer of frost sparkles across the grille.

Someone was here.

Someone not of this world.

Someone who sounded so desperate for Chris’s help and just didn’t know how to go about asking for it.

“Come back,” Chris whispers. “Come back tomorrow and, please, let me help you.” A name sits on his lips. He doesn’t know why. He’s never met anyone with this name before. Yet it’s there. In his mind. In his heart. In his soul. “Sebastian...”

#evanstan #chris evans #sebastian stan #FICTION #priest/demon au #long post #i had to take a break from titanic it was making me cry #my stuff #forgive me father for i have sinned

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bubbletimestories · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Beck (Quentin/reader)

Summary: The story of how Quentin Beck is so bored during confinement that he decides to find a damsel in distress for Mysterio. Except he falls on your profile and you start to trot him in the head. Between the heat, the confinement and the fact that he can send drones to observe whoever he wants, Quentin could well lose his mind.

Warnings: stupid Beck, he’s an asshole, as usual. Broken mug.

Themes: love, obsession, being bored, quarantine

A/N. This is not an ad for Smule (the application used at the end) but it is true that it relaxes. I especially wanted to stage a slightly stupid Beck and the fact that he sings ^^ Fic written quickly, without proofreading, for fun.

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540031 (eng)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539569 (fr)

*************************************************************************

Everything was ready for the big appearance of Mysterio, for the Elemental’s very first attack which would bring a whole new hero into the spotlight. Everything, absolutely everything was ready. And then the Covid struck.

At first, no one really cared, they weren't planning to launch any of their virtual creatures in China. A little Asian virus was not going to steal them the limelight in the newspapers, not against an earth giant or a walking tornado. But the little Asian virus did not stop there and we all know that in the space of a few months, the whole world was frozen behind thick windows. When the confinement was announced, more than one citizen felt a ball of anxiety crushing their throat, but it was nothing compared to the dull terror experienced by all the members of the "Mysterio" team. Being locked up is one thing, but when the greatest danger is cloistered between four walls with you, the global pandemic seems very slight.

The confinement was declared several weeks ago, the spirits are still heating up but many have already resigned themselves to having to wait quietly for the sun to shine on them again. Speaking in a low voice in a corner of the warehouse that has served as their home for far too long, Janice laments, carefully dusting the costume of the hero who does not yet exist.

"There is at least one good thing ... the helmet fits perfectly with the rules of hygiene. "

Victoria chuckles behind her back, recovering almost immediately with a concerned look upstairs, where their leader has taken up residence. Amid the debris of drones and other shattered objects, he turns in circles like a tiger in a cage, his slender figure cutting against the smoked glass window. Impossible to launch their great illusion now, it would be ridiculous to see a monster devastating a deserted city. No drama, no tension, it would have as much effect as a wet firecracker. So they have to wait, wait again, praying a little louder every day so that the operation chief does not commit murder. When he grabbed the hammer lying there yesterday, everyone held their breath as they imagined their last hour arriving.

" Hello everybody ! "

A cheerful voice startles the two women as Quentin descends the shaky staircase to mingle with the crowd, his face radiant and freshly shaven. He greeted everyone, patting one on the shoulder, saying funny word to an other, his irresistible charming smile on his lips. He’s sorry for yesterday, he got a little carried away, nothing serious. After all, there are worse things than being stuck here with friends. It gives them time to discuss, to refine certain details, to perfect what they have prepared with such care. Maybe they could think about how to add a little emotion to their script, although the tearful story of the bereaved soldier is already a great teardrop. Finally, he comes up to the costumer, slipping a hand behind her back, leaning over to watch her work.

- I am always impressed by the detail of this cape, all these hours of work… - It's ... it's because it's for you, Quentin.

The young man smiles and darts his blue eyes on Janice, just long enough to see her lose all means. It is easy for Beck to lead his world, a simple look is enough for him, a smile or a well-placed word opens all the doors. He decides to prepare a coffee before returning to see the seamstress, taking the opportunity to exchange a few words with Guterman on the story they have invented, the alliance on his finger... After having recovered the drone control bracelet to be able to check certain settings by speaking (he likes to be able to play with them), Quentin returns to his armor which he examines with a critical eye. Suddenly, his face darkens as he points to a small scratch on the shiny surface.

" What is that ? "

There is silence all around them although the tone of the young man has remained calm and playful. Janice suddenly feels in balance on the razor's edge and explains like a mother would talk to her son, if the latter was armed with a butcher's knife.

"Well ... it's a trace of past battles. The story of the Quentin Beck fighter will be more credible if the public sees traces of wear on the armor. "

He was the one who made this remark, insisting strongly that small details are the glue of good lies and that it should be as true as possible. The team leader nods slowly when he hears this common sense answer.

"More credible for the public ... it is for the public to believe in it ..."

With a great movement, he smashes the happily empty cup on the edge of the desk. He doesn't even pay attention to the handle that remains in his hand while the rest of the ceramic lies in a thousand pieces around him. His immense eyes give off a burning anger, unless it is madness dancing in flames in his angelic pupils.

"The audience will see what I want them to see. They'll believe what I want them to believe. Everything must be absolutely perfect, I mean PERFECT, for the arrival of Mysterio and perfection does not admit a scratch on the armor! "

He laughs as he steps aside, his fingers absently gliding across the control screen to make the drones fly, these obedient extensions of himself. Unlike others whose metal tentacles are the real masters, he can fully rely on the robots that roar around the warehouse, their weapons out and ready to fire. Quentin walks slowly, scratching his thin beard, deeply saddened by the fact that he has to live with people who fail to meet his ideal.

"I invest myself body and soul, we are all investing body and soul in this adventure, to make all these years of work something more important than stupid therapy for an alcoholic billionaire. All this hard work shouldn't go up in smoke because of a little mistake. "

No one dares to answer for fear of being shot in the head. Beck seems to regain his calm as he gently places the broken handle on the costumer's desk. The latter, tense of apprehension, feels uneasy when she feels a hand go up along her back to her shoulder, pressing gently as for a massage. The contact, as unexpected as it is sensual, is accompanied by a warm breath that disturbs the strands near her ear.

"Janice, Janice, Janice, you are a pearl ... Forgive me for this moodiness, I'm sure you can rectify that without problem. "

The woman nods vigorously and the drones all disarm together to return to land in their corner, their leader smiling, whispering before standing up.

"I knew I could count on you, honey. "

He can count on everyone here, they are a very close-knit team. Why these burial faces? It's a good day. Quentin regains his good humor, as do his comrades, as if the mug incident no longer existed. Well, since they're stuck here, why not put a little spice in the frame of their future hero? The young man has been thinking about it for a few days, but finding a damsel in distress would be a way for Mysterio to gain points. Who doesn't love rescue stories with a hint of romance? It's decided, he will take advantage of this confinement to choose the ideal candidate as others would peel the dating sites.

“We will find the ideal pigeon for our history. "

That's it, he is again totally focused and excited by their project, which reassures more than one person in the group. They are coming together, it will be like a game where everyone will judge the female profiles, even if the last word will obviously go to Beck. The latter settles down quietly, letting Will do the research and project the images using drones (they are very useful for watching a film). Quentin's eyes sparkle as he imagines the perfect prey, the one who will swoon in his arms under the applause of the crowd.

"She has to be pretty but not vulgar, not a bimbo or a brainless doll. Nor should she be too self-confident or intelligent, that would sound elitist. It is out of the question to take a teenager or an old woman, maybe a few years younger than me and obviously without disability, I don't want anyone to think that it is out of charity. Besides, she must be able to run and shout my name. Skin color doesn't matter, I'm not picky. "

Despite this last sentence, William realizes that his boss will not take the first young lady and it is by mopping the sweat on his forehead that he begins his research, going from photo to photo, from a Facebook, LinkedIn profile to another at the whim of "no", "no", "too cliché", "too ugly" from his leader. Hours go by and no woman really finds favor in Quentin's eyes, in his quest for perfection. If only he had a really clear idea of what he wants ...

- Walentyna Chmielewska… - Unpronounceable. - Alina Baez, dermathologist… - No - Y/N, she is currently in… - Ordinary - Christina Liang, professional dancer. - Lesbian, take a better look at her profile.

With an annoyed sigh, Quentin puts an end to this game which no longer amuses him, which in fact no longer amuses anyone. He will look for a young woman on his own, it will be simpler and faster. He therefore goes back to his office, giving free time to his team, eager to take advantage of a little calm. All the glimpses seen mix in his mind with a crisp buzz, hundreds of fake smiles, photoshoped skin and seductive poses. Although a photo trots in his head, very clear compared to the fog of other female figures. He found you ordinary and didn't even take the time to reflect on who you are.

Y/N... You are far from having a beauty of a model and besides, you don't seem to know how to pose or show off, even in selfies. But there's something in your eyes, in your way of smiling as if you were thinking of something secret that catches Quentin's attention. Since there is nothing else to do, he will be busy for an hour or two. Peeling your Facebook page turns out to be excruciatingly fast, you post nothing, your likes being limited to a few trivialities. Empty Instagram account, the only source of information is from your LinkedIn profile. If your photos reveal a blatant lack of narcissism or even self-confidence, your professional career shows that you are far from being stupid. You even have a higher level of education than Beck, which should offend his pride. He has rejected more than one profile for fear of being overshadowed, he likes to be the smartest one in the room. But no, you don't seem aware of your genius or you don't care.

"A girl like you posts more than that ..."

It is sure, you must have a pseudonym to browse other sites. Finding which alias you use takes him longer than he would like to admit, but when he finds out, it's the cave of wonders that opens before his eyes. Starting with your Tumblr account, nourished for years with your obsessions of the moment : fandoms, ships of all kinds. If a man's heart goes through his stomach, yours goes through your passions. With infinite fun, Quentin discovers what makes you vibrate, sometimes laughing with you in front of some funny posts.

Outside the office, the atmosphere gradually returns to normal. The debris from the cup are swept away, the drones carefully stored out of sight. Beck's absence gives the team some respite and they take advantage of it while it lasts. They do not know that a young qualified woman of some sort is currently occupying their chief, making him smile without even having met you. Without saying that you are fascinating, the engineer discovers you day after day, layer after layer, first the intelligent woman then the obsessive fan. Finally, he comes across a nugget, an oil well: AO3.

He should have suspected it, you love to write, it's an uncontrollable impulse that takes you to your body and pushes you to strum furiously on your computer for long hours. When he starts reading your fics, Beck likes to imagine you in front of your screen, shortness of breath and dilated pupils, letting the stream of words flow freely at your fingertips. Even if he is not really interested in these fandoms of which you speak, he swallows one, two, five fics without realizing it, carried away by your style. He imagines you as the reader, chatting with fictional characters, quivering under their caresses in your few writings for adults. Hidden behind your screen, you expose yourself and reveal a sensuality that cannot be totally imaginary, totally fictitious. You have written several since the beginning of confinement, translating your thirst for adventure, your hunger for physical contact, with a touch of humor. But do you only have experience in body and love games? It is not certain and it is all the more exciting: he can make you discover sensations that you hitherto only partially imagined.

Without even knowing it, you creep into the mind of the young man to occupy his thoughts, ghost or fantasy that has nothing to do with the companion he wanted for Mysterio. You are neither magnificent nor the kind to languish against a hero in armor, but Quentin does not think of you for his avatar. He imagines you with him, behind the smoke screen, impressed by his ideas and his virtuosity. Confinement is bad for him and he spends most of his time with you, in thought, until he decides to go further with the discovery. He wants to see you, not only in pictures but moving, living. Without really telling the rest of his team, he sets out to send a drone outside, devoured by curiosity. After all, if he has to make you the love interest of Mysterio, it is normal that he learns as much as possible, he is the perfectionist type.

This is not really voyeurism, he does not intend to spy on you in intimate moments and, anyway, he could only see through the windows. Feeding his obsession, Quentin does not care about the surprised or even disapproving whispers which fill the warehouse a little more every day. Opinions are divided between those who find that their leader goes too far, especially using their precious drones, and others who see this little break as a deliverance. As long as Beck is busy elsewhere, the team is safe from his rage. Even though citizens are cloistered at home for their security, Quentin sees the world scrolling from his small screen as one could walk on Google maps. You're not hard to find, sitting at your desk above your study books. Since the announcement of confinement, your brain has paused and you can’t work, even for an hour. Not knowing you are being watched, you breathe a dramatic sigh while rocking back, arms dangling on each side of your chair.

"I'm so lazy..."

Your unsightly and totally natural posture has something comical, especially for the one who spies on you, drinking from you for days. You look younger than he thought, maybe because of your loose t-shirt that makes you look like a teenager. It’s strange to hear your voice for the first time, as if you suddenly became real. The ambient heat makes your skin shine and you get up by shaking your top to get some air under the fabric, still grumbling. Beck loses nothing of your movements or the detail of your silhouette with full curves that terry shorts absolutely do not hide. He suddenly wants to be really close to you, to feel your thighs streaked with white under his fingers, to hear his first name in your mouth. What is your laughter like? What does your skin taste like? Do you like popcorn in the movies? It’s totally unrealistic, stupid and even perverse to be so interested in you. He really has nothing to do with his days to be so bitten. He hadn't been spying on a woman for years, it was the withdrawn and bizarre teenager who resurfaced. Today, he can have all the women he wants with a snap of his fingers and yet he still finds himself fantasizing about a chance encounter, a way of approaching you.

"Show yourself instead of looking at me from afar, it's scary. "

Immersed in his thoughts, Quentin jumps when he hears you say that, he made sure to hide the drone, you cannot have seen it and even if it was, you cannot react so calmly by knowing you were being spied on. An icy chill runs down his back but you are not looking in the right direction, your eyes lowered towards a ball of hair which comes to rub against your legs. A cat, you were talking to your cat.

« Since you're here, I consider that you send me a sign. No more work, I relax. »

Always ready to see signs of the universe when it comes to not working, you close your book and get a headset and your phone, your thumb fluttering at high speed on the cold surface of your screen in a gesture automatic. Intrigued, Quentin bends down slightly to observe your strange ride, the way you walk back and forth by adjusting the microphone of your headset before clearing your throat. Are you about to call a friend? You dance slightly while staring at your screen, marking a rhythm that only you hear while continuing to stroll under the bewildered gaze of your voyeur. What are you doing ?

In sleep, he sang to me In dreams, he came That voice which calls to me And speaks my name…

You sing ... you sing into your micro while holding your phone, your voice soaring up to the drone as you smile without being able to stop yourself, as if you were on a Broadway scene, simmering with excitement. Hidden in his warehouse, Beck does not believe his senses ... Not only do you sing well but you are simply magnificent, radiant with simple joy, thinking you are alone in the world. Thinking that you’re out of sight and criticism, you have fun without shame and it makes you beautiful. Fascinated, the young man who shakes an entire team of engineers, who is only animated by the burning fire of pride and revenge, has eyes only for you. Without realizing it, he begins to sing too, joining you softly for what is technically a duet. When the song ends and you catch your breath, Quentin lets out a satisfied laugh. He holds his solution to approach you, not as Mysterio but as... himself : he will join you on this application and sing with you.

More cheesy, you die.

#fanfiction #quentin beck/reader #Quarantine Beck #Covid-19 fic

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ohtheseboysilove · 5 years

Text

Insanely yours III/III [Ben Hardy x F!Reader]

Words : 3,400 K +

Warnings :angsty angst my friends, language, ugly crying

Summary : Ben is being weird. You found the reason when you come back home earlier than expected.

Note : Shit I’m super excited for this chapter, so it would be the last part I will do a epilogue, I already have few ideas in mind for it...Please don’t hate for the ending and instead answered the question at the bottom of the chapter lovie ;) And please, keep on mind, break-up is painful and reader was very in love with our Benny boy so yeah it’s hard for her !

Masterlist & Requests

! EPILOGUE IS COMING ASAP !

@/ none of these gifs are mine!

The first three weeks after the break-up, you didn’t hear a word from Ben. You didn’t know if you were satisfied or sad about it. No matter how much he hurt you and how deeply you wanted to erase him from your mind, he had been the most important person in you life during the last four years, getting over him would take time, unfortunately. A tiny part of you even wished for him to come back and begged you to forgive him and let him come home. You knew you would, the sadness was so much more painful than the anger, you would forgive him in a heartbeat if it could stop the ache in your heart.

He finally texted a morning asking when he could come to grab the rest of his affairs. The ones you didn’t threw by the window. You hid in the guest room with Lennon all the time he was around. When he left he asked to take Frankie with him.

“I’m sorry” He murmured as you gave him the bag you had prepare for him with Frankie’ stuffs inside. Her favourite toy to chew. Her sparkling pink leash. This awful Santa Claus’ hat Ben insisted to buy her. All of her stuffs were gone. As well as Ben’s. You only kept the blanket where she loved to nap, her scent still on it. And you did the same with Ben’s X-men tee-shirt. For the exact same reason. He asked you about it and you said you didn’t know where his clothe was, he saw the lie in your eyes but he didn’t insist.

You hugged Frankie tightly during five good minutes and Ben did the same with Lennon before they definitively left the house. Once again this night you fell asleep crying and curled up on the sofa. The only difference this time was Lennon crying too, wondering why you were both alone. She hated it as much as you did.

Two months after the break-up

Months were long and slow. Painfully empty. You asked your boss for shorter shifts at work, you were earning less money but it was enough for the small flat you found for you and Lennon. You renounced to go back to your parent’s, you could barely supported the sadness of your mom’s voice thought the phone. Your friends were wondering when you will come back around, you only told them that you and Ben decided to take separated ways. They were all shocked, gushing about how perfect you were together. You thought the same but like them, you were wrong.

Life wasn’t treating you very good. You were exhausted all the time, everything made you think about Ben and you couldn’t do anything about it.

This stupid advert on the t.v about this new barbecue that Ben wanted to buy for months ? Yep you cried and hid it in the corner of the garden where you couldn’t see it.

Lennon’ sad face and low ears as she waited patiently for Ben and Frankie to come home ? You cried yourself asleep next to her, apologising for her pain.

The phone call to your cousin where you had to tell her you would come alone at her wedding ? Awful. Humiliating. Heart broken.

You and Ben’s favourite song playing in the supermarket when you were about to pay ? How honey, you looked like a racoon and worried to death that poor cashier.

You stopped wearing makeup after this incident.

Joe’s instagram post where Ben and him were chilling in Brighton, wide smile and beer in hand ? Like a punch right in your gut.

The little comment that Joe added under the picture few days after and you noticed because you looked at this picture fifty times everyday ? Picture by the sweet @VirginiaMorrison xx…

You didn’t eat for two whole days.

And you could go on forever with the examples but the worst time was probably when your sister and her little family came see your new place even if you didn’t want to, she insisted. James want to see her favourite auntie! She said.

James was two years and half, blond like his mother and get the big greenish eyes of his father. Yes, could have been Ben’ son. You had kept yourself together for thirty minutes before you hid in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably as the thought of this baby that you and Ben would never have together. And oh honey, you cried so much this day, mourning all the life you were supposed to have with Ben. His warm hand gently rubbed against you growing tummy, you imagined this scene so many time. But even imagined wasn’t possible anymore, he took you that away and the only thing you would see now was Ben’s warm hand on Virginia’s growing tummy. She could dream about it but you, you weren’t allow anymore.

Four months after the break-up

You weren’t in better shape than the first day of your newest single life. You lost too much weight for you own taste and fought with your demons everyday.

You can do it. You can be happy without Ben. You did it before he entered your life. You can– no, you will do it again In your own time, slowly but surely.

You started thinking a tiny bit less about Ben, giving your heart some healing time during the day. The nights were the worst, you were so use to fall asleep in his arms, embalming with his scent and sleepy voice. You still slept on the sofa, the guest bed was too large, too cold and to foreign to rest on it.

You didn’t stop stalking him on Instagram, you forced yourself to do it only once a day, you would come back from work in the evening. You were a bit obsess but honestly you needed to know what he was doing. Where he was. And with who. He didn’t post a lot, just some silly picture of him and the borhap boys, or from his new photo shoots. Nothing else. Virginia where nowhere to be seen, thankfully. She was probably still around but the last thing you needed right now was of fluffy picture of your ex and his new girl. Could seriously kicked in your healing process.

But you did, finally, deleted all the thousand of pictures of you and Ben on your phone. And on your laptop. Alright, you maybe kept one or two, but only your favourites and it was already a big step for you.

Surprisingly, Ben texted you one day. Can I call you, please ? It’s important. You had delete his number in your phone but your brain didn’t, sadly. You ere dying to hear his voice again, for real, not just on the video YouTube you watched few times...But, proudly you just told him to fuck off and swore to yourself to not replied to him. You were done with this asshole. And you meant it. But then the next text came up : It’s about Frankie, please (Y/N).

You called him the very next second, completely freaking out about what had happen to your sweet dog. Well nothing happened to Frankie. Except that her dad fell for a real bitch. Ben was full of shame, you could hear it through the phone. He asked you if you could take his dog back at your place. Couldn’t keep it because Virginia was allergic. He hesitated a second before saying that and you knew he was lying about, she wasn’t allergic but more probably didn’t want hairs’ dog and mud in her flat. And Ben accepted it, you couldn’t believe it. He was ready to give up on his dog who he got more than five years ago for this girl he knew for what ? Less than a year ? Fucking coward.

He came to your place the very next day, his face devoured by the remorse. His eyes were watering dangerously when you opened the door, you ignored him and greeted cheerfully Frankie. Lennon, on the other hand, jumped toward Ben, completely hysterical to see her dad and sister after so long. That when he started crying, silently and shamefully.

“Thank you for doing that (Y/N)” He said with a broken voice.

“Don’t thank me, I’m doing that for Frankie, not you. You don’t deserved her anymore.” Your tone was so cold, both of Ben and you were surprised but you were proud. Inside you wanted to cry at his sight but on the outside, you seemed perfectly fine.

“I know” For once he didn’t try to excuse his shitty behaviour, nice change.

He crouched down and stroked Frankie and Lennon’s furs, tears rolling quietly on his cheeks. It pained you to see him like this, you couldn’t lie about this. You knew how much he loved the girls but it was his own choice. He apologised to Frankie at least a thousand time before stood up again, ready to leave.

“Ben” You called him when he turned to leave. He looked at you and for a very brief second you really thought you were about to burst in cry. But you didn’t. “Frankie is mine now, don’t even think to get her back when you and your girlfriend would be over”

He sighed sadly but still nodded. You were about to close the door when this time, he called you back.

“I wanted to say...I’m really sorry for how things ended between us” You clenched your jaw roughly, not believing the audacity of the man in front of you. At your lack of replied, he continued : You look better, seems like you’re doing good.

“I’m not” You chocked out, the pain burning your chest. “You cheated on me, you dumbed me and all you dare come to my place for abandoning your dog, saying that I look good ?” You were yelling now, this man was so full of shit, unbelievable. “I’m not good, I’m heart broken because of you Ben, so now please leave me the fuck alone. Don’t call me or text or even think about me, just pretend I never existed. I don’t want to see you ever again.” You wiped away the only tear which escaped from your eyes.

Ben sniffled and once again, nodded at your request.

“You truly are an amazing person and you deserved so much better than me. I’m sure you will find the person will make you happy one day.” He gave you a timid smile. “I...I wish you the best in the future, (Y/N).

But his smile fell as soon as the words escaped your mouth :

“Well, I wish you to go fuck yourself Benjamin. You and your dumb bitch”

And you slammed the door on his face, exactly like you did months before.

Eight months after the break-up

Ben and Virginia weren’t a thing anymore. How you knew that ? Easy, last night, he showed up at your door around three in the morning, a slashed and crying mess. He apologised profusely, you understood few words between his hysterical hiccups but he was struggling to form a coherent sentence. You really wanted to let him on your doorstep but instead he ended snoring loudly on your sofa. He did hurt you, like no one ever did before, but you still cared about the man, it was pouring rain and you wouldn’t have closed an eyes knowing Ben was somewhere in the street in his state. And the press would have certainly found about it, and as much as he deserved a public humiliation, you knew how hard he worked for his acting – hell, you were his biggest support –, you wouldn’t do anything that could harm his career. Maybe you were too nice.

When you woke up, all alone, you went in the living room to find Ben still asleep, Frankie curled up against his chest and Lennon snoring behind his back, her head nuzzled onto his neck. This view made your heart jumped into your chest, tears watered in your eyes uncontrollably.

Damn you Ben Jones.

Why did he fucked up everything ? You had a such nice little family with your two girls but no, he had to destroy it and for what ? A leggy brunette who could suck his dick whenever he wanted ? Men were fucking dumb.

“Hi” You ignored his greeting and continued to prepare your coffee, you could hear him coming behind you, the girls jumping happily on his legs. “Sorry for yesterday...I...didn’t have anywhere else to go” He admitted, his hand scratching awkwardly his neck.

You didn’t say a word and poured yourself a cup, you maybe had intentionally make just enough coffee for you, childish but still enjoyable. You sat at the table and pretended he didn’t exist, waiting for him to leave your flat. But of course he didn’t, he was rubbing Frankie’s belly and Lennon’s ears who were more than happy to see their dad again.

“I lied, okay ? I could have go to any of my friend’s apartment but the only place I wanted to go was home. To you (Y/N), and the girls, you’re my home and I did the biggest mistake of all my life when I broke up with you. I understood that only after I lost you”

You bit your lips, eyelashes blinking furiously to prevent any tears to fall. You were trying your best to not let his words reached your weak heart but shit it was hard. And this asshole saw it, he brought his chair closer where you were sitting, his hands gently grabbing yours. You immediately wiped it away like his touch burned your skin, giving him a dark look. He apologised quietly but stayed close to you, his leg brushing slightly against your knee.

“Please (Y/N), look at me. Please” His voice broke at the last word, making you swallowed thickly. You slowly raised your gaze, catching his glassy eyes and you knew you shouldn’t have done that. His shaking lip was trapped between his teeth and he sniffled silently, he looked absolutely heart broken.

He deserved it, this asshole broke your heart first, he cheated on you and said a lot of shitty things to you, don’t fall for his fucking puppy eyes.

“Ben, you should leave” You murmured weakly and you whined at your voice. You didn’t want him to leave and he easily guessed it, grabbing your hands again but this time you let him. His warm embrace around your hands could have made you sob right there but instead you pressed his hands tighter. “I hate you” You breathed and he nodded vigorously.

“I know you do, babe” He replied, one of this thumb circling gently on your skin, he used to do that when you were sad, knowing it help you relax. He knew everything about you and what to do to make you cave, this was so unfair. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should have never left you or cheated on you, I hate myself for what I did to you, I never regretted something so much, babe, you have to trust me”

You sniffled pathetically. Oh you wanted to believe him so fucking much.

“I can’t– I don’t trust you anymore Ben. Not after all you have done to me, I don’t think I could ever trust you again.” You replied and stood up brutally, you needed space between the two of you before something regrettable happen. “You destroyed our relationship, you threw away four years of our life like it was nothing and now it’s too late to fix it, you and me, it’s over.

“No, don’t say that (Y/N)” He followed you in the living room, shaking his head negatively. “Babe, I love you, I never stopped, not for a second. I...I was a stupid wanker who hurt the most beautiful person I had ever known and I will never forgive myself for that. But I need to tried to save our relationship, to save us.” You were crying now, avoiding his gaze. You dreamed about these words so many time but he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, you knew that and he did too but it just made the situation more complicated. “I know you still love me” He murmured quietly and his tone wasn’t confident, his eyes were pleading you to reassure him.

“It doesn’t matter Ben !” You groaned and wiped away your tears, he had no right to do that to you. You rubbed your face, trying to calm down your heavy breathing.

“Of course it matter ! If you still love me that mean there hope for us, we can save our relationship (Y/N) ! And I want nothing else, I swear babe, I’m ready to do anything to get you back, anything, just tell me !” He cupped your face, forcing you to look at his red and swollen eyes. “Tell me you still love me” He whispered so close to your face you could feel his warm breath tickling gently your skin.

“I do Benjamin” You replied bitterly. Of course you still loved him, love and hate are quite interlaced feelings. He sighed loudly, his shoulder sinking with relief. “I still in love with you, I tried to stop but I can’t” You confessed shamefully, you hated how weak you were in front of him, you were putty in his hands, completely helpless under his big green eyes.

“I love you (Y/N)” He kissed your forehead, making your heart twisted at the sensation, it had been so long since his lips touched your skin. “Now, tell me what to do to make amends to you my love, I will do anything” You shook negatively your head, taking a step back and he panicked at your gesture, “(Y/N), please. Do you want me to beg for your forgiveness ? Because I will, anything you want, just tell me !”

He dropped on his knees, his strong arms wrapping around your legs as he begged you, his face drowning under salty tears. You never saw him like in this state, never. It only broke your heart even more, you couldn’t stand Ben crying, you never did and you probably never will.

“Ben, please, stop...just stand up” You breathed loudly, trying to think coherently but it was complicated as the blond hid his face in your thighs, hiccups escaping his throat weakly.

“I fucked up (Y/N), I regretted it so much but– I love you, please !” His words were a bit muffled by your legs but you could still hear him, his cries echoing painfully in the room. “Please, I’m begging you, please, take me back ! Let me come home, please (Y/N)”

You closed your eyes for a second, what were you supposed to do ? You loved him, he loved you but. Could you really forgive his treason ? Could forget what you saw in your own bedroom this day ? You didn’t know. You were absolutely clueless. You always imagined your future with Ben in it but during these last months, you had to think differently and it was hard, yes but it also felt right after what he did. But in the other hand, you spent four years with this man that you loved from the bottom of your heart, he was supposed to become your husband then the father your children...The cute face of your nephew James came to your mind, his adorable blond locks and pretty green eyes, this could be your future, what you always wanted.

It was too much, too many feelings fighting inside your chest and mind. You legs were wiggly from all the tension so you slowly sat in front of Ben, both of you breathing roughly.

“(Y/N), my love” He grabbed your cheeks gently, wiping away your tears and let his forehead falling against yours. His glassy eyes staring at you so intensely that you couldn’t look away. “Please give me a second chance”

Your chocked on a sob at his words, the pressure crushing you as he needed an answer, now.

Yes! was screaming your heart. No! Was yelling your brain. The inner conflict giving you a massive headache.

“Ben...I...I can’t–“

But he pressed his lips on yours before you could give him any answer. And you kissed him back. In a heartbeat. You missed his touch so much, how taste, his scent, his warm, everything about him. You felt the hole in your chest immediately closed back, like if his kiss was swallowing your pain away.

It was the first time in months that you didn’t sad or angry, just complete.

! IMPORTANT NOTE !

im so sorry I couldn’t resist to end the chapter this way but keep your shit together it’s not over yet. What do you think, reader should forgive Benny boy or not ? I’m not sure yet for the epilogue so your opinion really matter guy !

tag list : @mickmoon @allornone @derekxsammy @amy-brooklyn99 @stella2445 @likeit-or-leaveit @khaleesi2017 @directedbyallen

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x you #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap

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