#i was meant to be an angel living in someone's chest cavity

[molabuddy]

being a human is like. fine i guess but i think i was meant to be an angel living in someone's chest cavity. or maybe a globster

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟

˗ˏˋ𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 —grumpy!erik johnson x sunshine!nanny!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.1k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — in erik's absence, his nanny takes over staging the family's elf on the shelf in order to keep the magic alive for his children. results are... questionable.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'm unhealthily attached to this made-up family send help

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

JOSIE JOHNSON is thoroughly unimpressed by her Elf.

“Snow angels? In sprinkles? Groundbreaking.”

Dissatisfaction narrows her gray-blue eyes as she stands in front of the kitchen island.

Bernard, the Johnson family’s special scout from the North Pole, is lying limp against the marble countertop in a pool of red and green. The sugary spillage is low-effort at best, especially compared to his iPad drive-in movie yesterday and the miniature golf course the day before that.

Dumping a container of cheap sprinkles—and not even the expensive variety with confetti shapes and edible glitter—wasn’t going to cut it.

Someone was going to have to do better.

“Uh-oh! Looks like Bernard had a wild night,” Erik Johnson, her father, announces as he pads in from the dining room.

If he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. His daughter can see straight through him; his voice goes all sorts of wonky when he has a secret.

And his dye-stained fingertips aren’t doing him any favors, either.

“Wild for who? A first grader?”

Josie was in second grade now. She is far too smart to fall for his poor acting and, evidently, much too cool to bother with humoring him.

Erik cocks his head to the side. His kid could be snarky, but she typically postponed doling out remarks until the afternoon. Or until he’s had his second helping of caffeine.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, he thinks to himself.

Aloud, though, he opts for a simple joke. “Well, I think it was wild. Do I look like a first grader to you?”

He sets his coffee mug beside the espresso machine and puffs out his chest like a peacock. Erik’s already 6’4 without trying, so when he raises both hands and lefts onto his tip-toes for emphasis, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. He’s grinning, wide and bright.

He expects his daughter to giggle at his antics like she did when she was younger or, at the very least, crack a reluctant smile out of second-hand embarrassment.

She does neither.

Rather than pearly teeth, Erik’s met with the whites of her eyes. If Josie had rolled them any harder, they'd have gotten stuck facing the wrong way. That’s what her older brother, Reese, told her whenever she did it.

The irony of the repeated red-lettered phrase "Be Nice!" on the white background of her Grinch-themed pajamas isn’t lost on him.

“Josephine Johnson, I thought I made myself clear the last time we talked about this; you do not roll your eyes at me. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s very rude,” he reprimands sternly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Josie crosses her arms, unphased, and fixes him with an unwavering glare. She could do this all day if need be.

“What’d she do this time?” Reese asks through a yawn as he strolls into the kitchen.

You, the family’s live-in nanny, are not far behind. You’re rubbing the sleep from the corners of your tired eyes when Josie darts to your side.

She looks up at you expectantly, eyes wide and pleading. Silently, they beg for you to agree to whatever she’s planning to say next.

“Can you be in charge of it again? Please, please, please?” she asks, so sweetly she might give herself a cavity.

Josie tugs on your arm to drive home her adolescent anguish when you aren’t instantly compliant.

Panic fizzles in your chest. There was no way she knew, right?

She couldn’t. No way. You were still a few years off from the dicey reveal. No one in her grade had spilled the beans yet, and the adults in her life were content to keep up the ruse.

Surely, she meant as the Elf’s supervisor or an assistant.

Wrong.

“Bernard looks so much cooler whenever Dad lets you set up his pranks instead of doing it himself. See? Look how lazy he was this time,” Josie explains while tugging you over to the scene of the crime. “All he did was spill my sprinkles all over the counter and set my Elf on top of the mess. Like, could it get any lamer than that? He’s probably all sticky now, and he’ll have to stay that way because he’d drown in the washing machine!” 

“No, I didn’t,” Erik says a little too quickly, tone noticeably defensive. “Bernard—who is perfectly fine and not sticky at all, for the record—must’ve been way too tired when he got back from visiting Santa last night to do anything else. He didn’t even bother making it hard for you to find him this morning. I’d do something “lame” too if I spent the entire night flying home from far, far away.”

Bernard wasn't the only member of their household who spent the night up in the inky sky; Erik had been in an entirely different country only four hours ago. And, instead of going straight to bed like his body urged him, he spent an hour arranging the stupid little Elf into what he thought was a fun scenario for his daughter to find the following morning.

Now, he wishes he had just left Bernard on the mantle.

He blames you. They wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t introduced her to the concept. Fuck your quirky childhood tradition. All it'd caused were problems.

“I’m not a baby anymore. I know Bernard isn’t actually one of Santa’s elves!” Josie shouts, growing angry.

Reese mumbles something to the effect of “Could’ve fooled me…” under his breath, and Josie’s face pinches with frustration.

Like the miniature teenager she’s rapidly morphing into, the youngest Johnson massages the fold between her eyebrows. Then, her outburst matures into an accusation. “I know you’ve been hiding him this whole time.”

Erik balks at the allegation.

Irritated, she continues, “I’ve been sneaking down to watch you do it since I was, like, five years old. It's not my fault you aren't very observant. Or that your footsteps sound like an elephant’s. But I don’t care about that. I don't care that I know, but I do care how much effort you put into it.”

Josie clutches your hand in hers and smiles. She could get away with murder with the deep dimples indented on either side of her mouth —and she knows it, too.

She also knows flattery can get her wherever she wants. “Which is why I want you to take over again. You did such a good job while he was away. The goldfish in the paper pond was super cute, and you even made sure he was watching my favorite movie at the drive-in!" 

“Fine, you know what? You’re right,” Erik confesses, conceding to his eight-year-old with a toss of his hands. “And if it really matters that much, I’ll never touch the Elf again. Okay? I give up full control and responsibility.”

Josie positively beams. She always got her way eventually.

“So, how did you even figure it out, anyway?” Reese asks.

The question is garbled; he couldn’t wait until his mouth wasn’t full of Lucky Charms to make his inquiry.

“How could I not?” Josie retorts. Her facial expression is equal parts annoyance and ridicule. Reese’s eyes loop. His little sister clarifies with a huff, “Obviously, he isn’t a real elf, Reese. Santa needs all the help he can get to make sure everyone on the Nice List gets exactly what they asked for every year. Why would he send an actual elf, who should be building a bike or sewing a teddy bear, to spy on me for weeks?”

Fair point, you think to yourself.

“Wait a minute... If you knew he wasn’t real the entire time, why did you let us keep hiding him?” Erik asks, a quizzical dent in his forehead. 

Josie perks up, apparently thrilled to clue them in on the motivation behind her feigned ignorance. “Mrs. Thornton says even adults need a creative outlet because it makes them happier. Especially when they’re grouchy. Clearly, you’re the exception, Daddy.”

Reese honks, sending milk across the room from his nostrils.

Your sudden amusement is muffled by your free hand.

If it were humanly possible, there would be steam billowing from Erik’s crimson ears.

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[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 8

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “You have become the only one in the universe who can claim to uniquely know him.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,002

Warnings: fluffy fluff, some plot, swearing, reunions, soft!Din, Kuiil thinks Cupid is a fool, Kuiil’s backstory from canon, surprisingly little angst (it shocked me too)

Author Note: I want to apologize to those on the tag list not getting notified. I have no idea why Tumblr isn’t cooperating and I feel horrible about it. I love each and every one of you who spares time to read this segment/series and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

Links to Part 1 and Part 7 and Part 9

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

The next morning you find Kuiil outside welding together two pieces of metal at his workbench. IG-11 tends to the small herd of blurrg the Ugnaught keeps in a large pen, feeding the two-legged creatures their breakfast. Although you were initially wary, the former assassin droid has been nothing but kind to you, if not a little obsessive about checking the bandage on your head every few hours.

“IG was explicitly warned by Death what would happen if your health declined in his absence,” Kuiil had informed you the previous evening when your attempt to stop the droid’s incessant fretting failed.

“He’s such a worrywart,” you muttered as IG-11 scanned your temperature, heart skipping a beat as it always does when you think about Din’s protective nature. There’s something unbelievably attractive about him making threats when it came to your wellbeing.

“A worrywart who left his gunship in my yard.” Kuiil aimed a sharp look towards the entrance of his home, as if he could see the Razor Crest from this distance.

You snorted a laugh at him calling Arvala-7’s desert landscape a yard of all designations, only for the rest of his sentence to register a beat later, making your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Wait, what? He seriously left the Crest here? Why would he do that?”

“The quicker his trip to Nevarro, the quicker he returns to your side,” was the response, accompanied with a shrewd look implying you were a fool for asking such a question.

Your Ugnaught host reminds you of a grandfather figure; a bit prickly and blunt at times, but ultimately kindhearted and selfless at his core, wanting only what’s best for those in his care. Between his insistence you keep resting in his bed and IG-11’s nurse programming, you no longer wonder why Din chose to leave you with them, thoroughly convinced you’re receiving better around-the-clock care than most people experience in medcenters.

Kuiil turns when you approach him, pushing his goggles back to the top of his cap as he clicks off the welding torch, eyes giving you a cursory once-over. You feel better than you had yesterday, both headache and dizziness gone, and he must sense that since his head dips in a firm nod, satisfied with what he sees.

“Good morning,” you greet, smiling.

“Morning,” he replies. His expression turns repentant, eyebrows lowering. “My apologies for waking you, but I could not let these repairs remain unfinished.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, enjoying the warmth of the early sunshine after spending the entire previous day cooped inside his home. “I’m supposed to report back to headquarters later today, so I needed to be up anyways.”

Hearing the words out loud grounds the upcoming meeting in reality. It’s really happening. Hours from now, you're going to have to tell your bosses everything, now including your new title as Din’s soulmate. Maker, you can just imagine Hess staring you down with those beady, rat-like eyes of his, asking question after question about you and Din.

And if Hess was serious before on the comlink—and you highly doubt the bastard’s ever told a joke in his life—then there is also the very real prospect of Moff Gideon being there to take part in your interrogation.

“Are you alright?” Kuiil asks, noticing how pale you’ve become. Without waiting for an answer, he ushers you over to a nearby stool. You sit, mouth opening to reassure him you’re fine, only to be startled by the knowing glint in his eyes. “I recognize your anxious face from my years as an indentured servant. You fear punishment from your superiors.”

Your eyes widen, stomach suddenly feeling hollow. “You were a servant?”

“From my birth until my hundredth year, yes.” The nauseous feeling intensifies. You knew Ugnaughts typically lived up to two-hundred years, meaning Kuiil had lived half of his lifetime in servitude. “Earning my freedom did not occur without harsh discipline.”

You draw in a shaky breath at that. It feels wrong, being worried about meeting with your bosses when there are others, such as Kuiil, who have endured far worse horrors.

“Those with power think it comes from weapons and control over others through means of fear and violence,” he continues, returning the welding torch to its proper placement in his toolbox. “True power comes from the strength of one’s hope. It allows you to believe in a better future for yourself and so long as you cling to it, no enemy can break your spirit.”

His rumbling baritone washes over you, calming the worst of your worries. You press your thumb against your soulmate marking, a nervous habit that has developed since you first saw it yesterday. You’ve become addicted to the warmth the mark emanates as it reassures you you’re not hallucinating its appearance.

“I just keep thinking about what their reactions are going to be when I tell them about me and him being together,” you confess, feeling shy as you duck your chin to avoid eye contact.

“Are you embarrassed of Death being your soulmate?”

Your head snaps back up, shocked by his bluntness. “What? No. Din means everything to me.”

The words seem too loud against the quiet atmosphere of the planet. They reverberate off seemingly every surface—the desert rocks, the Razor Crest’s steel paneling and the metal roof on Kuiil’s home—echoing for miles in every direction. Despite knowing that isn’t truly possible, you are unable to stop yourself from wincing.

“You gave Death a name?” Kuiil’s bafflement is visible in the way his head tilts, looking at you in a way that is reminiscent of Omera’s puzzled expression back on Sorgan.

"I didn’t.” You shake your head, for some reason feeling the need to clarify, “He named himself. It’s just something for me to call him when we’re around mortals.”

“I have known Death many decades now,” he begins, sounding no less confused despite your explanation. “He’s quite...particular about the mortal traditions he chooses to adopt, such as appearing as a human male and piloting a gunship.”

“Yeah, I know how picky he can be,” you say slowly, not understanding what his point is.

“Not once has he ever felt compelled to use a mortal name because, in his opinion, names establish ties."

“What does that mean?”

“Without a name, he is but another stranger amongst trillions of beings, unrecognized and unmissed,” Kuiil explains, and you find yourself leaning forward, elbows on your knees. “By giving you a name to call him by, he has tied himself to you in a way he has not permitted anyone else. You have become the only one in the universe who can claim you uniquely know him.”

“Huh.” You let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of your heartbeat pounding deafeningly in your eardrums as it begins to sink in just how monumental the gift of Din’s name truly is. “Well how bout that.”

And the shrewd look from last night makes a reappearance, conveying once again how foolish he thinks you are.

“I have spoken.”

~~

People tend to forget a Cupid’s bow is first and foremost a weapon of defense. Comprised of wood from a Brylark tree, sinew from orbaks, and a thin layer of a mudhorn’s horn, it can be compared to Din’s armor in that it is virtually indestructible. A Cupid carries two types of arrows: one made from kyber crystal meant to lighten one’s emotions or, on rare occasions, induce lust, and the other one made from a kyber crystal coated in ichor, meant to inflict harm against enemies. Once a target is hit, the effects are instantaneous and the arrow vanishes in a burst of sparkling light, regenerating in your quiver seconds later.

You underwent rigorous training to learn how to become a master of archery. Your bow is bound to your Cupid abilities, capable of being summoned to your aid and dismissed with a mere thought. You were taught how to control your breathing, learning that the expanding and contracting of your chest cavity during a shot can ruin your aim. Missing a target is one of the worst mistakes a Cupid can commit, meaning you must make every single shot count.

All that to say, Cupids are fierce archers as much as they are dedicated matchmakers.

They are also dangerous when startled unexpectedly.

You’re in the middle of tidying up Kuiil’s tiny kitchen space, a task you had insisted upon after he’d served you a delicious lunch, humming to yourself quietly as you scrub at the dishes when hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards towards someone’s chest.

You react completely on instinct, teleporting out of their hold and reappearing on the other side of the room, bow ready with an ichor arrow aimed directly at the assailant. It is only when the meager light of the nearby lantern reflects off their beskar helmet do you realize who you’re facing.

Immediately you lower and dismiss your weapon before pressing a hand over your chest where your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. “I’m so sorry, Din,” you tell him, limbs trembling as it sinks in just how close you were to shooting him. “Maker, you scared me and—and I thought I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I had to—”

In between blinks he appears in front of you, yanking his helmet off with such ferocity your words catch in your throat. You have only the slightest of seconds to glimpse the arousal darkening his brown eyes before he slips a hand behind your neck and crashes your lips together.

He kisses you as if you’re gravity and he’ll float away if he dares to spare a moment to breathe, sending a current of warmth surging through your body. You thought the mere touch of his hand had been life-altering, but it is a mere candle compared to the wildfire his lips spark. Your eyes fall shut as you kiss back with an equal amount of fervency, bringing him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck, grinning at the groan the action spurs from deep within his chest.

There is the heavy thud of his helmet striking the ground before he’s wrapping his hand around your waist, slotting a thigh between your legs to ensure every inch of your bodies are touching. Your cheeks rub against the scratchiness of his facial scruff, an invigorating burn you think you could easily become addicted to.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he pulls away a minute later. He’s never looked more attractive, mouth swollen and hair disarrayed from your roaming fingers. His hands cup your face, and it occurs to you as he swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones he isn’t wearing his gloves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, sounding slightly hoarser than usual and out of breath. His gaze roams your face, like he’s trying to re-familiarize himself with your features after the time spent apart. “Especially with your bow. When you pointed that arrow at me, there was this...fierceness in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Fuck, angel, you looked so gorgeous.”

“Seriously?” you say, raising an incredulous eyebrow, because of-kriffing-course he’d be the one being in the whole universe who is turned on by a weapon being pointed at him.

“Seriously.” He leans in, forehead pressing against yours, noses brushing. It’s hard to focus when he’s this close, like you’ve again entered that separate realm where it’s just you and him.

“Din, look,” you whisper, fighting the magnetic pull insisting you kiss him again long enough to show him your marked hand. “It’s real. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The smile that stretches across his face when he sees it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Angel,” he says, tilting your head so the words are spoken right against your lips. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those words ever since I gave you my name.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @eleinemk​, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites​, @promiscuoussatan​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @coaaster​, @lin-djarin​, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

[missinghan]

what if we ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : college au; roommates au

❖ word count : 4,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : Minho is more than fed up with your nonsense of not having a roommate until you graduate because he’s desperately in need of a new place after getting kicked out.

❖ a/n : the continuation of roommate lino is out now!

one.

Minho takes dreadful strides into M.I.A Cafe, completely waterlogged from head to toe like a wet rat, drained from trying to walk back home without an umbrella—even if he had one, the wind would have taken him along with it on an exhilarating ride while Poseidon is throwing a rampage at Zeus or whatever gods up there.

He slumps into the nearest seat possible, sinking deeply into the cushioned surface only to stain the blue velvet with his sodden leather jacket. Anyone else happening upon the scene might notice a more than average looking college kid; Minho’s mesmerizing, he really is. But not just because of his catlike smile or stupidly good hair without even trying, it’s also because he’s the president of the dance club despite being a business major. It’s not hard for him to gain even more attention since he works at the cafe on campus anyway. 

However, all Woojin sees from overlooking his workplace is his idiotic coworker who left ten minutes ago has officially given up on going against the bloody family feud above and come back to make his life miserable. Kang is going to give him shit for the wet cushions because Minho’s shift has fortunately ended. And it only gets worse from there. The younger boy pushes himself off the chair and flings his dripping bangs away from his face before taking off his jacket, deciding it’s a good idea to sway it back and forth, splashing water all over the clean floor.

“Lee Minho,” Woojin raises his voice slightly but Minho simply ignores his threatening tone and stuffs his leather jacket into his backpack. 

The brunet makes his way over to the countertop, hopping effortlessly onto one of the bar stools. “I would like a Vietnamese coffee, please,” Minho shows his friend those ridiculous looking sparkly eyes like he just stepped out from an anime, and Woojin forces a smile through gritted teeth. “Come on, I’m tired, don’t look at me as if I’m in charge of the weather or something.”

Woojin remains silent, and so does his death glare. Hence, Minho gives in and props his head onto his hand lazily. “Fine, just give me a hot chocolate, I’m freezing over here,” he shivers stoically as his brain is multitasking (yelling at him and considering his options at the same time). With the sky roaring as if it’s raging on with other supernatural forces, Minho isn’t overly fond of heading outside by himself again. Meaning, plan A: get a ride or plan B: stay with Woojin until his graveyard shift is over. Minho’s having an eight AM tomorrow and he’s not about to walk up to the nurse’s office with a broken ankle for skipping three steps at a time. But in what world would a guardian angel appear out of nowhere to drive him home?

A random Twitter notification pops up and he swipes it away dejectedly, wholly uninterested. When Woojin slides the paper cup across the countertop, he catches a glimpse of Minho’s lock screen and gasps as if he just saw something out of the ordinary. It’s not. “You replaced your cats’ photo with Y/N’s instead? Okay, I see you, you sly little bitch,” he chuckles creepily while wiping his hand onto the white apron. 

“It’s temporary,” Minho sneers like a cat having someone step on its tail. “Besides, she hates it, that’s why I put it there.” 

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Woojin is making a big deal out of this as if it’s a picture of you cuddling Minho or something. But in reality, it’s just a really ugly photo of you taking too big of a bite when he decided to flex his paycheck and took you out to a pizzeria. You forgave him because 1) you had the opportunity to eat real pizza after months of stocking up frozen ones from the supermarket, and 2) it’s only a matter of time until he’s over it and returns to his typical photos of his cats at home. 

“Yo,” Minho says after a sip of the hot beverage. “You’re moving out of Seungmin’s next week?”

Woojin replies, silently appreciating one of the rare civil conversations with his friend. “Yep, you? Don’t tell me that you haven’t found a place yet,” he stops himself right there, only to be met with complete dead silence. “Wait, you’re kidding, right? Aren’t you getting kicked out on Monday? How are you gonna find a place within three days?”

“Tough luck?” Minho shrugs nonchalantly, staring rather deeply at his lock screen, and an idea pops up inside his head. He feels the need to kick himself because he should have thought of this sooner. Biting his lower lip, he’s slightly nervous when his thumb taps onto your name in his contact. It’s not like you’re gonna rip his head off, why is he so jumpy about this anyway?

His train of thoughts get cut off when your raspy voice rings through his eardrums, “What do you want?”

two.

Your white Rover pulls up in front of the cafe after five minutes of cursing at him through the phone while dragging yourself out of bed and another ten to drive to your unwanted destination. 

“Get in before I rip your head off,” you deadpan, pushing your bangs away from your face. 

“I love you, did you know that?” Your heart totally didn’t skip a beat at that. He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t have meant it. It was lighthearted, it sounded lighthearted but was it supposed to be lighthearted? Great, now your heart just gives up on you while your brain is harassing you with some stupid assumptions without valid shreds of evidence. 

Minho smiles sheepishly at you after waving to Woojin—who isn’t very interested in his departure and enters your car in relief. Although you were doing nothing but spitting strings after strings of curse words at him, it genuinely made him feel at ease when he heard your voice through the phone, hanging by three percent of battery left. 

“Also, spill the hot chocolate, and I’m gonna throw you on the highway,” you warn him before starting the engine. The only problem with your morbid remarks is that Lee Minho is exclusively immune to them because he too, shares the same amount of insanity with you like how you both shared a sad tuna sandwich last Tuesday when the school canteen tried to recreate a Chipotle bowl. You both tasted it. And you were offended. 

Minho tosses his backpack to the backseats and replies in monotone, “I won’t, just don’t kill us. That’s all I’m asking from you.” He looks awfully good for someone who’s completely rain-soaked. How fucking unfair.

“That’s all?” you question without looking at him in the eye. He only hums a random melody from a song that you can’t quite remember before plugging his phone in with your speakers. Your face morphs into a frown at his vague reaction, “Usually one thing leads to another, you never ask me for a single favor and just leave me alone, are you sure that you didn’t forget your wallet and now you wanted a new tattoo?” 

He breaks into a fit of giggles at that, three are already enough for his ancestors to haunt him in his sleep. And your heart magically comes back more alive than ever at the sound; it really needs to stop doing that before you’re found dead on the street just by talking to him on the phone or something. “It’s not that,” Minho scratches the nape of his neck. “I’m basically gonna be homeless next week if I don’t manage to find a new place in like...three days.” 

The car grows silent for a second there before Didn’t know me by Heize starts blasting through the speakers when he puts one of his playlists on random. You look over at him deep in the eye, thinking rather thoroughly about this. And Minho starts feeling knots in his stomach when you avert your gaze back onto the road. Are you perhaps...mad at him?

“Don’t-even-think-about-it,” you deadpan. “You know how Yeji pleaded to move in with me after freshman year, and..failed miserably.”

“Come on! You can’t be this heartless, are you really gonna let me sleep on the sidewalk for a good three weeks?”

You click your tongue in annoyance while making a turn to the left. “I never said that you moron,” An eye roll soon follows your statement, and before Minho can even say anything, his mouth snaps shut, eyes wide. “You know that Chan lives alone right?”

He protests, “Chan always let Changbin and Jisung crash to make music. Besides, it’s a studio apartment, like hello? I’m not planning on losing my beauty sleep here. ”

“Woojin?”

“After the mess I made back there? He will murder me, Y/N,” Minho says without a single shred of fear in his voice, yet he’s giving you those Puss in Boots eyes as if he’s gonna let Woojin snap his head off that easily. Jeongin is still living on campus, and Minho would rather be sleeping with dead rats than sharing a room with Jisung because Seungmin would never let him step a foot onto his white carpet. 

You scrunch your nose and ignore the golden specks in his eyes, “You didn’t even try asking him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind housing you for a few weeks. He’s a good guy and definitely doesn’t hate your ass enough to not let you sleep in the living room.”

“But,” he pouts sadly, in which you’re completely unaffected by. But here’s what makes your chest swell. “I like spending time with you,” he mumbles under his breath. Huh? Your heart rate falls flat before coming back to thunder inside your chest cavity twice as fast. Did he really just-

Minho sighs, and suddenly his shoulders start getting heavy. He feels rejected, but he shouldn’t since it’s not mandatory for you to let him stay with you. Perhaps, he’s nothing but a complete nuisance in your eyes after all. “But if you say so,” he murmurs, eyes turning stormy and you can feel a pit at your stomach. “I guess I’m gonna call Woojin then..”

And he ends the conversation there, abruptly. 

Raindrops knocking at your car’s windows. The sounds of his fingers tapping against the keyboard. Even your own rhythm of breathing. Everything’s piling onto your back as if you’ve just committed a terrible sin. 

Woojin is really busy this year, preparing for grad school and everything. And your current courses are pretty easy to handle, it’d be mean of you to let him contain Lee Minho while working two jobs. Especially when he’s constantly turning in assignments at a single minute right before the deadline. So with the little amount of morality left, you tell yourself to stop being a little bitch and start considering the possibilities of having a roommate for the very first time. 

“Fine,” you grumble after a good twenty seconds of thinking. “You can use my old air mattress, a month should be good before you’re able to find a new place. So we’re taking turns washing the dishes and splitting the bills in half, cool?”

Minho’s brain suddenly demands every part of his body to stop, his finger hovering over the ‘send’ button. “Gee okay, I get it, you don’t like having roommates. But you don’t have to be so pressed about it,” he concludes almost too fast for your brain cells to comprehend what’s going on in his mind. Was he even listening to you? “I knew you weren’t gonna let me stay with—“ His words instantly come to a halt, eyeballs ready to pop out of their respective sockets any second. 

“What?” he blurts, round eyes staring right at you expectantly. 

You scratch your nose with your ring finger when a coral tint rises on your cheekbones, something that you do a lot whenever you’re nervous. “I said you can come and stay with me for the time being,” you say lamely, having a spontaneous interest in the row of Sumikko Gurashi figures that Minho gave you on your birthday last year. “I don’t want you to poison Woojin with your cooking, roomie.”

“You’d better feed me then, Ramsay,” he beams with a bright smile—far brighter than the Sun itself and any of the stars above. And who were you kidding? It’s not his cooking that you’re worrying about. It’s not even Woojin that you’re worrying about. It’s him, you’re worried about him.

Besides, maybe you like spending time with him too. 

three.

After a whole night of hauling three gigantic cardboard boxes along with two suitcases into your apartment, you drag Minho’s ass out of bed at nine in the morning, push him into your car and slowly reverse out of your apartment’s parking lot. 

He’s not very attentive to his surroundings when he’s tired so he didn’t mind the monotonous voice of the news reporter coming out of the speakers. Whereas, he would have yelled at you by now to shut it off so he can blast his Spotify playlist at maximum volume to annoy people who apparently don’t know how to park their cars properly. Still, he only finished unpacking half of his luggage at four so it didn’t occur to him how little time he spent half-sleeping against your car’s window. 

It didn’t occur to him how you managed to maneuver him out of the vehicle either. But when his eyes start hurting from rubbing them too much, Minho realizes that you’re piloting him through an old couple shopping hand in hand, a sweaty man in his mid-forties wearing a tracksuit and a child tugging at his mom’s skirt, begging for a lollipop. He gazes downward, eyes stop dead in their tracks seeing your hand intertwined with his while your free one is scrolling through the list of groceries on your phone. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, glad that you’re finally awake,” the amount of sarcasm laced in your tone just makes the blush on his cheeks disappear in the span of half a second. 

Minho makes a face and pulls his hand back to grab a cart, trailing after your footsteps grimly like an obedient puppy. “Waking up early was not in the contract,” he lets out the loudest yawn possible without covering his mouth, no manners whatsoever. “That lawsuit for child labor? Pending.���

You chuckle dryly and toss a box of oatmeal cookies into the cart, not really caring that he’s sleepy and tired. You’re the one who’s driving after all. “It technically is,” you say with a meek smile and turn around, watching him throw in a bag of popcorn, barbecue flavored chips, and other junks that scream college staple food. He told you that he’s making use of the school’s gym five times a week but seeing the amount of trash that’s piling up, you doubt that his efforts are gonna matter at this point. 

“I told you that we’re grocery shopping every Monday morning because we both don’t have classes on Monday mornings.”

Minho only groans loudly like a damsel in distress until you both reach the vegetable aisle. He immediately goes for the asparagus and broccoli, probably to water down the amount of sodium from the chips. 

You’re not sure if it’s just because he’s sleepy but the rest of your banter while raiding the supermarket is fairly civil. In short, it’s the most normal conversation you’ve ever had with him. Not that you’re complaining, it's actually really nice to see how he also has a soft side to him. Not only did Minho grab the chicken breasts for Chan because that guy cannot live without them, but he also called Changbin to check which flavor of the protein bar that he prefers. It seems like he’s gonna crash at Chan’s place for an upcoming secret project. 

When you both queue up at the self-checkout line, he observes the light blue packaging of your shampoo curiously. He notices how you stopped getting the twelve ounces bottle and went for the twenty-four ounces one instead. 

“You’re still using this one? I thought you said you wanted to change it up every time?” He asks, propping his head onto your shoulder lazily. Minho remembers how you started to try out this brand three months ago and he laughed his ass off at you for being so determined to go through all of their scents. It’s dumb, yes, but he commented on every single one of them anyway. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” 

Your body tenses up when he sniffs at your hair, nose brushing against the back of your ear, and it’s not helping either when his forearms are resting against the lines of your waist so he can hold onto the cart while you’re too busy bombarding Yeji with questions about the frat party she attended last night. You’re basically trapped between him and the cart; you can’t believe you’re only realizing that just now. 

“Hold up, I thought you usually go grocery shopping alone?” Yeji flips the table and inquires slyly on the other line, then she lets out an audible gasp. It’s so loud that Minho staggers backward from surprise, almost hitting the cart behind. “Is that Lee Minho?! Y/N, what are you two doing at the Asian market at ten AM? Together?!”

Words spill out of your mouth before you can even process them properly. “We saw each other coincidentally and ended up using the same cart.” And now you want to put your head through a wall because what kind of an answer was that? Your brain had to malfunction at that very moment, in the middle of that very call, it just had to. “Okay, whatever, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow during Park’s lecture, see you,” you hang up just like that, not knowing how to act because now you have to tell Yeji about how you—a complete loner—is finally having a roommate. But that roommate isn’t her specifically. 

“You good? You look a bit..feverish,” Minho rests a hand on your forehead while his free one pushes the cart forward. Still in a daze, your heart shudders, and your back accidentally comes in contact with his chest, making you drop your phone onto the carton of eggs in a panic. “Careful there, that’s two months worth of eggs,” he reminds you, clearly not having a single clue of how giddy you are right now. 

Also, saying that you’re giddy is an understatement. 

You shake your head and mutter, “Right, sorry, you were saying?”

“I just asked why you stopped trying the rest of the scents and committed to April Cotton so easily.”

“It’s because you said it’s the best one so far,” you answer honestly, almost too honestly because right now, Minho feels like someone’s using his heart to juggle right inside his chest cavity. 

four.

That night, after Minho’s monstrous shift at the cafe and three hours of you FaceTiming Yeji to procrastinate about a writing assignment, you both are sprawled across your white fuzzy carpet that sheds more than three of his cats combined. 

In between is an empty cup of McFluffy, a sad piece of pepperoni pizza and leftover fries, all being placed on a piece of newspaper because Minho’s promised you that if he ever dirtied your carpet, he’d take you to a concert. His bank account isn’t ready for that yet. A Dog’s Way Home just ended two minutes ago and as the ending credits roll, you’re all curled up inside your over-sized hoodie, sniffling into a piece of tissue. 

“Day one with your new roommate here and you’re already shedding tears Jesus Christ,” Minho tells you after stretching his limbs out tiredly, eyes becoming droopy.  

“Shut up,” you punch his arm and laugh, wiping the remaining of your tears with your sleeves. “I swear I saw your eyes watering when Bella reunited with Big Kitten.”

“They did not?” He shoots you a shit-eating grin when he settles back down onto the floor, supporting his head with his hands. To be fair, the CGI was kinda shitty, a little bit noticeable but the reunion was too emotional for him to care about something as meaningless as that. 

Minho ignores how you’re mumbling something and instead, turns onto his side and grabs a piece of fries, chewing obnoxiously. “So, Y/N,” he inquires rather cautiously. “How does it feel like to finally have good company along with good food?” 

You hum for a while but answer with little consideration, eye closed, “I could use someone with a smaller mouth, and a smaller ego too but yeah, it’s kinda dope.” And you open one side of your eyes to see him being the literal CTRL+V of the surprised Pikachu meme. He looks betrayed, as if someone just sneaked into your apartment and snatched all of his packets of instant ramen in one go, just like whoosh, out the door they go with his daily breakfast. 

“It feels kinda nice too,” you proceed to continue, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact with him. “Because I know although this person acts like an asshole most of the time, he’s just a really big softie on the inside. I like how he called his friends in the middle of his shopping trip to see if he’s getting them the right flavor of protein bars, how he paid for the groceries even though we’re equally broke, and how he skipped dance practice to volunteer at a nursing home every weekend.” 

You’re not looking, but you’re pretty sure that Minho’s smile is growing so big, his cheeks are about to crack in half. “I didn’t tell anyone about that,” he stifles a laugh. “It’s either you’re somewhat a creep or you’re just really cautious about what kind of people you let into your life.”

“I’m a loner, what can I say?” You chuckle lightheartedly, feeling slightly fuzzy inside for no particular reason. “I am really cautious when it comes to stuff like that because the more you let people into your life, the more it hurts when they decide they’re gonna leave you.”

“Hah! So that’s why you’re so stubborn about the whole not having a roommate thing?” You nod sheepishly at that, feeling kinda embarrassed because it feels like he’s unraveling your secrets right under your nose. 

The signature catlike smile lingers on his lips when you turn on your right to face him, and your useless heart thinks it’s a good time to skip a beat when your eyes meet his round ones with ridiculously beautiful lashes. You’ve never felt like this towards anyone before, it’s risky, you know it but you think you can trust him. You can trust Lee Minho. 

Although he wasn’t this big, sassy persona that has a questionable obsession with cats and dancing when you first met him. You encountered Minho for the very first time backstage at the school’s music festival to support 3RACHA’s performance. Initially, he made absolutely no effort to even greet you like how a civil human being would, but he was intrigued when he saw the SpiderMan plush keychain on your backpack. And it seemed like fate was only trying to push both of you closer together because you kept bumping into him on campus. So it’s only a matter of time before he decided that he hated eating lunch alone and asked for the empty seat next to you, offering you his watered-down cup of coffee. 

“What made you change your mind then? Why not just reject me?” Minho scoots closer to you, eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

“Because I feel like..you won’t be leaving me anytime soon..”

“Damn right, I can never stop bothering you.”

You don’t know where, how, or why you can muster every fiber of courage left inside of you to tell him that. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? Maybe this is a sign, the universe wants you to stop being so closed up all the time and open up to new people (regardless of how shitty you think they are) because life’s way too short to play the role of the lone traveler on this planet. And it’s madness to think that all it took this boy was half a cup of Vietnamese coffee and a call at such an ungodly hour for your heart to be completely his. Nothing’s gonna change much, you think. You’re gonna still free-fall into this hellhole called ‘college’ with your first world problems like everyone else but the only difference is that you don’t have to be alone anymore. There’s a hand for you to hold, a shoulder for you to lean on and your heart has found its new home. You don’t think you’ve ever felt it being so alive before. However, you’re not against it even when you’re still dubious. 

Because that’s how you’re supposed to feel your entire life. 

❖ p/s : I hope you enjoyed this little monster that I managed to whip up in the past few days, I thought it’d be nice if I could give you guys smth as a “parting gift” for my [rest]. I was very, very sleep-deprived as I proofread this so please don’t come for me & I’ll see you in the next fic!

[thesolitarystripe]

Death Has A Name

Today was not inspired by any writing prompts, in fact, this is something I wrote a few months ago as I ruminated on one of the characters in my book. However, when I wrote this I did not initially think it would become a backstory of any kind for him; I just wanted to explore the darker themes that I plan to address. Yes, this entry does deal with heavier themes so here is your trigger warning (TW): there is mention of suicide. If that makes you uncomfortable I suggest you don't read his story or in the long run, my story. One of the things I have come to realize as a writer is there are absolutely topics that I want to talk about because they have become important to me. Mental health as a whole needs to be discussed. It's good to see that in recent times the doors are opening and people are starting to come forward and talk about their own experiences but there is still very much a stigma about people that struggle with these invisible illnesses. As someone who has been going to therapy for, God, four-plus years? I've struggled with both depression and anxiety. When my days were really dark, I was grateful to myself and my friends that encouraged me to get back into my therapist's office. It doesn't make me crazy, invalid, weird, or unrelatable. It makes me human. I hope that if you struggle with your mental health that you seek help, reach out, talk about it. If you don't have a safe place to do that, come talk to me. I'll be your first step. One of my biggest therapies is writing about my feelings and thoughts and even though I am doing so much better these days, it doesn't mean that I am struggle free. It just means that I'm learning how to manage it better. I hope you guys enjoy this character because while this is a vague introduction to him, he absolutely is an integral part in my novel and honestly, in all of our lives.

“You look lonely.”

Those words fell upon desperate ears like a dark lullaby. It beckoned to him. There was nothing he could do to resist.

Then he fell. What a sweet plunge it was. The air was sucked from his lungs, even as he choked and sputtered, those vital organs wringing out completely until every last vestige of oxygen was removed.

Never to fill again.

There was a brief moment of discomfort where his throat burned, and his chest ached to rise again and heave air within it but the urge to breathe passed quickly. It was an odd sensation to be so still and to be content in the stillness after spending twenty-eight years breathing without a thought otherwise. Soon, he felt a soothing chill spread through his chest cavity, extending out to the tendrils of each vein until his entire physical form was pleasantly cold. Then a deep darkness took him and all he remembered was falling asleep. Happy.

Death was his common name. Or for some, they called him the grim reaper. That one made him feel much too important. No one bothered to ask for his real name though; for so many years he went without title, it was easy to forget what human lips used to call him. There was no race best to call him but many in the afterlife referred to him as an angel—though it was not entirely true. Death appeared in many forms but admittedly, he was found most often in a humanoid body, with a deathly pale skin tone and hair as silver as the beaming rays of moonlight that lit up the night sky. Two hulking black wings sprouted from his back, like thick tree limbs whose roots were buried deep within his flesh anchored to his bones. Sleek ebony feathers lined in neat rows hung from the meaty part of his wing, each point looking as if it had been dipped in gold before having been sewn into the fabric of his body. It was easy to see why, from afar, he was thought to be an angelic creature but up close; those solid black eyes spoke more of the underworld than any realm above. Death often recalled his rebirth many times, wondering still whose voice called to him as he sat broken upon the ground—what a pathetic life he lived on earth. The voice was right. He was lonely, afraid, unhappy, ready to be rid of the waking world; at least he thought so.

When he grasped the reality of what felt like a peaceful reverie from his mortal pain, a piece of him mourned for he was almost as lonely in death as he was in life. While he ferried souls every day to their afterlife, he was but a vessel. The guide to their next destination. A steppingstone. As silly as it sounded, even to him, Death wanted nothing more than connection but everything he touched withered. In his most desperate times, he fell to the earth and entered the mortal realm disguised as an ordinary person but found he could entertain no human interaction without someone always wanting to touch him, a handshake, a hug, a pat on the back. In his earliest days as Death, before he grasped the enormity of his powers, he led someone to an early death due to his carelessness. The guilt ate at him for eternity, even now after millennia.

Accepting his fate, Death sat perched upon buildings of various cities, watching the world pass down below. When he did not have souls to meet, the ones that came to the end of their timelines, he watched the waking world with somber, dark eyes. There were humans he sought to know, flowers he wished to smell, foods he wanted to taste, and puppies he wanted to pat but, he knew those pleasures were no longer meant for him.

If there was anything he could do, it was reminding humanity what made life so special, what made it worth living. Death sometimes sat upon the edge of bridges, waiting. Unfortunately, a weary human would often show up and stand upon the edge of the structure, looking down at the murky waters below, the firm belief that those depths held the secret to their release. Death, unseen unless he wanted to be, would creep up next to them and whisper whatever their heart needed to hear.

“Stay.”

Some nights, it worked. Others, it did not. For those that chose their fate still, he scooped their souls up from the river and carried them tenderly to shore. While they were mistreated in life, he could at least care for them, if only for the short journey across the bridge where all souls eventually walked. It was a thankless, lonely job but, there was not much else within his power to do—not for a grim reaper.

[somethingmorecreative1]

Renegade Dawn, Chapter 2 [klance fic]

the klance pacific rim au 

Here’s Chapter 1, if you haven’t read it yet! And here’s the AO3 link if you’d rather read it there. 

Stay safe, stay healthy, and take care of yourselves xoxo

;;

Chapter 2

September 2029—Year 22 of the Kaiju War

The Kaiju roars in agony as the plasmacaster blows through its chest and destroys the heart cavity. Its empty screams echo off of the buildings and the partially destroyed Wall of Life in Los Angeles as it collapses.

“Great job, beautiful!” Lance exclaims, moving into a complete standing position on the gyro-stabilizers, the elliptical pedals that hold him in place in the cockpit.

“Are you okay?” Allura asks, looking over at him through her helmet. She looks tired, but her eyes are bright, just like they are after every Kaiju kill. Clawtooth, codename for the Kaiju that attacked Southern California early this morning, had gone down after a long fight. Some of the coast was destroyed in the battle, with a large piece of the completed and supposedly indestructible wall torn to shreds.

Lance nods, surveying the Kaiju’s body where it’s scattered in pieces around them. He says, “Yep. I’m glad we were here. This son of a bitch would have ruined L.A.”

“Riptide, get back to the coast and prepare for pickup,” the voice interrupts from the comm system, speaking over the heavy noise in the cockpit of their Jaeger. Lance and Allura don’t recognize the voice, but that’s probably because there are only a few officers left at the Shatterdome. Even Lance, Allura, and their Jaeger, Sunshine Riptide, had been only half an hour from being relocated to Hong Kong when the Kaiju was tracked heading toward L.A.

Through the drift, Lance can feel how angry Allura is about them being relocated. He hums along with her, equally as pissed, and they start walking back toward the coast, crushing the skull of Clawtooth for good measure. Fuck Kaiju.

“It’s bullshit that we’re doing this,” Allura grumbles aloud, even though she knows Lance can feel and hear everything in her head. She must be really angry to vocalize it too. “The only reason L.A. isn’t in ruins is because of us.”

“I know,” Lance agrees, tapping at the control panel hanging from the roof of the cockpit. “I thought the Wall of Life was supposed to be indestructible and keep everyone safe, but this bastard tore through the wall in less than twenty minutes. Cutting the Jaeger Program is a bad idea.”

Allura hums in agreement, and they trudge toward the coast.

The first time that Lance met Allura was one of the most embarrassing and best things to ever happen to him. After the Garrison, Lance received his placement at the Shatterdome in Los Angeles. It was a miracle really; L.A. had been his top choice because it was close to his family and it was still one of the more active bases on the Pacific Rim.

Lance had been brought into the Jaeger Program, the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, with a dozen other new candidates from across the world, including Allura. Lance had spotted her first, standing in line with the other cadets, all beauty and grace. She hadn’t even glanced his way, which obviously meant that she was just his type. After the briefing from their superior officer (that Lance had barely listened to; he had been fantasizing about his future with Allura, whose name he hadn’t even known at the time), Lance had walked up to her, smirked, and said, “Are you religious? Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

Allura had stared at him for half a second before slamming her knee into his crotch. She’d left him curled up on the ground, moaning and biting back tears as the other cadets laughed.

Later that day, when they were being paired up for physical training, one of the officers paired him with Allura, and she had frowned at him before throwing the first punch.

Lance dodged, sweating nervously. His voice shook more than he wanted to admit when he said, “Listen, about earlier—”

She threw him on the ground and smirked, “Do you believe in doctors? Because you’re going to need some serious medical attention when I’m done with you.”

Honestly, the heart eyes that Lance had for Allura just got worse after that.

His training from the Garrison finally kicked in, and after a few minutes of her thoroughly kicking his ass, he was able to get back into the fight. Once he was paying attention, he discovered that they were somewhat evenly matched. She was good, but Lance could keep up and hold his own too.

They drew a decent sized crowd. Eventually, Lance thought that their superior officer came over to watch as well, but he was so focused on the fight and the energy between him and Allura that he wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

Allura had him pined to the ground, and Lance was fighting his way out of it when a sharp whistle broke his concentration. Then, a voice barked, “Enough!”

Both him and Allura turned to look. A few officers were standing there, along with the Marshall. Lance immediately rolled to his feet, face burning, wondering what they had done wrong.

“Interesting,” the Marshall had said, raising an eyebrow. “It seems as though the two of you are drift compatible.”

And the rest had been history.

Lance and Allura started their training together then, since they were ahead of the other pilots in their program who hadn’t found a co-pilot yet. The Marshall and their commanding officers all kept a close eye on their training, and after two years, they started building Lance and Allura’s Jaeger, a Mark IV angel, if Lance was honest. He and Allura had fought with the engineers over her name and design for weeks.

They became best friends somewhere along the way. The first time that they had done a drift test, it had been so different from the last time, the time he had tried with Keith. With Allura, he had all the training that he and Keith hadn’t had. He understood exactly what the drift was and how it worked; he knew what he needed to give to make this work with Allura.

He wasn’t even worried about drifting with Allura. It had been as easy as breathing.

Now, as he thinks about it, he can feel Allura going through his memories with him, smiling at several of the times they’ve had together so far.

Lance wonders what they’ll do if the Jaeger Program is completely decommissioned.

The tone in the drift shifts enough for Allura to speak again. She says, “That won’t happen. The Wall isn’t a good enough defensive tactic. Jaegers are the only thing strong enough to fight the Kaiju.”

“What if we’re moved over to Hong Kong and they ground us?” Lance asks.

Allura is worried about it, he can tell through the drift, but she says, “I don’t think that will happen. Sunshine Riptide is the most successful Jaeger that’s still operational. The only Jaeger that had stronger pilots and more drop-kills than us at the time was Black Paladin.”

“Yeah, and that worked out well for them,” Lance mutters, voice bitter and sad at the same time.

Allura prods at the feeling gently, but Lance guides her away from it. Even though it’s been three years, he’s still not ready to share that aloud with her. She’s seen everything, of course, but drifting with someone is different. There are things that Lance has seen in Allura’s memories that he would never dare ask her about. This just happens to be one of his.

“That was a freak accident,” Allura challenges him, secure in it now, after years of thinking about it, worrying over it, regretting it. “It was before the new system for categorizing the Kaiju was developed. If they had known that Kaiju was a Category 3, they never would have sent Black Paladin in without backup.”

“I know,” he sighs. He doesn’t argue with her, mostly because she’s right, but also because he’s tired. They’d been deployed at 2:45 this morning, and it was well past 08:00 now. Lance needed a nap.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. As they leave the city, it starts to wake up behind them. There are several helicopters zipping through the skies, getting close enough to film them as they walk. Absently, Lance hopes that someone has gotten their kill on camera so it will play repeatedly for the next couple of days. It would be a good thing for the world to see. Despite the destruction of the city and the potential lives that had been lost, the United Nations needs to know that defunding the Jaeger Program is a terrible idea. If Sunshine Riptide hadn’t been here, all of L.A. could have been destroyed.

The helicopters and the loading ship are waiting for them at the coast, and as they make their way over to it, Lance grins at Allura and says, “You wanna wave to the crowds?”

She laughs, bright and easy, and they both turn and lift their arm to wave in the direction of the city.

“Please proceed onto the loading dock, Riptide,” the voice from base replies, probably completely aware (and unhappy, if Lance has to guess) at their publicity stunt.

He smirks over at Allura, and they follow orders.

;;

“Prepare for drop,” the AI hums through the cockpit, and Lance and Allura jerk as the helicopters release them. They drop to the ocean, hitting the water and seafloor with a sharp thud. They’ve been dropped far enough out that they can barely see the coastline because the impact from the drop can often cause a small earthquake if they are too close to any fault lines. In a fight with the Kaiju, it doesn’t seem as important, and the Wall does help avoid damage to the city, but the Jaegers have to be careful when being transported.

Which means that Lance and Allura have to walk all the way over to the Shatterdome now.

Once they’re standing upright, Allura picks up her right foot, and Lance echoes her immediately. They walk through the water, and the coastline gets closer and bigger with every step.

Through the drift, Lance can see that Allura is thinking about the last time they were here in Hong Kong, when they fought against the Kaiju with two other Jaegers: Metal Lipstick and Black Paladin.

It had been a legendary battle. It was the first time that there had ever been a double event—two Kaiju coming through the breach at once. They had lurked down the Pacific and descended upon Hong Kong hour after their arrival. Sunshine Riptide had been deployed from L.A., journeying across the ocean to join the fight with Metal Lipstick and Black Paladin.

Both were mythical Jaegers. In fact, with Sunshine Riptide there, they were the three most powerful Jaeger teams in existence, all fighting together at once. Metal Lipstick, piloted by a set of twins from Australia, had some of the best defensive tactics in the world, and Black Paladin—well, Black Paladin was the most successful Jaeger to have ever been built. Its life was young, having been built specifically for its pilots, but its power couldn’t be defined by age.

Lance can still hear the echoes of the other pilot’s voices in his memories, but he blinks hard. The last thing they need is to get caught chasing the rabbit in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

They don’t talk as they make their way over to the coast. It doesn’t take long to get there; the Hong Kong Shatterdome is built on an island off the coast of the city, where the Jaegers have easy access to the water so they can stop the Kaiju before it reaches the coast. The massive building sticks out against the rest of the coastline. Shatterdomes are easily the biggest structures on the planet, and to house Jaegers, they have to be.

Up ahead, the base has a loading tank prepared for them. It’s designed to roll the Jaegers into the Shatterdome to avoid hurting the pilots in such close quarters. Even though the Shatterdome is big, it’s not big enough for a Jaeger to just walk inside with its pilots.

“Sunshine Riptide,” a distinct voice, heavy with an Australian accent, filters through their communication system. “Welcome to the Hong Kong Shatterdome!”

Allura grins immediately and reaches up to hit her speaker. “Hello, Marshall. It’s nice to be here.”

“Under unfortunate circumstances, I’m afraid, but we’ll have to take what we can get in these times I suppose, eh?” he asks, voice still bright. “Please be careful on the loading tank and removing yourself from the Jaeger. A team will be out to assist you and bring you into the facility.”

“Copy that, boss,” Lance says, smiling at Allura. Even though they might be getting the plug pulled on them, he guesses that it’s worth it to see Allura this happy. She doesn’t get to see her uncle, Coran, very often anymore, not since he took the Marshall’s position. At least she will get to spend some time with him while they’re here.

They trudge forward, continuing up onto the loading tank easily and carefully climbing up out of Riptide. When they open the top hatch, Lance is blinded by the sun. It glints off Riptide’s sharp metal, flickering different colors in the light.

Coran’s team helps them climb down to the ground, and Lance shakes himself, blinking to get the haze of the drift to fade. Staying in the drift for a long time takes a toll on the mind, and it still makes Lance a little dizzy and overwhelmed after they’ve been in for a long time.

Allura grips his arm and jostles him softly, “Wake up.”

“I’m awake,” he says, batting her hand away.

Groups of officers and military personal are standing around them and their Jaeger, looking up at Sunshine Riptide in all her glory. She stands tall, so tall that she’s blocking the sun. She’s a Mark IV, rebuilt for Lance and Allura when they finished their training. She was decommissioned after being torn to shreds in one of the very first Kaiju battles, but they rebuilt her, loaded her up with a new neural interface, and slapped on a bright orange coat of paint. She has two plasmacasters, one in each fist, built to destroy the Kaiju in close combat, which she’s designed for. To Lance, Sunshine Riptide is one of the most beautiful Jaegers in existence.

Some of the people around them are also looking over at Lance and Allura, and their expressions are too close to awe and amazement. Any other day, he would be preening under the attention, smirking and flirting his way through the crowds, but today, he’s too worried about their future.

Allura glances over at him when one of the officers gives them the go ahead. The Shatterdome’s bay doors are opening a few hundred yards ahead of them, and there are people everywhere. Every Shatterdome has been pulled and moved to Hong Kong, so everyone in the Pan Pacific Defense Corps is grounded here now, well, what’s left of them.

Lance removes his helmet, tucks it under his arm, and steps up to Allura’s side. She nods, and they step out in front of the tank where their Jaeger has been loaded. It’s a brisk walk, but it’s something that Lance always takes pride in. People in front of them clear a path, parting for them, and they enter the Shatterdome bay to a round of applause because of their most recent victory.

The base is full. There are soldiers, mechanics, and scientists crowding the floor, and there are even more people on the higher levels as well. In this bay, there are a handful of Jaegers—probably the last ones in the world. Only three have made it this long and this far; Crystal Venom, Omega Shield, and Razor Edge sit in the Shatterdome already, and now that Sunshine Riptide joins them, that means they have four Jaegers left in this fight.

Within the last few months, Kaiju activity has increased exponentially, more than it has over the entire length of the war. More and more Jaegers have been defeated because of the growing number of attacks and strength from the Kaiju. Now, there are only a few remaining.

It’s why the United Nations pulled the funding for the Jaeger Program. Jaegers were dying so fast, and the Wall seemed like the only other option. Jaegers are expensive to make and run and investing money in something that seemingly doesn’t work does seem like a waste.

But Lance knows that it’s not. Jaegers are the only things that stand in the way of the Kaiju destroying their world. If there’s anything he can do about it, he’s not going to let that happen ever.

“Ah! And here’s a friend you may remember. Sunshine Riptide, welcome to Hong Kong!”

Lance hears Coran’s voice before he sees him, but when a crowd of soldiers clears out of the way, there he is, standing in the middle of the base, gesturing up to their Jaeger. He’s standing with two other people. The person on Coran’s right is short and looks young. She’s dressed in a navy-blue military uniform with a pair of round, large glasses on her nose. On Coran’s left, there’s a tall man, dressed in a leather jacket with a duffel slung over his shoulder. His black hair hangs down to almost his shoulders—

“Pilots!” Coran calls excitedly, “Join us!”

Lance feels Allura hesitate at the same time as him. Normally, she’s very excited, not at all hesitant, to catch up with Coran. But this time—this time is different.

Because Keith Kogane is standing on Coran’s left, and he’s looking over at Lance like he’s just come back from the dead.

;;

After the Garrison, Lance hadn’t heard anything from Keith in almost two years. He never really forgot about him, never forgot the feeling of drifting with someone and almost being destroyed by it. He thought about it a lot actually, especially as he trained with Allura. He thought about what could have been different, what they could have done to make it better, to maybe have not tried to kill each other and destroy any semblance of a chance at being co-pilots.

In the end, Lance always reminded himself that it never mattered because they weren’t drift compatible and they never would be.

The first thing that he ever heard about Keith after the Garrison was in an online interview. He had been checking his tablet, scanning through the news, when he saw it.

Jaeger Black Paladin takes down largest ever Cat 2 Kaiju in Hong Kong last night. Pilots Takashi Shirogane and Keith Kogane famed for victory.

Allura had found him later, obsessively looking through the internet for more information about Keith.

As it turned out, Keith had found drift compatibility with someone else too—Takashi Shirogane, an older and more experienced pilot from Hong Kong. Staring at his face on the tablet, Lance had a vague feeling that he knew this man, and he finally he realized that it was because of the memories he got from Keith when they drifted together.

Keith and Shiro were placed in a Mark IV Jaeger, Black Paladin, in Hong Kong. Keith had even finished his training almost six months early so they could put them in a Jaeger. The fight with the Cat 2 Kaiju in Hong Kong had been their first battle together, and they quickly ran through the ranks of all other Jaeger pilots in the world. Their drop-kill numbers were so high, accuracy so amazing, that they were deployed for every Kaiju attack they were physically close enough to.

Lance and Allura were finally deployed for the first time eight months after Keith and Shiro’s first victory, and Sunshine Riptide ripped through the Kaiju just as quickly as Black Paladin did. It made Lance smug, and he often wondered if Keith kept up with him as much as Lance watched the headlines for Keith’s name.

Almost a year later, the first ever double event happened in Hong Kong. Lance and Allura were deployed from L.A., and Metal Lipstick was sent over from Australia to join Shiro and Keith in the fight. It wasn’t the first time that Jaegers had teamed up to fight the Kaiju, but it was the first time that all three of the most powerful Jaegers were fighting together.

Lance remembered it like it was yesterday. He and Allura had physically jerked when he had heard Keith’s voice for the first time since they were eighteen.

“Prepare for drop,” the AI hummed just as the helicopters dropped them in the ocean, right on the other side of the Kaiju.

“Nice to meet you, Sunshine Riptide!” the voice from Lance’s memories—Shiro’s voice—said, echoing in the cockpit of their Jaeger.

Lance smirked and hit the button on his comm system, “Same, we’ve been waiting on a chance to save Keith’s ass.”

Shiro laughed a little, but Keith was back, growling, “Fuck you, Lance.”

Allura and Lance joined the fight then, putting aside everything else. It was harder than any other fight so far, even with all three Jaegers. Allura and Lance led the first one, codename Diablo, while Black Paladin and the Australian Jaeger, Metal Lipstick, finished off the other.

Diablo had Lance and Allura around the waist, crushing them slowly as the plasmacaster powered up. Then, they shoved their left fist into its chest and fired.

“Empty the clip!” Lance shouted through clenched teeth, his ribs aching, as they kept firing into the Kaiju. “Empty the clip!”

Finally, Diablo fell into the ocean, just as Black Paladin and Metal Lipstick were turning to aid them.

Allura grinned, reached up to the comm, and said, “Thanks for the help, but we’ve got it.”

Lance was laughing, grinning at her too because holy fuck, she was the best thing to ever happen to him.

After the battle, they were all stationed at the Hong Kong Shatterdome for a few days to get repairs done on their Jaegers. Sunshine Riptide was so damaged that she wouldn’t make it home without the important repairs completed first.

Lance met Shiro officially for the first time, but when they shook hands with each other, he felt how weird it was. He already felt like he knew Shiro from seeing him in Keith’s memories, even just the little that he had, and Shiro was looking at him the same way, like he knew him too.

Keith had stood off to the side with his arms crossed, glaring in their direction.

“This is Allura,” Lance said to Shiro, reaching out for her arm to pull her forward. “She’s my co-pilot.”

Shiro smiled at her softly, and Lance grinned while they shook hands. She was being uncharacteristically nervous now, meeting Shiro. Lance would tease her about it later.

“You guys were impressive,” Shiro said, looking between both of them. “We’ve been keeping up with your deployments, so we were excited that you were coming for this one.”

Allura started to thank him, but Lance interrupted. His grin widened, and he shot a look over at Keith, “Oh yeah? Keith’s just been waiting for a rematch.”

Keith rolled his eyes, not at all friendly, “Whatever. I’d still kick your ass.”

He laughed and winked at him, relishing in Keith’s glare and how he couldn’t take his eyes off Lance’s frame. Sure, they hated each other and were rivals in every essence of the word now, but who said Lance couldn’t have a little fun with it?

It wasn’t the only time that they had seen each other since the Garrison. They spent a couple of more days at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, and when Allura took to hanging out with Shiro, Lance and Keith had no other option than to be around each other too.

It worked out, mainly because of how much Allura berated and begged Lance into being nice to him so she could talk to Shiro. He listened to her, only because she was his best friend and loving co-pilot, so when they all went out to a dive bar where no one would recognize them to celebrate, Lance called for a truce.

“I’m just saying,” Lance’s voice was a little too loud because of the last couple beers he’d had. “This is stupid. You’re stupid.”

“Wow,” Keith had crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What a great way to talk to someone you want to be friends with. Really, has anyone ever told you how good you are with people?”

Lance scowled at him, “I’m not giving up.”

The other man had shrugged, “Whatever, Lance.”

After that night, things between them became a little better in terms of the limited amount of times they had to deal with each other. There were only a handful of times and places where they were deployed to fight together, and even fewer times where they got to see each other outside of the Jaegers and the Shatterdomes.

Which is right about the time that Lance developed a huge fucking crush on Keith. In all actuality, it hadn’t developed—Lance had finally become aware of it.

He had been working on a plan to get Keith to start talking to him again. In fact, Allura was even talking to Shiro, which was good for him too. If Allura could get Shiro on their side, then they would all four have to spend time together and—

Then the accident happened.

Black Paladin was deployed to defend Hong Kong from a supposed Cat 2 Kaiju, codename Knifehead. They were already sent out to meet Knifehead in battle when the Marshall and techs realized that the Kaiju wasn’t a Cat 2—it had been the first ever Cat 3.

And Black Paladin was unprepared for it.

Lance can still remember watching the video feed of it the next day. Seeing Knifehead tear off their Jaeger’s arm, then, completely rip out the right side of the Jaeger—Lance thought he was going to be sick while watching it.

Sunshine Riptide hadn’t been close enough to help. Even if they had been deployed at the same time, there wasn’t anything that they could have done.

That morning, Lance and Allura had received the report at the L.A. Shatterdome. Shiro was dead, and Keith—Keith was in a coma. He had killed the Kaiju on his own, controlling the Jaeger by himself, and effectively killing his brain with the amount of strain on the neural bridge. He had even gotten the Jaeger back to the coast on his own, lasting almost a full hour in battle by himself.

It made sense that they thought he wouldn’t make it.

So Lance and Allura—they didn’t know what to do. It was like their world had been ripped away from them. Black Paladin—Shiro and Keith—they had been the strongest and most successful Jaeger pilots ever.

And the Kaiju had taken them away. Just like that.

In the time that Keith was in a coma, there was another Kaiju attack, another Cat 3 along the coast of California. Allura and Lance had begged the Marshall to deploy them, and when they went, they were both so angry that they ripped the Kaiju to shreds, hoping every last helicopter got it on camera so it would play it, as if it would justify all the wrongs the Kaiju had already done to them.

It hadn’t.

Lance and Allura did their best to deal with it. Allura was so sad, and Lance was practically distraught. When they drank too much one night and stumbled into bed together, Lance didn’t regret it because at least he had felt something for a little while.

A few weeks later, Keith surprisingly woke up from his coma, but before Lance and Allura could get over to Hong Kong to visit, he left the hospital, left the Shatterdome, and disappeared without a trace.

And it’s been three years since.

[painted-cherries]

lingering

pairing: mark tuan x reader

warnings: mention of a gun and drugs, but no use and no death or shooting.

genre: fluff, slight angst but purely for the sake of plot I swear

words: 2.4k +

request: “ Can I have mark tuan soulmate au where he's a workaholic cop,and doesn't believe in soulmates, but then falls for her when he sees her? Please and thank you. Hope this makes sense :) “

a/n: yes! I am a fool for a good soulmate prompt, especially with Mark, he has the perfect image for this. I may or may not have projected my love for B99 in this fic as well... I am still accepting requests! You can drop one in my inbox if you click here.

March had passed, spitting out the few last cold fronts and mini snowfalls it could before April would take its place. Spring was on the verge of spilling to full bloom; what better time to find your soulmate than when the earth is renewing herself with luscious evergreen and flowers? The search for one;s soulmate is always random, but typically when someone would least expect it. There had been stories of people finding their respective partner in little moments like needing to borrow change in line at the cafe, or even sharing a seat on the bus. Every situation was very unique to each couple, and it was hard to anticipate when or where they’ll meet- sometimes in not very graceful situations. Spring time meant that there would be a plethora of new soulmates discovering each other; spring was a popular season, as well as that small period of time where fall slowly freezes into the coming winter. Many of these couples could be found around every corner and on every curb, hand-in-hand grateful to finally find comfort in someone’s arms. The soulmate system is a work of wonders for everyone right?

In the spring, Mark could be found working overtime at the station, catching up on potential hours he missed in the winter, when he had left to visit family for the holidays. He dreaded those visits, despite being able to see his family, the extended was always hounding him about not seeking out his soulmate more actively, He was well into his mid-twenties now, and was still without a girlfriend, let alone a wife. The truth was, Mark was already committed. He worked every day at the station, and not unwillingly. He practically begged other for the shifts that they didn’t want, and the chief himself had to limit him in his overtime that he worked so often. Mark Tuan was married to his job, and that’s how he preferred to live his life. His job gave him a type of natural high. Car chases, and drug busts exhilarated him. to no end. He was constantly working new cases and excelled so high that other detectives were practically begging him to assist them on their cases. 

He would go on and on for hours about a new murder or robbery that was filed to anyone who would listen- if he even had time in the first place- but love was not up for discussion. He had never trusted the link between soulmates- he thought it was madness that two people could be destined to be together for the rest of their lives without knowing or choosing to be with said person from the get go. He didn’t believe in predetermined destinies; he had grown up on his own accord with the ideology that we create our own fates, that we choose what we do and who we love- if we want to love at all.

The controversial animosity he felt for the soulmate idea was something he would never express to anyone- not his parents-who were happily put together by through their souls- or especially his friends, whom most of them had already fallen victim to the link. He had witnessed it everywhere and anywhere, yet he still refused to believe that there was another person out there who was destined to be his forever, before they were even old enough to know what love was. 

The day was young, and on this fine Monday, Mark Tuan was unsurprisingly working yet another shift at the Los Angeles Police Department. He walked with a spring in his step and clocked in. Mark’s daily routine never changed. Sometimes his hours shifted, but that was the most change he had seen since he became so invested in his work. Every day he would wake up and take a shower to wake himself up since he wasn’t naturally very upbeat in the morning. After that, he would eat exactly one bagel with as much cream cheese as he desired, and a banana as he walked out the door on his way to work. That was how he lived; he ate the same thing, combed his hair the same way, and worked the same shifts. It was monotonous, but Mark wouldn’t prefer it any other way. He didn’t need anything different because he obtained his thrill in car chases and drug busts, making arrests and receiving praise for his work.  

Today he was going to follow up on a lead that he had found the day before. Recently the department had finally discovered some lower level criminals that could bring them right to the door of their most wanted: a man who ran all of the drug deals throughout LA, a man that only referred to himself as The King... Not humble or subtle. His real name was Jackson Wang, and he wasn’t even on the down low. This man flaunted his success, but his ability to slip away from the LAPD is what kept him out of a cell to this day.

Mark sat at his desk skimming through files and prepping for the endeavor; he and his partner, Jinyoung, were planning to have an undercover meeting with one of The King’s best dealers, hoping that his arrest could help them locate where every single one of Wang’s hide outs were so that he could no longer slip through the department’s fingers, or more specifically Mark’s. He had been working the case tirelessly for the past three months, and he was tired of letting him get the best of him. Today was going to be a big day, he could feel it in his bones.

He was deep into the case file when Jinyoung walked up, and sat a chocolate muffin on his desk next the open manila folder. 

“Okay what time did you want to head out for the rendezvous spot?” 

Mark looked up from the paperwork and tore a piece of the muffin top off and popped it into his mouth.

“Well I was thinking,” he said with a mouth full of muffin. “that maybe we should go early and scout potential spots that he could escape in case he knows it’s a set up.”

“Okay, okay. Do you want me to see if Officer Kim and his partner could provide some back up?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “No ask Sarge if he’ll cover us. Those two aren’t bad cops but this bust could really lead to a big break in our careers.”

Jinyoung let out a sigh of relief and nodded his head in agreement. Yugyeom and Bam, as he liked to be called, always managed to get on Jinyoung’s nerves. They excelled at policing minor things like busting large college parties at night shift, or giving tickets to people who jay walk downtown. This was a large scale deal that Mark didn’t have time to play around with, and Sargent Lim Jaebum would be great for the job. He was refined, and took things seriously. He helped the captain keep things in order but was still a great friend to get a drink with. He was able to appropriately set a boundry between the workplace and friendship, and Mark knew that he was reliable no matter what the circumstances.

“Okay Tuan, you ready to head out?” Jinyoung called out. 

“Let’s go make an arrest fellas,” Mark replied as he excitedly stood from his chair, and walked out the door with his gun and badge in hand. 

The ride there consisted of a comfortable silence, and JB followed the two in his own car. After scouting for spots that the other two could maintain in case of a chase, Jinyoung dropped Mark off a block from the empty, blocked off parking garage that they were using as a meeting point, and drove off to remain inconspicuous. 

Mark took out his phone and started so scroll through meaningless social media so that he could remain undercover. He was always very hyper aware of his surroundings, as a detective should be. He thought about how warm the air was, just now realizing that the weather was finally changing. He thought about how it was practically yesterday when the weather would barely go above 50 degrees, and it hit him how quickly life was moving by. It literally hit him. Mark had the air knocked out of him when he felt himself collide with another person that was walking in the opposite direction. He landed hard on his back, and the person that caused it came tumbling down with him. 

“Oh shit I am so so sorry,” the person said in a hurry. He opened his eyes to see a young woman being to scramble off of him, and stand. She offered a hand to him, and the moment he took it, he felt a warm sensation spread throughout the cavity of his chest. He could barely get a good look at her before he realized that he was minutes from being late to meeting Wang’s dealer, and took off, muttering a ‘thanks’ under his breath. The girl stood there stunned, shocked by the sudden pull towards the strange man, and confused that he hadn’t stopped to acknowledge the obvious link between them. She wasn’t sure of the reason he ran off so quickly, but she decided that if that was her soulmate then she needed to know who he was, and proceeded to follow him.

Mark couldn’t stop seeing the small glimpses of her face after he ran off. He couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth that has taken over his better judgement, even as he comes face to face with what could be his big break in busting this underground drug ring. His mind was so preoccupied that he couldn’t help but flinch when the dealer slammed the grams of coke on the table between them. 

“Three grams of coke like discussed. Now where’s my payment, pretty boy?” the man spat at Mark.

“I-I have it right here just a moment,” and he pretended to fumble for his wallet. On cue he counted 5 seconds from when the man asked for money, and pulled out his PD badge exclaiming “LA PD”, just as Jinyoung busted into the building as they planned.

“Oh shit,” the guy grunted to himself, and not wanting to take an inventory loss, he grabbed the goods and started to run out what had appeared to be a blocked off exit, but opened for the man with ease.

“Jinyoung! Let JB know they’re taking the southwest exit now!” Mark said as he sprinted after the man. 

This dealer had obviously been trained to avoid being caught at all costs; he was using every resource available to keep Mark four steps behind him at all times. He dumped over crates, threw things carelessly behind him, and ran up the stairs from the lower levels nearly three steps at a time. Now more than ever, Mark cursed his short legs. Once the two reached ground level, the man narrowly slipped past Jinyoung after attempting to knock him to the ground. Mark ran past his partner and was so hyper focused on the perp in front of him, he didn’t notice the woman who was approaching him, oblivious to the chase happening before her. For the second time that day, Mark Tuan landed flat on the ground alongside a mystery woman with an unforgettable gaze.

Mark blinked and could hear the sarge yell from a distance, “LET’S GO TUAN, PICK IT UP.”

He began to recollect himself from the ground, this time he was up on his feet  before the girl in front of him. He offered his hand to her like she did the time before, almost like fate was trying to rewrite their meeting herself. The woman took his hand, and stood before him, brushing her disheveled hair from her face. This time around, Mark got a proper look at her face. He felt his pulse nearly pop from his veins, and his heart fell to his feet and remained there on the sidewalk, stunned. He knew in that moment that this was it, he was becoming what he would categorize as a victim to the soulmate link. But in this moment it didn’t feel like he was a victim. He felt light. There was sunshine pouring from his soul, shinning bright from the hollow behind his eyes and his rough touch on her small hand was weightless. 

‘Who are you?” was all he could ask.

She felt his aura engulf her. This time he lingered long enough for her to notice his more than handsome features. His jawline was strong, tense because she knew this wasn’t an experience he had ever anticipated, especially at this timing. His features were solid and defined, almost as if he had been a model in a past life. But that didn’t matter because he was meant to be hers in this lifetime, until the sun’s light burnt out and the tides stopped crashing for the moon. She placed a hand on his face and grazed it softly, dragging her thumb over his lip ever so slightly. The silence was broken when JB’s voice claiming that he and Jinyoung had caught the dealer, rang out loud over the earpiece he wore for undercover operations such as this one.

“My name is Mark. Ask for me at the LA PD,” he said to her quickly before taking off to help his friends with the arrest. 

As Mark ran, he couldn’t help but think about the woman now clearly identified as his soulmate. He was no longer worried about the countless days he would endure working to bring himself a peace of mind that he couldn’t obtain alone. He thought about the radiance in her eyes, and how even standing together made him feel something whole rather than apart and scattered. He felt her touch linger on his lip and cheek. He continued to feel her ghost touch as he handcuffed the man, and even after arriving back at the station, floating around on a high that wasn’t from booking a criminal for once. He no longer felt it lingering after he saw her waiting at the front door of the department, and walked straight up to her, pressing their lips together then and there before she could even utter a ‘hello’ to him. He pulled back and looked at her with a smile that he had never produced before.

“I’m y/n,” she said with a grin.

Mark no longer felt like a man with a blind fate, but a man who had a new blind faith in a love he didn’t know he was waiting for.

[spartanguard]

footprints

Just a bit of holiday fluff (with a bit of whump) inspired by “Footprints” by the Barenaked Ladies (awesome song from my favorite holiday album by my favorite band).

I hope you all have/had wonderful holidays with your families, and sending you love and warm wishes for the new year! I love you all!!!

Summary: Killian finds himself on the outside looking in (again) sometime between 4x08 and 4x09. But it’ll be okay. What’s a bit of snow when your heart is missing and the woman you love has been chasing a villain?  | rated F for fluff | 2.5k | AO3

One moment, dusk was settling over an unusually quiet Storybrooke—most evenings had been, ever since the Ice Queen’s presence had been made known. Which was probably a good thing, because the next, snow was coming down in droves, almost instantly blanketing the dockside bench Killian had been brooding on.

(Yes, brooding—he was well aware of the immaturity of his present activity, staring out at the graying horizon and sipping from his flask. But what else was one to do when his heart was in the possession of his mortal enemy and his girlfriend—as equally juvenile as that term seemed—was off chasing the villain of the week?)

It took him far too long to notice that his trousers were starting to soak through as the flakes fell on the dark denim and melted, but most sensory things like that had become more and more muted the longer he went without his heart. Perhaps that was a hidden blessing, given the current unpredictable climate.

Despite that, he supposed he should probably seek shelter somewhere—he could easily get to Granny’s before this got any worse. But more importantly, he should make sure Emma had done the same; knowing her, she was still traipsing about town in search of Ingrid.

(She’d invited him along, much to his awful chagrin, and he’d had to come up with some thin excuse to decline the invitation lest, even worse, he be called away by the Crocodile in the middle of things. He was trying not to take Emma’s obvious disappointment personally but, per usual, was failing; thus, the rum.)

Taking one last, long pull of booze in a vain attempt to warm himself—though if it had any affect, he was only faintly aware—he then pocketed the flask and stood, brushing off the snow where it had piled on his shoulders, and headed back toward the town centre.

It seemed as though most people had already been inside when the storm hit as the sidewalks and streets were coated with the smoothest sheet of snow he’d seen since arriving in this realm, completely untouched by humans nor vehicles. Really, his only guiding point in the frozen tempest was the warm, bright light in front of Granny’s, so he followed the beacon until he could decide what to do next.

The decision was made for him when he saw the lone set of footprints leaving the diner: a smallish set of imprints made by treaded boots that he immediately recognized as Emma’s. They’d spent far too much time tracking through snow and mud together; he’d recognize those indentations and that gait anywhere. Judging by how far apart they were, and how sharp, he could tell they were recent—and she’d been in a frustrated hurry.

Given that the fast-falling snow hadn’t yet covered them up, that meant she was likely still outside—and, knowing her, likely trying to find Ingrid. So he headed off, having no choice now but to follow alongside the steps to make sure his stubborn princess wouldn’t freeze to death while likely saving everyone’s arses; she’d already almost done that once.

He quickly fell into step with her, despite her being an unknown distance ahead. Still, were someone to observe just their footprints, his larger ones next to hers, perfectly in sync, they might suppose they’d been side by side. With as close as he was staying to her trail, lest he lose it, there might even be the suggestion of being hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm; they hadn’t been quite so public with their relationship as of yet, but the idea of someday still made him smile.

Until a phantom pain gripped his hollow chest cavity, drawing a sharp gasp and stopping him in his tracks. It happened periodically; he wasn’t sure if the Dark One did it on purpose as a reminder or if it was incidental to his heart jostling around in a coat pocket. Another thing he’d learned to brush off, citing heartburn from Granny’s food (and earning the old wolf’s ire but that could be dealt with later, assuming he survived this ordeal).

The weight of his unknown fate resettled on him as he took off again. Based on his knowledge of the stars, the celestial event Rumpelstiltskin was waiting for was still a few days away, but that was all he knew for sure. Being unable to plan ahead more than an hour at a time and having little control over his life wasn’t a feeling he was remotely comfortable with.

But he could control this—he could ensure Emma was safe and warm, and his own piece of mind at the same time.

The storm raged on as he continued. His gaze was so focused on Emma’s prints that he wasn’t paying attention to the landmarks around him, not until he realized he was on the same street she lived. Sure enough, the steps were leading him to the loft. He let out a grateful sigh and hurried ahead, watching as the echo of her steps ran right to the front door of the building.

Some instinct had him reaching for the door knob once he hit the landing, but he forced himself to stop short; this wasn’t the right time for a social visit, as much as he found himself craving company (which was an equally odd emotion he hadn’t felt in some years; how strange that other feelings dimmed without his heart in place, yet nearly foreign ones managed to resurface).

Instead, he backed away, crossing the empty street and then looking up. A warm glow came from all the windows in the building, but the Charming’s loft seemed to be the brightest—though it might have had something to do with the blonde head he could see in the living room window. He could only see her back where she sat on the sofa, but from the way she was sitting, knew she was likely helping Henry with homework while enjoying her cocoa and cinnamon.

In the next window, he could make out Snow with the young prince held against her chest, her swaying motion suggesting she was lulling him to sleep. And David was no doubt hovering over the entire space, making sure everyone was safe.

He smiled. Emma had denied herself that kind of comfort and happiness for far too long. Though it had been centuries since he’d felt anything similar, he hadn’t forgotten what it felt like—that kind of warm familial love and trust, and he hoped beyond hope that she was no longer taking it for granted.

That deeply buried part of him started to ache the longer he watched the family, much like it had when his lips were cursed and he had to force himself to stay away. (What was with this town’s villains and their obsession with the parts of him used to show affection?) And much like then, he knew his distance was twofold: mainly to keep them safe from any dangerous puppetry that he was unwillingly being conscripted into; but also because he knew it was his own damn fault for being put into such perilous positions and, frankly, he didn’t deserve that kind of peace. But Emma did.

He lost track of how long he was outside watching in, the snow still falling around him and filling in both Emma’s footprints and his own, but he was oblivious to the world outside the small circle illuminated by the street lamp above and the view he had of the Charming home. It wasn’t until he was swaying on his feet, instinctively reaching for the lamppost to maintain balance, that he became aware of encroaching drowsiness.

It was that same sluggish feeling that usually accompanied too much rum and made his blood slow in his veins, even though he thought he was completely sober. But he still found himself unable to remain upright, falling to his knees in the piling drifts and struggling to keep his eyes open.

Was this some other trick of the Crocodile’s? Or was he truly that unaware of how much he’d imbibed? Either way, he somehow managed to prop himself against the post before his eyes shut again. The last thing he remembered seeing was the light coming on in Emma’s bedroom window, and then everything went black—but at least she was okay.

The next thing he knew, he was being brutally shaken awake—at least, it seemed violent; it might have been gentle, but was jarring nonetheless.

“Killian?” a panicked voice called out; it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t get his eyes open to place it. “Killian, answer me!”

He tried to move but it felt like he was frozen in place. Everything was cold and numb.

“Killian, you can’t do this to me again!” The voice sounded so sad; he wanted to help her, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.

“God, he’s nearly covered in snow,” a male voice added, and Killian was vaguely aware that he was being jostled, but more mildly this time.

Snow...oh, right, the storm, and...Emma.

Despite the lag in the rest of his body, his eyes shot open when everything came back to him—and the sight before him both broke his missing heart and made it soar, wherever it was.

Emma hovered above him, hands cupping his cheeks and tears brimming her eyes beneath the knit hat she’d hastily thrown on. But she looked radiant—angelic, almost, with the halo of light from the streetlamp glowing on the melted drops of snow on her cap. Flakes landed in her golden hair and glinted like fairy lights. No wonder the Snow Queen was after her; she looked beautifully in her element here, save for the worried furrow of her brow.

“H-hey, beautiful,” he managed to stutter out.

Her face relaxed, but only a bit. “Killian? What are you doing out here?” A tear was dangerously close to falling on that perfect cheek.

“D-don’t cry, Swan,” he stammered, and managed to free a hand to reach for her face, but fell short. “Don’t wanna...f-freeze your eyes shut.” Even frozen solid as he was, deflection was always his preferred front.

She choked on a sob. “Seriously? Your lips are the same color as your eyes and you’re telling me to be careful?” Anger quickly replaced her fear. “What the hell were you thinking, Killian? You should have been inside!”

“H-had to make sure you were okay,” he admitted, not having the energy anymore to lie. “Not off...ch-chasing the witch.”

“That’s no reason to risk your life. You’re freezing; how are you not dead?”

He let out a shallow chuckle at that; he suspected this was truly the lone perk to not having his heart. “Don’t think I c-could right now.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. You’re not as immortal as you think, buddy.” He fatalistically snorted at that. “Come on; we need to get you inside.” She rubbed her mittened hands on his cheeks and then shifted to grab under his arm. David suddenly appeared to take the other one as they hauled him to his feet, thus explaining the male voice he’d heard; odd how such familiar things sound foreign when one’s faculties are out of sorts. It felt like his legs were miles away, but he managed to get them underneath him, and they began the slow trek to the building.

“Next time, just knock, Hook,” David muttered once they reached the door. “No need to play the hero from afar.”

Hero. He wanted to scoff but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. That was far from a fair description of him, but he didn’t have the drive to protest. So he settled on, “Didn’t want to...intrude.”

“Hey,” Emma told him as they took the stairs. “You’re only intruding if you’re not welcome, and you’re far from that. You’re one of us now; got it?”

If he wasn’t actually half frozen, that statement alone would have done the trick. He supposed he shouldn’t be so shocked, but knowing it and hearing it were two different things. There was still snow caught in his hair and his toes were still numb, but Emma had just done a fair job of warming the gaping hole in his chest. “Aye, love; I do.”

In an echo of a scene not two weeks prior, Killian became the one under blankets in the loft, being doted on by Emma, with Henry being the heroic provider of the space heater as he was forced into residence on the sofa previously occupied the other two.

“I mean it, Killian,” Emma told him as she stroked her fingers through his hair; his scalp (and most of him, really) prickled painfully as sensation returned, but her touch felt too divine to stop her. “We’re here for you. I’m here for you—always.”

And that cozy feeling he’d been missing earlier came roaring back; his cheeks practically burned with blush. He may not have his heart, and may face an unknown fate, but at the very least, it appeared he’d found something of a family again.

The snow was coming down at a fast pace again, but not due to any magical means; just an average winter storm for Maine. Killian watched it fall, this time from the safe, warm perch of the bay window in the home he shared with Emma. Given all that had happened in the few years since they took on the Snow Queen—so many unfathomable highs and lows—it was still a bit hard to believe that this was where he was.

“She’s down, finally,” Emma said softly as she came down the stairs, drawing his attention away from the snowglobe outside. Ethereally beautiful, as always she was, but even more so in the unique light coming from the lit hearth and the lights on the Christmas tree. She sidled up to him and he instinctively wrapped his arm around her. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Nothing important,” he answered, turning his full attention to her. “And nothing so picturesque as what’s in my arms.” Motherhood had softened her features a bit, but had only enhanced her looks as far as he was concerned. How could he be anything but irrevocably in love with the woman who brought into the world the equally magnificent, darling baby girl who was asleep in the nursery upstairs? (Just the most recent item on the list of many, many times she’d rocked his world and saved his life in some way or another.)

“You’re so cheesy,” she teased, but he could see the blush as she leaned into him. Once, he never thought he’d be so lucky to have this—a love, a family (nor such a large, happy one as he had now)—and yet, here he was, living happily ever after with all he could ever need and more. He could still remember the ice in his limbs that one cold night as all his feelings of isolation manifested in that lonely, frozen snow drift, and the almost painful warmth when they brought him inside, physically and metaphorically.

“Thank you, Emma,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For letting me in.”

She hugged him tighter. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

He placed a tender kiss against her crown as they continued to watch the snow come down, safe and warm—together.

tagging some awesome people: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells LOVE YOU ALL!!!!

[karenninaaa]

Chapter 1- The Clash of the Dead and the Living

Read it on ffn

PART I

PUNISHMENT

I - WILL

When Will Solace had received a call from Lou Ellen, his friend and who also happened to be the on-duty nurse at the emergency room, he had a sudden ominous feeling that he wasn't going home any time soon that morning. Call it, doctor's instincts, but years of working at Jupiter Half blood Hospital polished the said instincts that it rarely failed him. So, Will swiped his phone screen to answer the call. He was staring at the window in front of him as he held his phone against his ear. His light blue eyes were paler from the sunlight seeping through the window.

"Hello, Lou-"

But Lou beat him on the other line, her voice was rushed. "I'm so sorry. I know that your duty's finished and you're about to go home but we could really use a cardiothoracic surgeon right now. There's an incoming patient with multiple gunshot wounds and one bullet wound in the chest."

"All right, I'm coming." Will said. See, doctor's instincts scored points again early in the morning.

"You're the best, Will. You're teaming up with Dr. Fletcher on this one. Patient's ETA is five minutes."

"Yeah, sure, I'll be waiting in the operating room." Then Will hang up.

Will looked down and stared longingly at the backpack on the table waiting for him to be carried back at home. He hadn't been home in two days and he missed his own bed back at his apartment. But of course, it was duty's call and it meant he had to set aside his own pleasure and comfort for the sake of others. It was something he had accepted long before he embraced this job. There were people who were relying on him to live and it's not like Will could deny them of that.

So, Will found himself standing in front of a full body length mirror in the corner of the on-call room. The room was mostly littered with empty packs of Chinese takeouts and bottles of energy drinks. The bunk bed, that was situated by the wall, almost turned into a coat rack with doctors' white lab coats hanging on its corners. A shelf was pushed by the other side of the wall. It was loaded with several thick medical books and some were haphazardly shoved in it. The room was a whirlwind of a mess than Will would have liked but that room was the closest place he could call home. He shoved his tanned arms inside the sleeves of his long white lab coat. He tugged the collar of the coat for final adjustment. Underneath the white coat, was his light blue surgeon's scrub shirt. He combed his tousled blond hair with his fingers and briefly stared at his reflection. There were bags under his eyes and he looked like he badly needed to crash a bed and rest.

Which, he really needed.

But again, duty's call.

So, Will smiled, his dimples showing up.

This was his life most of the time, always tired and occasionally sleeps but hey he didn't say that he didn't love his job.

Will entered the operating room with a mask on his face and scrub hat covering his mop of blond hair. A nurse came to him and assisted him in wearing protective clothing and another nurse was helping him wear a pair of latex gloves. Will was gazing at the patient unconscious on the bed and hooked to several medical machines.

"You've seen his CT scan results?" Dr. Lee Fletcher came up to Will who was also geared in the same attire as the blond doctor. "Jesus, I don't know how he's still alive-"

"And let's be thankful, that he is." Will strode towards the patient. "I'll go first, it was just an extraction of a bullet that stopped at the pericardium, it should only take a minute." He reached the side of the bed.

"Of course," Fletcher nodded in awe at Will as he stood on the other side of the bed "It will probably just take a minute for you and hours for me since I have to extract bullet wounds around the pancreas, small intestine, and kidney."

"Good luck," Will looked up at Fletcher.

And so, the surgery began when Will sliced up the chest open with his scalpel.

"Suction," Will ordered to Lou. And the blond continued to work as his hand moved skillfully on the chest cavity, hands that knew what to touch inside a human chest and what instrument to pick to aid him. It was more of muscle memory, from years of practice and training.

True to his words, Will had managed to extract the bullet wound in a minute, as he pulled out the tweezers with a bullet from the opened chest. Will dropped the bullet in the metal plate. The bullet made a clinking sound as metal hit another metal.

"Gosh, I felt like, it only lasted thirty seconds," Fletcher commented, still in awe.

"Don't, just don't make it sound easy. It made me feel queasy. Nothing is easy when it comes to surgery." Will had started to stitch up the perforated heart. His gloved hands were expertly moving swiftly with every twist and knot he was making with the nylon thread.

"Cut," Will ordered again, and Lou cut the thread with a pair of scissors.

Will gazed up once again at Fletcher, "Now, he's all yours-"

Suddenly the heart monitor of the said patient beeped. A flat line was indicated on the screen that alerted them.

"He is in cardiac arrest!" Lou Ellen reported.

"See, I told you nothing is easy in surgery," Will muttered and picked up the two metal spoon-like equipment with wires attached at its end, the internal paddles of a defibrillator.

"Charge to 20 Joules," Will ordered.

He put the paddles at either side of the heart. "Clear,"

Will looked at the heart monitor as he pulled out the paddles from the heart, still flatline.

"Charge to 60 J," Will said again.

"Clear," He repeated the process.

There was still no response.

Suddenly in the corner of the operating room, a guy clad in all black appeared from a wisp of black smoke. Will noticed him immediately and his eyes widen. He knew the guy in black very well, as a guy like him always appeared every time there's someone who's in the brink of dying. He's a death angel with a name of Nico di Angelo. Not everyone could see a death angel but Will was one of the few.

"No!" Will growled underneath his mask.

"He's mine, Solace." Nico gritted his teeth.

"I said no," Will whispered. He knew that Nico heard him.

Will set aside the paddles and started massaging the heart.

"Just give him up!" Nico hissed.

"No, he still has a chance," Will said and smirked. Suddenly, he glowed in a golden light invisible to everyone else but to Nico.

"No! You little-" Nico cursed.

Meanwhile, Will continued to massage the heart while repeating the mantra in his head. You will live. Seconds after, the heartbeat of the patient went back. The lines on the monitor rose and fell. And as Will looked down at the heart, it was truly beating back.

Will smiled in relief as the glow around him faded. He gave Nico a wink.

Nico just continued to glare at him. He dissolved in the air, leaving a trail of black smoke behind.

It was already afternoon when the operation had successfully ended and all the bullets had been removed from the patient, whose name was Percy Jackson. Will was exhausted, the kind of I-am-going-to-drop-on-the-floor-any-second-by-now exhausted. It didn't help that he used the glowing trick that he could barely make a walk back to the on-call room and get his things so he could go home.

Will discovered his glowing trick when he was nine and when he accidentally healed a pet dog. And ever since that day, he also had started to see death angels from time to time. Witnessing those death angels took the souls of those dead people, was the reason why he became a doctor. He wanted to save lives and prevented the sorrows of those people because their love once died.

Where this power came from, Will had no idea. But it doesn't matter to him, as long as he was able to save people with his power. Using that power too, he created some enemies from the Dead. Because every time Will glowed it means no soul for the death angels. One of those enemies was Nico di Angelo.

Will leaned on the wall to rest for a bit. He closed his eyes. He was so tempted to sleep on the floor right there.

Then, he opened his eyes and stood straighter. He summoned last of his strength to make a trip back to the on-call room. He turned to walk but paused when he saw Nico di Angelo striding towards his direction. From years of knowing the death angel, Will hardly jumped out of his skin in surprise every time Nico would appear out of nowhere.

Since there were no other people in the hallway, Will spoke raising an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes, I have a tight schedule since I wasn't able to reach my quota because of meddling people like someone I know," Nico said as he continued to walk towards him, he had this hard look on his face.

Will shrugged. "Couldn't help it. It's my job."

"But you're cheating!" Nico hissed stopping in front of Will. "No normal doctor would be able to save Perseus Jackson from his demise. You are always interfering with the course of death!"

"He responded to my power that means he can be saved and it's not my fault if I have this glowing trick, I am just putting it into use." Will shrugged again and then he sighed. "And besides you already know the cycle of all these things, shouldn't you at least get used to it?"

"What? Get used to having overtime in the Underworld just because you happened?" Nico spat.

Will was going to throw some witty remark when his vision suddenly tilted and he fell forward.

"What in Hades Solace?!" Nico said in outburst holding both of Will's shoulder preventing the doctor from kissing the floor.

"Sorry about that, lack of sleep and the glowing trick was not a good combination." Will tried to steady himself. Nico immediately released him.

"Why do you keep on using that power when you know it's dangerous? When you drained yourself, your soul is possibly the next one I need to take to the Underworld." Nico said.

Despite Will's growing vertigo, he couldn't help but smile while rubbing his temple "Did I detect some concern from an enemy?"

"Concern?!" Nico looked scandalized. "We death angels don't feel human emotions. Nothing beats here." He pointed at his chest.

Will frowned at his statement. "Pity. Human emotions are quite fascinating if you asked me."

"We don't need it. Emotions make one person pathetic." Nico said

"Another Pity." This time Will put his hands on the front pockets of his long white coat.

"I don't care." Nico walked passed him. "You need a rest."

Will looked back at the retreating figure of the death angel. Most of the time, he was annoyed at Nico because he was always grumpy and angry and cold-hearted. But there were teeny-tiny moments that Will couldn't help but feel amused every time Nico was going to throw random things that were out of his character, like throwing a you-need-a-rest line. It was a mere statement from Nico's own observation rather than a show of sympathy or concern but still...

So, there were also times that Will would question if death angels didn't really have emotions….

[royal-writer]

And all of the angels sing along Turning your world into a song I’m gonna keep you, safe and warm Sleep on, sleep on When all the sirens slowly fade You know that I have found my way There’s no need to, be afraid Hold on to me

The gore of combat made it difficult to maneuver. It made slick the cobblestone, and stuck to the bottom of her boots like pig slop. With each attempt to dodge and weave around friends and enemies, Essätha found it more and more difficult not to stumble. The high winds were ripping through them; buffing hair and clothes not in the favor as it gusted up from behind. It carried the stench of the dead with it laying at their feet.

She cut left, then right. The sword missed her by inches, and the menacing figure cursed her in words both melodic and sharp all at once. The length of her braid slapped her in the face as she whirled back towards him, pelting a flash of magic against his side.

The violet tenders sputtered from her fingertips. Fatigue heavy on her eyelids.

She was exhausted, and draining the pools of her magic fast.

A fist crashed into her. Too close; not enough space to dive back for cover. They were flanked like sheep on all sides, the wailing of dying final breathes carrying with the violent howling breeze. She was just as winded, the oxygen forced from her lungs as another fist drove into her gut and forced her to curl into her chest.

Something struck her with enough force that her knees buckled and she dropped to the ground. The stone scraped her pants, and bloodied her bloodied her knees. Blood. Blood on her tongue and her head a dizzy mess. Which way was up? Why was her vision fogged in black around the edges? She could see shadows but could make no distinction. Harsh expressions. Teeth of different sizes. Dangerous eyes narrowed upon her, and the blur of limbs.

Her ears were ringing as Essätha fumbled for a dagger, and numbly flung it at the nearest shape. It bounced off of their chest with a guttural, mocking laugh. The sound was like crackling fire approaching as they raised their mace.

A blade swung into view. The distant voices once more beginning to clear. She could hear the desperation of a voice. A roar of anger and then a plea. Despairing. Hopeless. Hoarse with fear.

The sword stuck the first perfectly. In the small space of his visor, it found it’s mark directly into the beside the eye and into the skull. It came out with a swift kick to their chest, sending the figure hurtling dead to the ground with a thump.

Jerking the weapon to the right, the next closest didn’t have time to make a hasty retreat. They stood there, stunned, as the blade seemed to erupt with light. The magic hissed through their chainmail. As the last of the glow faded, the blade withdrew with a jerk. Some of his intestines began to protrude from the lethal wound as the victim doubled-over, and joined the other in being mercilessly kicked to the side.

Muscles throbbing, she strained on her elbows to try sitting up. The world tilted. Angles seemed off. Dimension faltered. Stomach knotting and rolling, she groaned as the pounding of her head intensified in a rush.

Her savior raised his shield, and took to a knee before them both as a larger shape lumbered into perspective. They braced. It wasn’t enough.

The figure raised their own blade, and metal clanked. The shield struck aside in a mighty blow, the figure thrust.

Lord Amon’s blood spilled out of his wound to rapidly coat his armor. He heaved for air, collapsing before her as the gladius sword was yanked free from his chest cavity.

Her heart instantly seized.

A scream frozen on her lips as her voice broke, she fumbled for the hilt of her dagger laying close by. The armor of the creature shook as it lifted it’s foot, slamming a clanking metal boot upon the blade as she tried to lift it.

Words fell from her lips. They were frayed and choppy. It surprised her that the spell even worked with her numb and shaking hand circling in the air, blasting a wave of thunder into their direction. They staggered, trying to keep their stature planted before ultimately being forced back by the thrust of the magic. Their scream of fury was only magnified by their deafness.

Essätha rolled over to cover the nobleman protectively. His face was sheet white and stunned; rapidly growing pallid as he choked and gurgled on the blood surging into his throat.

“M’lord Amon?”

Was that her voice? It was faded still. Detached. Filled to the brim with panic. Overflowing with emotion as she grabbed for his jerkin. Her hands were hasty; taking little of the care and gentleness she usually offered to press her hands over the large expanding around of blood.

It was rapidly beginning to bleed out beneath him in a steadily growing pool. The blood gushed and well around where her hands pressed, trying to stop his life from flooding out. It didn’t seem to slow the progress of the sticky warm substance coating her fingers.

“Amon my love, stay with me now,” she urged. “I’m right here. You’ll be healed up, just a moment-”

He reached for her. Choking, crimson splatters speckled his lips and dotted their clothes as he hacked and coughed.

His eyes were without fear. Only concern, which was vanishing from her vision and dissolving with the liquid that began to collect in her eyes and overflow the waterways to drip from her cheeks.

Callused fingers caressed her cheek. They trembled with the effort.

She reached for his hand, but it slipped from her before her grip could tighten. His eyes rolled back into his head and the Illiad Lord convulsed, sagging into the ground with a rattling final sigh of death.

“N-No m’lord,” more of a sob than words. “Just hold on for a second. Please, you can’t leave me. You can’t leave me I need you. Please I love you don’t go. Amon. Amon. Amon. My heart, my beloved, please.”

Slumping back on to her knees, a weak cry fell from her lips. She gasped for air; sucking it in but it did not fulfill her as the world seemed to collapse. A scream of grief; inhumane, keening and she could not find the strength in her limbs. None of the words to tell him how much she adored him. None of the ways to express just how much he meant to her.

He was her beacon of light. Safety, gentleness, friendship. A trust without boundaries. Limitless possibilities. All of her hopes and dreams were in his lifeless eyes. Her ambitions, her goals, the wishes for the future they could share together. She screamed as the hollowness overcame her. Raw throat; breath shallow. The luster of life that lit up his gaze and shone with a smile as he looked to her no longer.

She pulled him to her lap, and clutched him closer. Willing him to stay with her. Wailing to the heavens and cursing them all at once. Her ribs felt cracked; ready to burst and flood her sorrows into the earth and into her marvelous and beloved Lord Amon from what remained of her heart as it imploded beneath. The drafty winds almost seemed to carry his voice; unspoken whispers of love curled in her ear.

With a sudden jolt, a figure shoved her. Essätha moved to claw at it. The woeful voices in her head cried out in misery as someone else grabbed her from behind, restraining her initial reaction to protect.

“Step aside, Niss Essie, let Pri’cha try.”

On the knee-jerk reaction, her elbow came back to ram into the armor plating of Sir Abernathy’s armor. He winced, but more on her own behalf as she yelped in pain, straining against the hands beneath her arms.

“Amon-”

“Give her a chance to work, Essätha,” a deep voice soothed, pulling her aside. “Come.”

She had none of the strength in her to fight. Feeble little kicks, and tears staining her red cheeks as she moaned and sniveled between her wretched weeping. The thick bands of the older man’s arms clung to her tightly to keep her at bay. She could feel the shaking in his chest of barely restrained tears as he tried to shush and soothe her crying, until she was simply limp in his arms.

The cleric motioned to the others. They formed a barrier around to block the wind as the Thri-Kreen lit ceremonial candles, and placed them at points around the nobleman’s body. Their hands clasped; folding together beneath their robs as they bent their head in a sign of prayer.

All was quiet. The air stunk of rotted and burned flesh.

Pri’cha extended a shorter arm, and rested their digits against Amon’s forehead. It was a systematic approach. They seemed lost to their realm entirely; a blank expression in their massive eyes. The other hand reached into their bag, extending a diamond that they rested over his chest.

She’d never seen this spell performed. She only remembered vaguely what Pri’cha had reporting learning on it.

The soul had to be free and willing to join the body.

By the gods. Her heart squeezed, and felt like it had fallen to the floor.

He was lost. Her Lord Amon was truly gone.

His mother, his father, his long-lost relatives and friends. But mostly his Marie, who the light that soaked into his barren and cold life. That dear child who had made his life worth living for. He cherished her. Depended on her. Seeing the affect of loss it had on him, it seemed as if he would never recover. She had been everything to him; meant everything to him. Her sweet innocence, her kind gestures, the outlook she held to the world and how she made him think and change his perspectives and ways of life. At first to accommodate her, then in hopes of learning from her, the sort of role model of good she acted in every action she took.

He would not come back to them, and this horrible world. Why would he, when he could be home with the family he loved, and see his little girl?

It felt like the world had shattered. Like a hole had formed beneath her, and sucked her into the darkest part of the universe.

She loved him. She loved him and she knew this, but she never considered the outcome.

She would never recover. His love and tenderness had changed her. His calm thoughtful gestures, the care of his touch, the way he smiled and laughed stirred her insides into a maddening flutter of butterfly wings and sunshaft lights. He was calm and he was strength. Good intentions and hope. He was her salvation, her truth, her comfort and her joy.

Essätha was not so foolish to think she could not live without him. Just as he did without Marie; just as people did without their spouses for years after passing, she could survive. Hearts could survive terrible breaks and tragedies, and refuse to die even when you wanted it. Even when you accepted the consequences of it.

But he had become like air to her. Naturally entwined with her life.

She loved him. She needed him. But she no longer knew who she was, without him.

A full life that could have been ahead of them. Hand in hand, who knew where it would go. She had given him all of her. Secrets, insecurities, loneliness, and he had helped to mend her holes and rifts; to fill the canyons of her soul, to cover her wounds and stitch new fabric into the story of her life.

What was Essätha Meduza, without Amon Illiad? A destiny they could have and share had together. The rest of their lives, if they’d wanted. And she had wanted just that. So fulfilling; warm and comfortable, overcome with laughter and joy.

Amon was love eternal. Tomorrow was gone. It disappeared with his final breath. She no longer saw that sun rising, but a questionable endless void of darkness for years to come.

Time grew sluggish. She was but a doll, limp and lifeless in Abe’s arms. Her eyes closed, and tears trickling out soundlessly to spill over her chin, and on to the nobleman’s clothes.

A flash of light ignited beneath her eyelids. Essie flinched, squinting her narrow-eyed gaze towards the brimming light as it diminished, and with it, the glitter of diamond dust floated into the air and evaporated.

Amon sucked in a sharp breath of air, flinching. Blood dribbled from the side of his gaping mouth.

The party was stunned silent.

Abernathy was not hold her with enough strength to stop her. She yanked free, diving to the ground with shock and disbelief. Her knees did hurt from the impact, but it was of no consequence as she grabbed for his stubbly face, and looked into his dull eyes as they jerked uncertainly around.

He tried to work his mouth, but only a rasp emerged before she kissed the corner of his bloody lips. A smudge of tears and blood smeared on her mouth.

The sobbing returned anew. Grateful and shocked instead of mourning, Essätha wrapped her arms gingerly around his neck and held to him. There was a rough grunt close to her ear as he lifted a hand, stroking the shaking appendage down her spine.

Examining his injury and some of the other abrasions and cuts far less life-threatening on his person, Pri’cha let out a sigh of relief. He was healed, and he was whole.

“You came back,” she cried, muffling her voice into his shoulder as she clung to him.

He grunted once more, trying to sit up off the frigid rough stone. All at once everyone seemed to move, helping him into a sitting position as he winced. They circled him in an embrace; faces pressed to just about every corner of his person as a few more relieved sobs began to ring out.

In rigid, jerky movements, she could feel Amon move. He tried to place them all within the width of his arms to hold, but there was simply too many of them. Behind and in front, on either side, all massing around him in a collection of weeping tones and hushed words of comfort. He tried to reassure them all; patting their heads, their shoulders, slurring some speech they could not make out.

As he turned his eyes upon her,  Essätha looked up to him. The weight and scope of his gaze held her. She breathed again, as he did; filling the world expand in her lungs, and exit them. It felt like the first breath she’d ever taken, her pulse racing between her elation and lost terror.

She reached over into his overcoat pocket. Fingers fumbling, his expression grimacing with pain until she produced his handkerchief. In careful, slow circling gestures, she dabbed and wiped at the spittle of blood still coating his lips and trickling into his beard.

Amon reached for her once more. With one arm around her he urged her closer, while stroking the side of his other hand to her cheek.

“My Essätha,” he crooned; voice faltering and faint. “My darling Essätha.”

Her breath hitched, tears spilling out from the corners of her eyes as he leaned close to her. He breathed deeply; inhaling the aroma of her skin. Fingers grazed beneath her chin, holding her steady as he pressed his lips lightly to her own.

He had returned. He came back to them.

Her heart jumped as he pulled away, gasping. His forehead pressed to hers, staring intimately into her eyes while rubbing away the trails of tears from beneath her eyes.

He… he’d wanted to come back. He wanted to be here. He wanted to live. Even with the opportunity to be at rest and with peace, having Marie and no longer needing to struggle and fight through even just the mundane day to day of daily life. Even with the possibility danger, strife, battle, war, famine, disease, hunger; he choose life. Missing Marie, feeling guilty and deserving of punishment for the crime that had taken Fontane’s life, he still decided to come back to them.

He loved them. Lord Amon Thomas Illiad loved them. He decided on them. On the time he might yet still have to do good, and to be with them. To travel and to defend the world. To learn and to love. To see what could come next, no matter good or bad.

Essätha reached for his perfect chiseled face, and kissed him. More forcefully than what was necessary. Urgent and burning with her longing for him; her aching love that burned like an inferno. Flames never settling, until she was engulfed in the blaze that did nothing but warm her so thoroughly, inside and out.

Awkwardly, a few of the others tore themselves away from the lingering kiss. Her clinging touch holding to him. The romantic murmur of his name curled on her tongue as she breathlessly whispered to him her love, pressing her lips to his over and over again.

She felt the tired smile of his mouth as he lazily tried to reciprocate. The roughness of his palm moving, cradling her face gingerly as she so tenderly dotted his face with kisses.

He had picked them, and what precious time he could still have on this earth.

And in her heart, she knew without a doubt, she picked him. Infinitely and always, she would pick him. Forever. No matter what. She had given him access to her heart, and he had tended to the gnarled thing in her chest with great care until he could pluck the great bloom he’d crafted, and unbeknownst to her, tucked it into his own chest for safekeeping. He had a piece of her that no one else did; saw shards of her vulnerability she tried to hide. She trusted him. With everything she had, she trusted him.

For now, she could settle for holding him. But she would need to tell him, one day, the deepest yearning of her heart. That she wanted no other; needed no other, with every dawn of the sun and beat of her heart, he was her everything.

Lord Amon Thomas Illiad was her future, and the keeper of her heart.

[marilyngogosworld]

Single life Epiphanies 

At some point in your life you come to a realization that you inevitably and will forever be alone. Alone to walk this earth and you better figure out how to love yourself or else it's going to be such a torturous rest of your life now isn't it.  

Looking back at the many relationships , how different they were in their entirety . Some healthy, most not. Somewhere I was stronger as far as knowing who I was and where I stood, but sadly most morphed into an abusive and codependent relationship. Leaving me mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically broken down to a mushy pulp of a person. Forced to get back up , try and bandage up myself as best as possible and just keep going. That was the only option. Just keep going .

Now I don't know if it was my utter stubbornness that kept me in the revolving door of repeating the same mistakes, or straight up denial that even now it's awfully painful to even type out the truth that my abuse began way before dating age . And my brain was hardwired since childhood to repeat this destructive recurring cycle. And I suppose I would have kept repeating this cycle of self-pity, never fighting for more in a significant other nor myself, accepting this mediocre acceptor of life as the man I wanted next to me during battle. But I knew deep down I was meant for more. I just couldn't see what more even looked like.

So after losing everything I held dear to my heart, every single support system turning their backs , every family member forgetting they had a daughter named Alina, or a older sister that would be there for them at the drop of a hat yet , but the act never reciprocated. And then the most abusive, traumatizing relationship, almost bringing me to my grave by his hand, I was able to get out of thank god. I sat in my motel room in mesa arizona, after a night's work at the strip club ( I could no longer work in a salon after my ex and his mother falsely reported me to state board and I had my license revoked) I sat there all alone . Like I did every night. I didn't have parties, or people over, or guys over even. I sat their night after night . Sometimes crying in fetal position about how lonely I was and how bad I had fucked everything up in my life. And after the tears refused to come out, I would lie there and look at the wall. With no light at the end of the tunnel . No sight of my future whatsoever. How could anyone love me right ? I just needed someone next to me, that would make me feel better right? The instant gratification of having someone put their arm over me so I could finally fall asleep. All i can remember is how badly I wanted someone to tell me I was going to be ok.

Until one night.

I was in my motel room once again, and I wish I could tell you exactly how it happened . But the best way I can describe this moment is simply like a smack across the back of my head by my guardian angel and a simple “ WAKE UP “  You're going to be just fine silly girl, in fact you're going to be wonderful. And you aren't lonely, you are awesome and can have a blast ALL BY YOURSELF. As these feelings and words are running threw my noggin I am literally feeling my soul move again for the first time is a long while, this shift , this excitement, like the first day of school , not just any year of school even. Like the first day of kindergarten, or possibly 6th grade where you were the top dogs in the entire school and your friends were all there established in their self made image, always by your side and you knew it would stay that way. You having the coolest backpack, pink jelly chunky heeled sandals that made your feet stink so bad but you didn't care because you knew that you looked PHAT.

That was the excitement I started to feel, welling up in my chest, then stomach and filling up my lower half, and shooting back up to fill the empty chest cavity that my full heart had once occupied and routinely filled with every expand and compressing beat of my heart.Then  up into my skull and behind my eyes this energy began filling my body up with warm comforting energy, so much so that i was practically bursting at the seams with what this epiphone truly meant. It meant that  

I was going to be just fine . That I didn't need an instant anything. I didn't need someone there beside me in that room, besides the room was too small anyway, Nor did I need someone's arm around me so I could fall asleep. Infact! I would be lying to myself, I am fully aware my warm body would have just overheated with that heavy arm flopped over me and I would have hated it.

My truths came to me, quicker than expected even. Truth, I knew that my happiness was in my hands and I was in charge of my world. No one else.

And I would never stop striving everyday to be one step closer to my goals.  

I finally broke down one section of that revolving door, I’ve learned to love myself, live by myself , and my self worth.  Don't get me wrong , I'm still strengthening them daily, and I have lots to learn about life. Since we all know the universe doesn't let us pause for a breath ever. Before kicking us in the butt and telling us to keep going.. Now brings me to my next dilemma .

What happens when you've been single ( for the most part ) for over 2 years, have become so used to not having to answer to anyone or having take others feelings into consideration, or even worry about having any word close to Love come out of your mouth towards the opposite sex.  And the universe puts The One directly in your path, no way to dodge this curveball. That's it, he just introduced himself, and you to him.  The connection has been made.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

[dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg]

Drabble request: The year is 1915 and front-line soldier Enzo st John is wounded. With no chance of saving him, a special blonde angel of a nurse called Rebekah talks to him all night about everything they can think of. The fall in love in a single night. Refusing to let him die, the nurse turns him into a vampire. Before Klaus can find and kill him, she leaves Enzo, never to be seen again. Until of course, Enzo and Caroline show up in NOLA.

A/N: Written due to having this prompt knocking around my head for a while; as a response to this ^ prompt and also based off of this gifset by @fiercerebekah . 

I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank @austennerdita2533  who basically spent ages beta’ing this and made it 100x better than it was.

Includes Klaroline + Carenzo brotp.

1915

9:30 pm

Rebekah smoothed down her apron, nodding at a group of nurses standing together by the stairs. As she considered the last few weeks of her life, she allowed herself to be proud of the control she’d managed to exercise. Everywhere she turned, she was surrounded by copious amounts of blood. Blood in bags. Blood on sheets. Blood flecked against white walls. Blood spurting from limbs. Blood coating the muddied uniforms of wounded soldiers, the smell of it overpowering and pungent.

Still, despite this, Rebekah had managed to control her urges; rationing herself to three blood bags a day (breakfast, lunch, and dinner respectively) and requesting to be transferred out of the emergency ward, thus decreasing the amount of gushing wounds she’d have to see on a regular basis.

Never had she dreamed that tending to the injured and sick in the midst of such a gruesome war would give her such fulfilment. It felt good, knowing that after centuries of taking lives, she could restore some balance by saving a few.

Of course, Niklaus had disapproved strongly, just as he had disapproved of Marcel’s decision to join the soldiers in the trenches. But since - for once - he wasn’t physically stopping her (i.e: twisting a dagger into her chest cavity) Rebekah resolved to ignore Klaus’ taunts about her foolhardy, sentimental heart and follow it anyway.

It had been a particularly gruelling day. A fleet of fifteen men was rushed into her ward after an explosion went off in one of the battlegrounds. This meant it was all hands on deck to try and undo some of the carnage. Rebekah stifled a yawn as she headed back to her regular ward, the squeaking of her nurse’s shoes echoing through the corridor as she went. When she arrived, she paused momentarily to scan the row of beds, looking for one that didn’t have a nurse stationed by it.

Her eyes landed on a dark-haired man in the far corner of the room. He was what one might describe as roguishly handsome and as Rebekah came closer, she noticed a slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks. A bandage was wound tight around his left arm.

As a woman who’d always been able to appreciate beauty when she saw it, she couldn’t help but stare at the man as he slept - unprofessional though it was. She jumped in surprise as he began to stir, his eyes–rich, brown, and unfocused–meeting hers through hooded lids.

“Are you an angel?” he rasped, his accent distinctly British.

Rebekah smiled sweetly and shook her head, blonde curls bouncing underneath her nurse’s cap.

“Far from it.”

“You certainly look like one,” he murmured with a smirk, his eyes having yet to settle completely on her.

“I’m sure you say that to all the nurses,” Rebekah replied with an unimpressed scoff.

“Only if they’re as delightful as you.”

Despite his disoriented state, the soldier managed to shoot Rebekah a wink which earned him nothing but an eye roll.

“You can’t blame a man for trying,” he grinned. “A beautiful nurse standing over my bedside is quite the breath of fresh air after some of the things I’ve seen.”

Seeing the momentary flicker of distress in his eyes, Rebekah’s heart softened.

“That’s over now,” she said comfortingly,  allowing her hand to rest gently over his. “You’re safe here.”

“Careful, love,” the man hummed, lifting Rebekah’s hand and placing a kiss against her knuckles “One touch and I could skyrocket into fever delirium.”

Ignoring his laughter, she wrenched her arm free of his grip before he could finish his sentence.

“Name?” she demanded, picking up her clipboard.

“Whatever you’d like it to be a sweetheart.”

Rebekah huffed and searched until she located the brown folder that held all the patient documents.

“Lorenzo St John,” she read out loud.

He stuck out his hand.

“Enzo. Pleased and honoured to meet your acquaintance, George-”

Due to Rebekah unceremoniously shoving a thermometer into his mouth, glaring as if she dared him to remove it, his eyes widened and he fell silent. He lay still, obedient until she took it out herself to examine it.

“Well it appears you have a temperature,” she mused, scribbling something on her clipboard.

“Told you. Just one touch was all it took.”

“I’ll be back,” she said, ignoring him. “Try to get some rest.”

“I didn’t catch yours, gorgeous,” he called after her.

Rebekah turned and frowned. “My what?”

“Your name.”

“Nurse,” she replied curtly before turning on her heel and exiting the room. Enzo’s hearty laugh echoed down the corridor after her.

9:45 pm

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Rebekah skirted around the neighbouring bed and scowled, “Are you going to stop calling me that?”

“Depends,” he shrugged. “Are you going to tell me your name? Nurse.”

“No.”

“Might I enquire as to why?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” Rebekah answered, flashing him a saccharine smile.

While Enzo pouted rather comically, she pretended to check the time on her pocket watch.

“Hot date, sweetheart?” He smirked. “In that case, don’t let me hold you up.”

“Very funny,” Rebekah tutted.

“I do my best.” He shrugged, flashing her a lazy smile. “So, I have a proposition for you…”

“I’ll save you some time. No.”

“I’ll guess your name and if I guess correctly, you have to tell me.”

“No.”

“Excellent!” he continued unfazed. “Now, let me see, your name is… Claire?”

Rebekah scoffed.

“Really? I was sure I was right, you do strike me as a Claire.”

He frowned pensively and started at the stubble on his cheeks.

“Alright… er, let’s see Louise? Emily? Cassandra? Julie? Joanne? Amanda?”

Rebekah’s face remained impassive.

“Tatiana? Elizabeth?… Elena?”

“Hmph, hardly,” she said. For some reason or another, Rebekah had always detested that name. Elena. Yuck.

“Will you at least give me a clue?”

“No.”

“You’re a tough cookie to break,” Enzo said smiling wryly. “Luckily, I enjoy a challenge.”

Rebekah glared and almost retorted with some choice words of her own, but stopped herself when her Matron, Genevieve, appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Sister Rebekah!” she called.

“Yes, Matron?” she answered stiffly, allowing her eyes to flutter shut.

“When you’ve finished treating your patient, please come and find me in my office. I want to have a briefing session before the shift is over.”

“Yes, Matron.”

Genevieve gave her a tight smile before tottering back down the hall.

“Ah, Rebekah,” she heard Enzo hum, the syllables of her name gliding across his tongue. “How did I not guess that? A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Rebekah shot him an irritated glance as she picked up her clipboard, but for the briefest of moments, her lip quirked upward.

“At some point, or at some time,” she said, “you’re going to run out of pretty words to say.”

Enzo smiled. As he did, Rebekah noticed for the first time the way his dimples cut into his cheeks. Rather unfair, she thought, for such a handsome man to be such a pain in the arse.

“Don’t tell me it’s not working?”

“Not in the slightest,” she answered with her nose lifted in the air, although her voice had lost the sharp edge to it.

10:05 pm

“Hello again.”

“Lorenzo,” Rebekah replied casually. “How many nurses have you flirted with since I left?”

“Not a single one. I’m a very loyal man, you see,” he winked.

Rebekah pressed her palm to his forehead. “You appear to be stable… physically anyhow,” she added, causing Enzo to chuckle.

A short silence followed as she made up the empty bed beside him. Once she finished, she turned to arrange the pillows more comfortably behind his head.

There was a short silence as Rebekah began making the now empty bed beside him. When she’d finished that, she turned and began arranging the pillows behind his head. Enzo propped himself up on his elbows and regarded her seriously.

Rebekah frowned, feeling self-conscious under his penetrating gaze. “What?”

“I’m curious about something….” Rebekah arched an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “What is someone as heavenly as you doing cleaning up sick and changing bedpans? I mean,” Enzo continued, swallowing a laugh, “it’s hardly the most glamorous job, sweetheart. Doesn’t all the blood turn your stomach?”

“Being a nurse is a lot more glamorous than it looks.”

“Oh, really? Perhaps I’ve missed something in my assessment?”

“Mhmm, the blood isn’t so bad. I’ve…learnt to cope with it,” Rebekah said. “Bedpan duty is for the new recruits and as the for the sick, if I’m lucky, most of the time the patient manages to aim the vomit in the other direction. And if not, I always keep an umbrella handy,” she shrugged.

Enzo’s eyes lit up as a stream of raucous laughter escaped him, gleeful that Rebekah had chosen to engage with him. His laughter was so infectious, Rebekah couldn’t help but join him. However, the mirth soon died down as a cough racked through his chest, sending him panting and heaving for breath as his fingers gripped the side of his bed for support.

“Okay, okay, easy now,” Rebekah offered soothingly. “It’s going to be alright I promise.” Placing a hand behind his head, she eased him back down onto the pillows.

The violent sputtering continued for several more minutes and attracted the attention of several other nurses, one of which took initiative and fetched Enzo a glass of water. Disgruntled, his face twisted as Rebekah brought the glass to his lips and encouraged him to take a sip.

“I don’t sup-suppose you have any gin, do you?” Enzo wheezed, a half-hearted grin sliding across his lips.

“Hush,” Rebekah said. “I need to take your temperature again.”

“S’what usually works for me…”

While he sipped from the glass, Rebekah shook her head and sighed, displeased. “You’re temperature’s gone up again.”

“I told you,” he coughed, “you have that effect on me.”

Cocking her head to the side, she examined the marked paleness of his features and the shallowness of his breathing and noted how different, how ill, he looked now compared to their first encounter. Despite the physical toll the coughing had taken on him, the exhaustion, Enzo still wore that familiar roguish grin.

“By the way,” his eyes roamed her form appreciatively, “that uniform you’re wearing? It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”

“Dirty bastard,” Rebekah chided. “You’ve been spending too much time in the trenches with the rest of those potty-mouthed troops and have forgotten how to speak to a lady.”

“You could be right.” He sunk down onto the mattress. “Or perhaps I’m just inept at expressing myself properly?”

“For example, what I wanted to say,” he said, “is that you’re lovely….and the prospect of seeing you every half hour or so is the only thing that makes me want to keep going.” He curled himself beneath his blanket. “The only thing.”

Breath hitched in her throat at the sincerity of his words, but before Rebekah could respond, he released a low sigh and allowed his eyes to flutter shut. Before long, the gentle rumble resounded from his chest and a melodic snore filled the room.

10:26 pm

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.” Enzo prodded as Rebekah changed the bandage on his wrist.

Rebekah considered him with a coy smile as she changed the bandage on his wrist. “I’m a vampire.”

“Now who’s the comedian, gorgeous?” Enzo said with a chuckle.

Rebekah continued with her work dutifully until she felt Enzo’s eyes burning holes into her forehead in anticipation of her answer.

“Why don’t you go first?” she sighed.

“Mmm, well… let’s see. When I was young, I once stole an entire bag of toffees from the shelf in a store. Right out from under the shopkeeper’s nose.”

“Is that it?”

“What do you mean is that it? That’s a secret I’d intended to carry to my grave!” Enzo protested, a hint of humour evident on his face.

Rebekah rolled her eyes.

“You’re not in a confessional with a priest! I don’t want to hear about your childhood mischief, so either volunteer something real or forget it. I’m not taking this game seriously if you won’t.”

Enzo fell silent for a moment. His expression pensive.

“Alright,” he said at last, “here’s something real for you.”

Rebekah lifted her head and met his eyes, showing him he had her full attention.

“It terrifies me.”

“What does?”

“Death, dying. The finality of being gone I can deal with (I mean, it’s not like many people would notice if I went missing, anyway), but it’s the pain that gets me. It’s knowing, beyond a doubt, that this is about to be it,” he explained. “That everything you’ve done up until that moment–that final, ticking moment of your life–is set in stone.”

“It’s the realisation that you’re out of time. That you have no more chances left to undo any of the mistakes you’ve made along the way, no threads left to start over. Or to begin anew. What I truly fear,” he said, his tongue passing over his bottom lip, “is at the end of it all, at the end of my life…all I’ll have is nothing. I’ll have nothing and be nothing but useless and insignificant–a prime nobody. I’m afraid I’ll be a nobody who died in a pointless war.”

Enzo rubbed a hand across his chin. He avoided eye contact.

“But, uh, you aren’t supposed to admit any of that, right? That isn’t brave. That isn’t…” He laughed, but it came out hollow and weak. “That isn’t what men do, is it?”

Rebekah leant toward him slowly, then cupped his face in both hands. “What if you had the chance to start over? What if you were given an opportunity to live a life that wasn’t being wasted?” she asked.

Enzo studied her, his gaze steady and sharp. “I’d snatch it,” he answered huskily, “I’d grab it with both hands and never let it go.”

A short nurse, flustered and covered in blood, appeared at the end of the hall at that moment and halted their conversation.

“Sister!” she gasped at Rebekah. “You’re needed.”

11:50 pm

Taking the familiar route back down the hall, Rebekah checked her pocket watch again, only then realising how long she’d been gone.  When with Enzo it was as if she didn’t feel time, it was so easy for Rebekah to forget the war going on around her.

With another emergency, all the nurses in the division were on-call to treat the hordes of wounded soldiers trickling in from the newest battle. Rebekah let out a sigh of exhaustion (which was more emotional than physical). She spotted Edith, a tall, willowy nurse who had been stationed on her ward for the past few weeks down the way. Edith was attractive and blonde like Rebekah, except her hair was more of a white-ish/silvery colour and she wore it in looser curls.

Edith was also a bit of a gossip and everyone knew it. Which, ironically, was part of the reason Rebekah liked her so much.

“Hey there! I’ve been meaning to catch up with you lately, It’s such a shame that we run into each other for the first time in days during all this chaos,” she said as she gestured behind her.

“It is a pity, isn’t it?” Rebekah answered, allowing herself to be pulled into the small talk. “War is such an unfortunate thing,”

“Speaking of unfortunate, I am so sorry about your patient, Becks,” she drawled in her New York twang. “Ain’t it a shame? It’s always the handsome one’s.”

“What?” Rooted to the spot, her voice cracked. “What do you mean?”,

“Oh, you haven’t heard yet? He took a nasty turn while you were gone, pretty awful chest infection he’s got there. Matron doesn’t think he’ll live through the night.”

By the Edith finished speaking, Rebekah was already zipping down the corridor towards her ward, cursing the fact that she hadn’t had time to compel the chatty girl and vamp-speed to Enzo’s bedside.

When she finally reached him, her heart sank in her stomach. His face was drawn, his eyes were rimmed in blueish black dark circles, his cheeks were gaunt, and large beads of sweat ran down his forehead as he shivered beneath the bed linen. He was worse than she’d expected. How long had she been gone? An hour? Maybe two? No more than that, surely.

He forced his quivering limbs to still as she approached, attempting to look composed. Rebekah drew up the blanket and tucked it under his chin, then swiped cold compresses across his forehead in an effort to lower his fever. But she knew it was fruitless. Although she hadn’t been a nurse for long, she knew a dying man when she saw one.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, blinking back moisture from the corner of his eyes.

“Hush. You’re going to be fine. I’ll have this temperature down by the morning,” she promised, the lie in her voice discernible.

“I can tell you don’t like games. Neither do I,” he sighed, his eyes hardening, “so give it to me straight, alright? You’re honest. You always have been with me, that’s what I like about you.”

“There’s a chance–”

He held up his hand, interrupting her. “Come on, gorgeous, I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Now tell me the truth,” he said, “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

Rebekah bowed her head in an effort to avoid his gaze, surprising herself when a large tear dropped from her eyelashes and slid down her cheek.

“Now, now, none of that,” Enzo said, reaching up to catch it on his pinky finger and swiping it away. “Those of us who are still young, gorgeous, and living, have no reason to cry.”

Rebekah let out a laugh despite herself, choking on the hot tears that’d suddenly lodged in her throat.

He grabbed her hand. The action was tender and comforting, similar to how she had calmed him only hours- though it felt longer- ago. “Tell me your thing,” he insisted.

“What–what thing?” she half-hiccuped.

“Tell me the one thing you’ve never told anyone else, not a single soul…what is it? I want to know.”

Before Rebekah could reply, Enzo launched into another coughing fit. Loud hacks and wheezes jerked his upper body and tiny spurts of blood flew out of his throat, causing him to gurgle and choke. Unable to catch his breath.

“Easy! Easy!” Rebekah implored.

“Tell. Me.”

“Okay, okay. I- uh…”

“There has to be s-something,” he gritted out.

Before she knew what she was doing or what she was saying, she blurted, “I’m afraid.

His forehead crinkled in concern, in confusion? It was difficult to tell.

“I’m terrified of ending up alone. I’m constantly surrounded by people and voices and bodies, so many tasks and responsibilities that I’m rarely granted two seconds for myself….and yet…and yet, I’m so desperately, hopelessly lonely. And I’ve felt this way for such a long, long time…but maybe this is what I deserve?”

“Stop.”

“God, you can’t begin to imagine all of the horrible things I’ve done,” Rebekah continued, not hearing him, “so maybe this is my penance. Maybe…maybe my punishment is to be alone forever?”

“Stop it. No pity parties, remember?” Enzo said, his voice resolved yet imploring. “You deserve the world, gorgeous, and if I had the strength to lift myself out of this bed without help right now, I’d sure as hell find a way to give it to you.”

At the end of his speech, Enzo lurched forward again. His entire chest constricted as harsh coughs split through him like a saw and robbed him of speech. And of breath. Rebekah’s mind whirled with thoughts as she eased him back down onto the bed.

She shouldn’t.

No, it was crazy. Risky. Impulsive.

Niklaus would be sure to find him–kill him–as soon as he discovered the truth of what she’d done. But what was the alternative? What other choice did she have?

“Gorgeous?”

“Listen to me,” Rebekah said in a low voice. She leant over his bedside and peered into his face, “You have a choice, alright? It doesn’t have to end this way, you…you don’t have to die.”

“What do you–” As spidery, ink-coloured veins crawled beneath her eyes and her sharp fangs punctured the delicate skin on her wrist, Enzo gasped and recoiled in horror. “What’s going on? Who…what are you?” he stuttered.

“Shhh! We don’t have much time,” Rebekah hissed. “Or rather, you don’t.”

She extended her bleeding wrist to him, but he gaped. Staring at it with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

“You have a choice: either die of a chest infection in this tiny hospital bed as another number, as just another soldier fighting for Queen and Country or Uncle Sam or whoever; or, you can live,” she said. “If you choose it, if you accept, I can heal you right here, right now with my blood…and you can leave this place. You can go anywhere, do anything you want…”

“For the sake of argument,” Enzo interrupted, rubbing a hand across his eyes as if trying to wipe away a feverish hallucination, “let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I think you are capable of healing me with your magic, cure-all blood…but then what?”

“Where would I go, what would I do? Forgive the cynicism, sweetheart, but I’m poor as dirt and the military have my paycheck in reserve, so dying seems like the most viable option for me under the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?” he said.

“There is a third option.”

“Tell me.”

Rebekah winced as she forced the words from her mouth, “You can live forever. Like me, you can be strong and ageless and–”

“A vampire. I could be a vampire,” Enzo murmured, realisation and understanding now dawning over him.

“You can feel and experience all that the world has to offer, drowning your senses in everything you never thought you’d see. Hear. Taste.”

Enzo’s head spun and spun with possibilities, the room tilting and blurring his vision in cloudy pink as Rebekah hovered above him like a kaleidoscope and tore into her wrist again with teeth.

“There isn’t any time!” she exclaimed. “Take it. Take the blood or die.”

“I want it to be over,” he replied.

Rebekah’s hurt sunk. She wasn’t sure what response she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that one.

“I–I can’t live this way anymore.” He sounded tired. His voice grew weaker and weaker, and pretty soon it would fade out altogether. “I don’t want this life.”

She withdrew her hand and nodded, “I understand.”

“Let me rephrase that,” he breathed, “I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want, I want to live.”

Rebekah’s eyes widened. “Are you saying–?”

“How bad does blood taste exactly?” Enzo asked as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Lorenzo…drink!” Rebekah pleaded desperately, shoving her wrist into his mouth and propping him up in her arms. “Come on, you handsome bloody idiot! Drink.”

Just as she considered all to be lost, she felt Enzo’s head stir ever so slightly against her chest.

He drank. And drank. Slowly at first, and then with urgency. As he did, colour restored to his face and his lungs cleared. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. That being said, a little nagging voice inside Enzo’s head craved more–and despite his better judgment–he latched hard and clung tightly onto Rebekah’s promise of forever.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“Now, you start the rest of your life; now, you get your freedom. Try not to waste it,” Rebekah whispered. Her voice was the last thing he heard before the world went black.

Present Day. New Orleans, Louisiana.

“That has to be the most bizarre story I have ever heard!” Caroline exclaimed.

She removed her hands from the steering wheel for the billionth time to gesture dramatically and Enzo winced. He adamantly regretted his decision to let her drive the rest of the way to New Orleans.

“No backseat driving.”

“I wouldn’t have to backseat drive if you were capable of actual driving,” he shot back, jetting backwards when Caroline’s balled fist landed hard against his chest.

“Seriously!? How is it that every vampire I manage to befriend has a mysterious past with an evil blonde Original who hates me? Ugh!”

“That’s a little harsh, love.”

“To hell it is!” Caroline bristled. “You have your version of Rebekah: the floating angel who saved you; and I have mine: the evil blood slut who tried to ruin my life.”

“And yet, here you are,” Enzo hummed, “going off in the same direction as I am in search for her equally (if not more) diabolical older brother.”

She stiffened.

“I have my… reasons for going to New Orleans to find Klaus. I told you it’s-”

“Complicated,” he nodded, “right. It’s fine, Caroline, you don’t need to explain the intricate, complexities of love to me. All I’m saying is let’s dial down the judgement a tad shall we?” he suggested.

Caroline flashed him a sheepish look before proceeding to run a stop sign. The fifth one so far. Enzo sighed softly, deciding not to mention it in the hopes that they wouldn’t be stopped again. He’d already compelled four officers away on this road trip, but he was growing peckish and a fifth one wouldn’t be so lucky to get away untasted.

A long, peaceful silence fell between them for a while and Enzo took the opportunity to gaze out the window and marvel at the scenery (fleeting, though, for Caroline was going at least 60 mph) while he reflected on the words he’d been rehearsing to say to Rebekah for decades now.

You saved my life. For that, I can never repay you.

“Aren’t you scared?” Caroline asked, abruptly breaking the silence and pulling Enzo from his thoughts.

“I know what you told me about your big, bad hybrid friend, and a lesser man than me might be intimidated.” He flexed his muscles playfully, which earned him an eye roll. “But something tells me I can take him,” he said.

Caroline gave him an unimpressed huff and shook her head.

“The issue of whether or not Klaus will allow you to keep your head did cross my mind, but that’s not what I was talking about. It’s only that–” She paused. Bit her bottom lip. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

“I mean, after everything you told me, what if we get there and…”

She trailed off, either unable or unwilling to finish her sentence.

“What if I get there and she wants nothing to do with me?” he said for her. “What if she doesn’t remember that I exist or if I’ve concocted some crazy, unrealistic fantasy of her in my head? What if she’s in love with someone else? Or, what if the moment our eyes meet again she regrets turning me and rips my heart from my chest? What if after all this time I learn that the whole vampire thing was nothing but a big, fat lie and she’s actually aged horribly and–”

“Enzo,” Caroline scolded, wanting him to be serious.

He sighed.

“These are all questions I’ve gone over in my head about a million times, Caroline.”

She flashed him a quizzical look as they continued to speed down the highway, “If you know all of this, then why risk it?”

“That’s the thing about hope,” he said with a laugh. “It can trick you into all sorts of hilarious, unrealistic scenarios.”

Caroline still looks unconvinced, so he continued.

“When I was a child, my parents kicked me out and sent me to the workhouse as soon as I could walk. I was poor and didn’t have many friends. I joined the army to become something, to be a part of something bigger than myself, to feel as if I was doing something worthwhile with my life…but all I got for my efforts was a broken hand, a bullet to my ribcage, and a deadly cold from being drenched to the bone. I was alone and insignificant and dying.”

“You know me as I am now, Caroline,” he continued, shaking his head. “But when I was lying in that hospital bed all those years ago, I had nothing. Nothing at all. Rebekah showed me that there was something out there beyond poverty, beyond the slow descent into alcoholism that other soldiers like me would slide into after the war. She gave me a life.”

“And I’m better now because of it,” he said. “Stronger. Smarter.”

“Yeah, but now you’re also a blood-sucking monster who feeds off innocent human flesh,” Caroline pointed out.

He shrugged. “Pot and Kettle, love.”

“The difference with me is that I didn’t ask to be turned; it was out of my control entirely! You, on the other hand–” Caroline chanced him a sideways glance, not quite disapproving but perhaps a little questioning; judgmental, “–you practically sold your soul to the devil gift-wrapped!” she said.

“My, you really do have a flair for the dramatics, don’t you?” Enzo chuckled.

“I’m only looking out for you.” Her voice was soft, her expression concerned. “I don’t to see you get hurt, that’s all.

“And I appreciate that, but here’s the thing,” Enzo explained, “it’s been nearly 140 years. That’s 113 I wouldn’t have had if Rebekah had never intervened.”

“I don’t want to date her, Caroline–” he paused, hope and resolve flickering in his eyes “–I want to thank her.”

New Orleans, The French Quarter.

The place was everything and nothing like Caroline had expected. They’d picked a good time to come to the city, for Mardi Gras was fast approaching and the French Quarter boomed with music and bright colours as tourists roamed the streets in search of excitement.

If their source was to be believed, they drew close to the Mikaelson mansion. Caroline felt the bile rise in her stomach as she and Enzo continued to progress through the streets, knowing all the things he’d said in the car rang true for her, too. 

What if this was a mistake and Klaus didn’t want to see her? Or what if he’d long forgotten the promise he’d made to her those years ago?

She shot her friend a look, curious to see if he shared any of her apprehension, but his expression was tranquil. Annoyingly so. Then again, looks could be deceiving.

A few twists and turns later and they stood outside a grandiose residence tucked away at the end of a long stretch of road.

Typical Klaus, Caroline thought. Of course he wouldn’t live in a house of normal proportions. Figures.

“Are you ready for this?” Enzo asked.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

The Mikaelson Mansion, The French Quarter

Unsurprisingly, Klaus apprehended them as soon as their feet crossed the threshold. He pounced on Enzo, who crossed into his line of vision first, and pressed him against the wall in a choke hold demanding to know why he was trespassing on his property. Caroline fought an eye roll. She cleared her throat, making her presence known.

“Caroline?”

“Hello Klaus,” she replied nonchalantly despite the tightness in her chest. “I should’ve known the next time I saw you you’d attempt to murder yet another one of my friends.”

Snapping out of his blind rage, he released his grip on Enzo’s neck, allowing him to collapse onto the ground with a loud thud. He stalked towards Caroline as if in a disbelieving trance.

“To be fair, sweetheart,” he smirked, “you always did have the most unfortunate taste in friends.”

The sight of him before her stirred feelings in the pit of her stomach. Feelings that, on previous occasions, she would have shoved down or away in stubborn denial–but she was done with all that now. She’d had a long time to think about what she wanted.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she realised that both Klaus and Enzo stared at her…waiting. Waiting for her to say something. Anything.

The courage Caroline had mustered during the drive slowly began to evaporate. Smiling nervously, she gestured at Enzo, “I did tell him that he should probably wait in the car,” she said.

Enzo glared, still rubbing his bruised neck, as Klaus flashed before her with an intensity in his expression that made her shiver. “Why have you come?” he asked in a whisper.

“Is there….is there somewhere we can talk?”

This trip had seemed so much better in theory. But in practice, it was terrifying. For, standing before her was Klaus: the living representation of everything she’d never allowed herself to have. Expectant yet curious, he looked conflicted as he considered the accompanying male by her side. (Most likely pondering the reason for his trespassing)

“Enzo’s with me.” He stiffened at this. She shook her head, reading his mind, and continued, “No, not with me, with me. He’s here because…well…it’s actually a pretty long and complicated story but–”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Rebekah, would you?” Enzo cut in, having found the strength - or the courage - to rise to his feet.

Klaus’ expression darkened. “What could you possibly want with my sister?”

“Like the lady said,” he answered, “it’s complicated.”

Klaus growled at his insolence. Caroline fretted as he advanced, racking her brains in an effort to find a solution to diffuse the situation before it escalated into more murderous directions.

“Niklaus,” a voice drifted from the staircase, “I heard voices, what is–”

Rebekah, clad in eight-inch heels, khaki shorts, and a white chiffon blouse, halted in the middle of the stairs. Gaping. “Lorenzo?”

Silence lingered for what felt like hours and the air thickened with tension, with things that had been left unsaid for far too long.

“Hello Gorgeous,” he said at last.

Caroline felt the interjection ready to burst from Klaus’ lips as he glared venomously between the couple, so she tugged the sleeve of his Henley and fixed him with wide, puppy dog eyes (a distractionary tactic she’d always found to be useful). “Klaus,” she purred as she dragged him from the room, “how about that talk now, hm?”

Once alone, an eerie muteness stretched out between Rebekah and Enzo as they faced one another. It was Rebekah who first cut into the soundlessness, she face the colour of a sheet.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sounding breathless like the wind had been knocked out of her.

“Now isn’t that the question.” He expelled a shaky, humourless laugh and took a cautious step forward, afraid that moving too fast would spook her.

“It’s funny,” he said, “I’ve spent over a century attempting to figure out what I wanted to say to you, but seeing you here, in front of me now I…”

“How did you find me?”

“The wonders of technology. Word of mouth.” He gestured vaguely. “Does it matter?”

Rebekah circled him, all the all the while maintaining a safe distance between them. “It’s been over a century. Why now? Why track me down now, out of the blue like this?” she asked.

“Funny thing about vampirism,” he quipped, “it comes with certain complications. Most of which you failed to warn me about.”

“So this is revenge? You’re holding a grudge against me for saving your life?” Her gaze narrowed. “I think you’ve conveniently forgotten about the choice I gave you, Lorenzo.”

Enzo took another calculated step towards Rebekah, this time causing her to quail in response.

“You mistake me, sweetheart. I am not here for revenge,” he said, “I am here to thank you.”

She smiled ever so slightly. “I appreciate that.”

“If you hadn’t found me, I would have died. You gave me back purpose and I came here to let you know how much that meant to me, how much you mean to me. After all this time.”

“Well, I certainly hope you took my advice and haven’t wasted what was given to you?” she countered, her breathing normalising.

He grinned. “Not a single second have I wasted.”

Tenuously, Rebekah edged toward him until her palm ghosted over his cheek. Although she smiled, her eyes were tinged with sadness.

“You haven’t changed,” she whispered.

She lingered for a moment and then took a step back as if realising her mistake. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I beg your pardon?” Enzo blinked.

“I said, you shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake! You–you finding me was a mistake.”

“I don’t understand–”

“You should leave,” she interjected. “You should go, Lorenzo. You should leave now”

Without any further explanation, Rebekah flashed away, leaving Enzo alone in the foyer.

Klaus sighed impatiently. Caroline had her ear pressed up against the door and one eye squinted shut in concentration.

“Sweetheart, I thought the entire object of you and I coming up here was to discuss your sudden appearance in my city?”

“Oh, grow up Klaus,” Caroline said with a scoff. “I only came here to give those two some privacy while I eavesdropped.”

Klaus muttered something about shenanigans going on under his roof until she shushed him with a frantic wave of the hand.

“What is going on down there!?”

“If the the sound of my sister’s expensive Louboutins shuffling up the stairs is anything to go by, I’d say the conversation is over,” he mused with disinterest.

Caroline’s eyes widened. She wrenched open the door just as Rebekah moved down the hall and said, “What the hell happened?”

“That’s hardly any of your business.”

Rebekah attempted to sidestep her, but found her path blocked.

“Where’s Enzo?”

She shrugged. “Gone I assume.”

“Gone?” Caroline gaped.

“My goodness, don’t tell me you really are as stupid as you look! Yes, gone.”

“Why!? What did you say to him?”

Rebekah sighed as she manoeuvred past her, “Lorenzo came here looking for someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I did him a favour.”

“You’re a coward.” Caroline hurled the word like an arrow at her back, stopping Rebekah in her tracks.

“What did you just bloody say to me?!” she accused, her voice growing shrill.

“Don’t you remember all the time and energy you spent trying to rip Stefan and Elena apart in Mystic Falls so you could have him all to yourself? Or how you spent an entire year stealing my life in order to live out some contrived high school experience you never had? Or what about when you put all of our lives in danger because you wanted the cure-all for yourself?”

“All of this you did in the name of happiness, right? And where did it get you?” Caroline asked, her gaze sharp and her words biting. “Where?”

“Enzo’s a good guy,” she continued. “He’s a good guy who’s been pining for you for over a century. You’d be lucky to have a guy like him in your life, okay? Damn lucky.”

“You want to know why you’re a coward, Rebekah?” Caroline took a step forward and peered straight and hard into her face. “You’re a coward because a chance at real happiness stood right in front of you and you let him waltz right out of your life. You let him walk away.”

“You know nothing about me, Caroline Forbes! Nothing about us!” Rebekah seethed.

Caroline squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly. “Maybe I know more than you think,”

5:15 pm, Somewhere in the French Quarter.

He’d been wandering the streets of New Orleans for about an hour now. Of course, it was only after travelling four blocks that he’d remembered that he left the car keys with Caroline. He was stuck.

Typical.

Taking a kick at a bottle lying near his feet, Enzo cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course, Rebekah wanted nothing to do with him! What’d he expect? He was nothing but a poor soldier lying on his deathbed who she’d taken pity on in a moment of weakness. He was nothing to her. She was a vampire, vampires did not feel; they did not love.

No matter, Mardi Gras would drown his sorrows with its booze and tourists–both to be drunk.

“Lorenzo?”

His name sounded faint on those lips. The voice calling him was painfully familiar (a sound that had haunted his thoughts for over a hundred years now) and yet, he ignored it. He pretended he didn’t hear it. He was deaf.

“Lorenzo!” the voice called again. “Please, I know it’s you. I know you can hear me.”

Rebekah sighed with relief as Enzo finally stopped and turned, but her gut wrenched when she saw the expression on his face.

“Come to make sure you’d gotten rid of me, I see?” Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he said, his tone hard, “I’m leaving. I just need to make sure Caroline’s okay first.”

Rebekah shoved down the burning questions that sprang to mind about Caroline and her relation to Enzo to explain herself instead.

“I came to apologise,” she blurted with an exhale of breath. “How I behaved…I–I shouldn’t have treated you like that. It was rude, and I’m sorry.”

“Was there anything else?” he replied cooly.

“Yes, actually.” Rebekah paused, looking away. “I’m sorry, Lorenzo, but I’m afraid I don’t understand?”

“What do you mean?”

“You came all this way to find me…why?”

“I told you why ” Enzo answered.

“Just to thank me?”

He inhaled deeply.

“Do you remember what you told me all those decades ago? Your deepest confession?” he asked. “You told me what you feared most was that you’d end up on your own, all alone. Is that still true?”

Rebekah shifted uncomfortably, “Eternity is a long time,” she sighed.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Tell me something–” he slid his hands into his jean pockets “–why did you come after me?”

“I–I didn’t want things to end this way, I suppose. I didn’t want you to walk away and hate me,” Rebekah answered bashfully.

Without either of them realising it, they had drifted nearer. Close enough to touch.

“I could never hate you, gorgeous.”

Rebekah felt a familiar surge of affection brewing in her chest.

“Look,” she started, “I’m not the angel you think I am I–”

“I’m certain of it,” Enzo cut in with a smirk.

Rebekah smiled demurely. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

He gazed at her fondly for a moment.

“Look, I’m not saying we should find a chapel and get hitched. I’m saying…” He paused and gazed at her fondly for a moment. “I’m saying, maybe get to know me? Take some time to see the man that I’ve become?” he suggested.

“And then, after that, if you still can’t stand me you’re perfectly within your rights to run for the hills.”

“That’s a reasonable request I suppose,” she nodded, reining in her amusement. “But you need to stop looking at me like that if we decide to go steady.”

“Looking at you like what?” Enzo asked pretending to be aghast.

“Like. That.” Rebekah insisted, removing what little space there was between them to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured. “You’re still the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen.”

Without wasting any more time, Rebekah closed the gap between them entirely by brushing her lips against his in a slow, tender kiss that left him lightheaded. Enzo planned to savour this moment, the one that he’d dreamt of for a large portion of his life, but his ardour got the better of him as he pulled Rebekah harder against him and wrapped his strong arms around her.

“You should consider yourself lucky. I don’t wear down a perfectly good pair of heels on these streets searching for just anyone,” she said when they drew back.

“Oh trust me,” Enzo beamed, “I consider myself the luckiest man in the world.”

Fin.

[feedfrommysoul-blog]

She was an Angel.

She was an angel.

I was sure. The way the falling sunlight lifted her silhouette, illuminating her beauty. She was beautiful, in that moment I could see her soul, more attractive than any kind of physical beauty i’d previously seen. It was curios that today she would too be taking the bus downtown, was she here for me?

It was paralyzing, the way she glided amongst the human form, her daringly short dark hair contrasted her emerald eyes that her coral dress set on fire. She fit, yet stood so far apart, I was not alone in being mystified by her, but I knew most wouldn’t look twice, as the pursuit of the unachievable had long been forgotten in this generation, certainly for those on this 6 a.m. 50 bus to South Station. She found the only empty seat across from me and opened an antique looking battered book.

I could not look away, she had taken hold of my soul, and thus my entire mind; nothing else was deserving of attention. It was blissful, basking in the presence of such a serene creature; she was like a hug. For the first time that I could remember I felt nothing negative; no fear, no uncertainty, no anxiety, no hopelessness, in this moment I was no longer broken.

I could tell she was an angel for I had felt it in my heart. My heart had begun to flutter in a desperate attempt to fly and touch her. I did not move, for my heart could never carry my body, but I felt lighter, I felt my heart trying to escape as it pushed against my chest cavity forcing me to fix my posture. I caught her glance as she looked up from her book, she noticed me staring and smiled. It was real, I was right, for only someone with a noble soul would not be offended by misunderstood glares. She was like me, but entirely different.

She had not fallen.

I wondered if she too knew, if she saw my shattered wings as they begged her soul to come heal them. My curiosity begged to know If her heart too had fluttered, if my presence had given rise to any emotion as hers had filled this moment with enlightenment for me. I frowned, for I remembered that I was the yin to her yang, that I was the chaos that her tranquility was meant to evaporate. Had I ruined her day, taken all she had to offer? I needed to know If I somehow brought darkness to her just as she had just brought light to me.

 She put her book in her bag and locked her jade eyes into mine, I felt her push; the bag. I looked at her backpack and saw the nametag, then I understood. She gathered herself as she stood, she smiled a grin that would be enough to drive any sane man astray; a smile that proved I had done no harm to her divinity.

“I love how you’ve done you hair today, braids suit you well.”

Her voice was sweet with a rasp that melted my spiraling thoughts. I was glad she left just as soon as she had spoken for forming words for her would have destroyed me.

It was a message and it was clear; she had noticed me, no, it was more than that. She had been watching me, they had been watching me. She knew my soul needed to be lifted and now had invited me to aspire to attain her perfection. She told me without words, that I too could be whole again. They were watching, and they had noticed that today my brunette mop of hair was neatly tucked into an impressive fishtail braid. They knew i was trying to put myself back together, and they were extending an offering to invite my efforts further.

The doors closed and she was gone, lost in the sea of humankind, invisible to the mundane but unforgettable to the spiritual.

The thoughts flood back, my mind had only rarely gone so clear, these days my thoughts engulfed me as they dug deep into pits of despair within. Today, however, she had left me with an astonishing notion, a feeling that couldn’t quite be an emotional feeling but a commandment, a small message of achieving peace that clung in my soul and had now been embedded within my very being.

I closed my eyes and I recanted our encounter. What had I felt?

I felt warm, trapped in an embrace of some sort. Astonishingly I felt safe yet guarded.

“Uh, I need to talk to you, Ma…” I spoke in a careful tone trying not to reveal the nature of the request, as I was fingering my ringlets; my nervous tick.

“Now?” She asked, turning to search my face for an immediate understanding.

“Uhm, no in a bit, “ I choked out, I knew she was onto me. This was the game.

“I want to know now.” She turned the T.V. off to prove I had her full attention.

“I failed a class.” I looked to the floor avoiding any eye contact, the sensitivity was overwhelming even back then and matters of importance, such as my education, to my father were the worst. It took days upon days of crying to wash the burn of his disappointment.

“What class, what happened?” She spoke calmly even with her accent, this was the tone when she knew I had done something bad and would give me the opportunity to explain.

“French, I didn’t like my teacher, I couldn’t understand him. It was a hard class, but im willing to do it in the summer to make it up, pleeaasee don’t tell dad.” I wiped a flood of tears from my face as I finally looked at her.

“Don’t worry, ill talk to your father. But now your responsible for finishing summer school and passing this course so your done high school on time. You promise to do that ?” She spoke softly, holding my hand. I felt her love, her support, her trust. That whole day I thought I was going to die, to fall into an eternal despair but all of that melted with the tenderness of her voice. She was that reminder that nothing ends existence, that tomorrow the sun rises once more, and the people awake to a new dawn, a new start. I loved her to no end.

The memory washed me, and left me with the sensation that the angel had, a warm secure embrace. This was no coincidence, they had been trained to provide messages in a way that made it seem as though the universe had guided you to them. Her words had meant that she had wanted me to understand that she was one of them, she spoke as though she knew me. I understood why she had stumbled into the path I chose today. My initial instinct was right, she had told me that it was okay to begin the journey to be whole again. The gift she had given me was one my mother had handed me so many times before, a commandment to believe in myself, to believe in my tomorrow. Something I had not been able to do lately, not since he had left. Since I had found myself truly alone.

The ones like her were special, they had higher conscience connections, they were spiritually bound to a community of others like themselves who worked together to keep the battle of light and darkness in neutral balance. They were warriors, each with gifts from the universe, packages of knowledge meant to keep society in balance, they fought for the good of humanity. The darkness had been growing, it could be seen everywhere. The Militaristic control, the joke of this political state, the proxy wars, the rate of animal depopulation, fresh water depletion, the raging rebels, massive natural disasters and the unperceivable level of stress the human population was being crushed by, too many people were dying with their soul’s unreleased. They were dying out of their ordained destiny and that only meant they were being recruited outside of the universe’s will, into the growing darkness. Something big was coming and they needed me. I hoped. For if there was a possibility of that they would reinstate my position on their front lines.

Their names reflected the gifts that they bestowed upon their marks. Their names were their crowns that announced what they dispersed. They walked the world and handed humankind the direction that the universe had determined for everything had a reason. Although they almost never offered anything to one who had gone astray, it was punishment for breaking the rules. Like I did. I had been stripped of my gift and my name. Afraid of losing the one I loved the most, we ran away. I knew id loose him, but we left anyway, outrunning our responsibilities, outrunning our fears, our lives but we could never outrun our destiny. The darkness had come to him, just days before the cancer would consume him. Had I told him who I really was, perhaps he wouldn’t have taken the deal. He would be dead, but atleast the darkness would have had no hold on me. Perhaps the legion would not have kicked me out of the only family I had left without him.  

Now, as I walked the trivial line between darkness and light as most spiritually lifted did. Only now I was not fighting, I could not fight. All I could do was feel my soul slowly crushing by the growing knowledge that our side was weakening, I was nothing but a stray leaf drifting in wind. I felt the cries of sorrow and hope from all the souls who could not find peace. Waiting tell me their stories when I closed my eyes at night. It was agonizing living with all the knowledge, but no connection. It was heartbreaking to see all the broken people for I felt their pain, it was soul-draining to live among the mass population that had absolutely no idea that there was more to the world, their entirety lost too far within the capitalistic machine. It was even more devastating to be left in a room with a spiritual, someone who believed and whose soul was strong enough to see past the materialistic routine of daily life. They were not blind to the destruction of humanity, they too felt the lost souls. They weren’t as informed, but they had trust in the universes directions, and that’s what humanity needed to keep the balance. The people needed to stop falling to the darker pulls of greed, temptation, lust and vengeance and instead listen to the universes answers and follow the paths it provided.  

However, today i was being extended an offering by this angel I had just met. On her small backpack was a shiny red sticker with the words Hello My Name is, and printed, much too perfectly in silver sharpie was Fidem

Her name was Faith.  

-R.S.