#where one son goes off to do whatever and completely forge his own path and basically abandoned the family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royallyjoon · 3 years

Text

nephilim (quatre)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violence, manipulation

undoubtedly, the boys have opened their arms and hearts to you. but have you done the same? life has only gotten more stressful for you, and the closer you find yourself getting to them, the more you feel as though you are changing, and the more you push yourself away. you refuse to break. never forget: one’s hubris could be their hamartia. forge your lonely path with conviction. after all, it may not be yours for much longer. the victor or the fallen--exactly who is it that stands to lose the most?

——————————————————————

For a long time now, you had feared that your relatively peaceful days in Ichabod were coming to an end, and recent events only further proved your point.

Mana’s forewarning carried its weight well, as Aemilia seemed dead set on making an enemy of you. She went from hardly acknowledging your existence to cursing it.

She would never lift a finger to do her dirty work, oh no, for how could the delicate Augustus princess stoop so low as to take the garbage out herself?

No, she used her puppets Brooklyn, Constance, and whoever else she managed to sink her claws into in the student body to torment you.

They tripped you in the halls, stole your belongings, and essentially made it difficult for you to bleed into the background like you used to.

Luckily for you, you happened to gain some formidable allies.

Mana was there to tell Aemilia’s lackeys to back down, and they wouldn’t dare approach you with Jimin around. And he happened to be around more often than not, strangely enough.

The three of you managed to form a strange alliance during this time. Your best friend was still extremely cautious around Jimin and his siblings, as were you, but they had gotten somewhat closer, which made you glad. You didn’t want to be the bridge between them, as you thought that would be tiring and more than you could already handle.

Still, the two were only human. They wouldn’t always be there to defend you. Nevertheless, you were quite capable of defending yourself.

You didn’t give Aemilia the satisfaction of breaking under her pressure. You held your head up high despite the amounts of rumors flying around the school about you, even if they made you want to split your own skull open.

The student body, in part, was divided. Half of them wanted nothing to do with you, considering how you were associated with both the Augustuses and the Kims. They were wary of your actions, claiming you were steps away from meeting Wylynne herself.

The other half whispered about how tired they were of Aemilia’s antics and tantrums, given that this was not the first time she had behaved like this toward another student.

Two weeks passed by, and neither you nor Aemilia was giving in. The strawberry blonde was beside herself, and so were her poor friends. Every day that she failed to teach you a lesson was another day she went raving mad in private.

Soon enough, her patience would snap. She would find herself going over the tipping point, but the question remains: Who would stand to lose the most when she got there?

It was another stressful day for you at Ichabod Academy as you sat in your lively homeroom.

Mana rested on your desk, laying their head on their arms. You figured they would be uncomfortable, considering the way their body was twisted around in their seat, but your friend was drifting off without a care in the world.

You slumped in your chair, looking every bit as done with life as you had recently felt. There was so much you had to be on the lookout for, and today was no different.

You blinked tiredly and looked at your best friend. You then decided to lay your head on top of Mana’s, who did nothing more than let out a grunt, and closed your eyes in an attempt to get some rest as well.

When Jimin returned from the restroom, he internally cooed at the sight.

Your head started rocking back and forth as it tilted dangerously on top of Mana’s. Ensuring he wouldn’t wake you, the boy sat you up and leaned your body on him so that your head was resting on his shoulder.

He smiled down at you in relief. Your classmates took note of his treatment and started to whisper about the two of you, but one look from him and the room quieted.

Unfortunately for you, the peace was short lived. There was a loud crackling over the intercom that shook both you and Mana awake.

They sat up and glared at their surroundings in annoyance. You opened your eyes in a flash, desperately hoping it wasn’t your first period teacher.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Diivi isn’t here yet.” Jimin reassured you. “It was just the intercom.”

You nodded in thanks and covered your yawn with the back of your hand.

There was some more crackling and finally, your principal began to speak.

“Good afternoon, students. I apologize for the interruption, but this is urgent. Constance Pierre is to report to the principal’s office immediately. I repeat, Constance Pierre to the principal’s office. Thank you for your attention, and please continue about your day.”

You squinted in confusion.

Constance has never been called to the principal’s office before in her entire life. Even when she was causing trouble for you and other students, the teachers paid no mind and others were too afraid to report her. What could have happened?

The sound of feet pounding against the floor got closer and closer until you could hear it outside your classroom door. A blonde blur passed the room, disappearing as fast as it had come.

“Pierre...why does that name sound familiar?” You murmured to yourself.

“It’s the name of the freshman that went missing.” Mana said as they stretched. “Chance Pierre, I think.”

Your eyes widened in understanding.

“He was-is Constance’s little brother.” They corrected their statement.

Jimin glanced at your shocked expression and suppressed a dry laugh.

Quite frankly, he could care less about the Pierre family. Constance has been nothing but a nuisance to him and his brother.

He’d been willing to overlook the rumors of how annoyingly outstanding and clever the freshman was because he knew his little brother would always be better.

But after the blonde went so far as to start pestering you, he used the information he’d gathered against Chance in its opportune moment. And he had no regrets.

You snuck a peek at Jimin and saw a familiar, cold decisiveness plastered on his face. It was the only expression you’d been seeing from him for a while now. Any time someone brought up the missing student, Jimin would go frostily silent.

It reminded you of the difference between the two of you, just like his reaction--or lack thereof--the morning of Chance’s disappearance had.

You figured he was just uncomfortable talking about the situation and was carefully avoiding it, just as he had with you and Mana that first day you spent lunch together.

At least it wasn’t Mom or Mana, you thought to yourself.

“They must’ve finally found him.” You commented, distracted by your incoming thoughts.

Aemilia’s family is specifically in charge of hunting down anyone who can be perceived as a “threat” to the Kim family. Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre, however, acquired social immunity for themselves and their families as the girls are so close.

Or so you thought.

Constance’s disheveled appearance the morning Chance went missing made much more sense, then. She was worried sick about her little brother, and one of her closest friends didn’t even bother warning her or her family.

You shuddered. Just how many people would Aemilia sacrifice? How far would she go, just for her sick sense of what was right?

You had no intention of finding out.

By lunch time, the rest of the school had heard exactly what happened to poor Chance Pierre.

The fourteen year old boy was deposited in the family’s living room, returned out of the blue just like all of those who came before him.

His mother had stepped out for a short moment to go grocery shopping and returned to find her bloody mess of a son, who she then quickly rushed to the hospital.

He was covered in bruises, had a broken arm and leg, several broken ribs, and permanent blindness in his left eye. All things considered, he is one of the lucky ones.

His family was just grateful that he was returned to them still breathing.

Whatever the message was, the Pierre family had received it loud and clear. And so had the rest of the town.

No one is allowed to leave Ichabod. Not without being stopped by Death herself.

Another school day had come to an end, and you walked out the building with Mana and Jimin at your side.

Seeing how the end of the month was coming up, you and Jimin decided that it would be best if you went over to his house to work on the project again. The beginning of the presentations were not far off and it was about time you completed your research.

It didn’t take long to convince your mother. The both of you found it easier for you to go over to the Kim residence than to ask Jimin if he could come to your home.

You sat on a granite bench outside of the entrance. Mana stood on your left, leaning up against the wall and Jimin sat to your right, perched on the bench.

You were waiting for Driver Bin and Mr. Waye to show up when you heard a familiar voice call out.

“(Y/N)! Jimin hyung!” You watched as Taehyung came running out the school doors, Jungkook trailing calmly behind him.

You waved at the two and gave them a tired smile. Taehyung made himself comfortable on Jimin’s lap as Jungkook stood along the wall near Mana.

“Did you have a good day, (Y/N)?” Taehyung hummed, eyes teeming with concern.

“Yeah, it was fine.” You said, struggling to actually mean that statement.

Mana gave you a knowing look and huffed out a laugh under their breath.

It’s not as though you almost had your things stolen twice in one day.

This morning, Hoseok saw you chasing a junior who was running away with some of your notebooks and folders in hand.

His charming smile dropped and he gave her a grim look. All he had to do was extend his hand and she placed the items in his palm, which he then promptly returned to you.

Then one of your classmates stole your laptop while you were at lunch in an effort to wipe the thing. Had it not been for Namjoon walking into the library and catching them in the act, you surely would have lost all of your information.

Thankfully, he safely retrieved your laptop from your classmate. You made a new password for all of your devices and resolved to never let your bag out of your sight again.

“I’m glad you’re coming over again, though! Maybe we’ll get to watch a movie or play some games together.” He flashed you a boxy grin and you sent him a small smile in return.

“Jungkookie’s got loads of games,” Jimin added, peeking his head out from behind Taehyung. “He’s such a hoarder, he rarely lets us play with him. I’m sure he’d let you, though.”

Jungkook punched Jimin in the shoulder, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “Hyung, what are you saying...”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” You sighed absentmindedly. “I could do with a break from school and homework for like, the next month.”

The youngest brother flushed, peeking up at you through his bangs. “If you wanted to, I’d be happy to play with you.” He mumbled as he smiled.

“Oh, there’s Driver Bin!” Taehyung called, hopping up and pulling you and Jimin to your feet.

You hugged Mana goodbye as the black van pulled up to the curb. Just as you turned to follow Jimin, however, someone knocked their shoulder into yours.

“Oh, sweetie. You should really watch where you’re going.”

Brooklyn stood in your path with her arms crossed. Over her shoulder, you saw Aemilia and Constance standing a short distance away. They looked as though they were about to make their way towards Aemilia’s family’s car.

Of course, she could have just walked around you, but why would she ever let you off easy?

The strawberry blonde wore a satisfied smile and she leaned over to whisper something in the ear of a haggard Constance. Constance merely blinked and nodded in response.

You smiled at the girl in front of you. “Of course. It was all my mistake. I’m so sorry, Brooklyn.”

You stepped closer as though you were going to confront her and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward you before she could step back.

She fought against you but that only made you grip her arm tighter. You could feel your nails start to dig into her skin.

“I’m sorry that you’re nothing more than a means to an end.” You murmured in her ear.

The brunette stilled.

“I’m sorry Aemilia couldn’t care less about you or your family.” You continued, speaking in a low voice. “I’m sorry that your so called friend sees you as mere disposable goods, or should I say...a useful little puppet?”

You released your grip on her arm, bringing your hand up to her shoulder instead and giving it a few consoling pats. “Didn’t your little sister just get the lead role in the school play? I would hate for you to be the next Constance...”

You looked toward the blonde just to emphasize your point and Brooklyn’s eyes followed your gaze.

Constance was staring, unseeing, at the ground, nervously clinging to Aemilia like a lifeline. She was strangely quiet and obedient...like a dog in fear of disobeying its master.

Brooklyn looked back and forth between you, Aemilia, and Constance in utter shock. You sent her one more sympathetic look before moving around her to follow the Kims into their car.

The remaining students whispered, wondering about what you said and in the corner of your eye, you saw Mana tilt their head inquisitively. You knew they had questions, questions you would have to answer later.

You bowed in greeting to Mr. Bin and entered the car behind Jimin like last time, Namjoon going in after you.

Mr. Bin closed the door and walked around to the other side of the vehicle in preparation to leave.

“I’ve never seen Brooklyn look so shocked,” Taehyung said from the backseat. He put his hands on the headrest behind you and poked his head around it. “What did you tell her?”

You shrugged. “Something that could hopefully put her life in a different perspective.”

“I don’t know how you deal with those girls, (Y/N).” Jimin said. “Aren’t you tired of the tricks Aemilia’s playing?”

“Don’t you just want to get rid of them, once and for all?” Taehyung asked, tone darkening.

You shrugged. “For whatever reason, she’s currently obsessed with me-”

The reason being all of you-

“-and of course I want her to stop, but I would never give her the satisfaction of letting her think she won. She’s petty, and a bully.”

You texted your mother an update on your location and locked your phone, looking up at your classmates. “She just needs a reality check. I’d be happy to give it to her every now and then.”

Part of you felt like trying to care for Brooklyn was pointless, especially after the way she treated you. The other part of you felt you were killing two birds with one stone--you were opening her eyes and isolating Aemilia in one go.

While Namjoon and Hoseok nodded in understanding, the rest of the boys couldn’t help but worry.

They all followed Namjoon’s advice religiously in fear of scaring you away. But what if your independence only made it harder for them to be able to be there for you? What if you never came to them on your own for assistance?

...They would simply have to make it so that you had no other choice, would they not?

But the circumstances were not yet that dire, so for now, you had nothing to fear.

——————————————————————

The ride into the woods was pleasantly silent, and this time you made sure you didn’t fall asleep.

All too soon, Mr. Bin drove the van past the wrought-iron gate and up the impressive driveway. You weren’t as nervous as you were your first time visiting their residence, but you still had your guard up.

The boys bound up the wooden steps and opened the front door, piling into their home. You entered last, quietly closing the door behind you.

As you were taking off your shoes, you spied a pair of nude slides next to all of the black ones.

Jungkook noticed you looking at them and smiled. “Mother prepared them for you. She saw you wearing hyung’s pair the last time you came over and ordered them after you left with your mom.”

“That’s so kind of her,” you said, slightly in awe. “I’ll be sure to express my thanks.”

You never thought you’d reach the day where Mrs. Kim would welcome you so readily into her home, but here you stood corrected.

“(Y/N), let’s go!” Jimin called to you from the stairway.

“Coming!” You lay your shoes at the door, slid your feet into the slippers, and went to catch up with him, climbing upstairs.

The library had hardly changed since you were gone. The shelves were just as dusty and dilapidated as before, and the couch was just as comfortable.

You maintained a safe distance away from Jimin this time as well so he wouldn’t get the opportunity to pull any tricks.

You spent the majority of the afternoon on writing the paper together, as you both had agreed. A few hours later, you finished and decided to get a head start on the presentation.

“‘The strength of a Nephilim depends on which angelic order their parent hails from,’” You read out to Jimin as he added to your shared document from his laptop.

“‘The sheer majority, however, were parented by those in the third sphere. This was the lowest order consisting of the angels most concerned with the affairs of humans: Principalities, Archangels, and Angels.’”

“Got it.” He claimed, typing out a couple more sentences. “I think we have enough for the background information, but Mrs. Hargrove also wants us to discuss the religions they come from, their abilities and their weaknesses.”

You hummed. “Angels are mentioned in a multitude of religions, but Nephilim are really only mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, according to sources.”

“So that question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer,” He smiled, marking it.

“Nephilim are really strong,” you said from behind the book cover, fascinated by the information it held. “They appear as ordinary humans on the outside but possess celestial powers bestowed upon them by their angelic parent. They’re faster and stronger than ordinary humans, and are excellent at reading people.”

Jimin took the book from you and glanced further down in the book to see if he could find more specific powers for your project.

“Oh, I found something here.”

You opened your laptop and prepared to type as he read.

“It says Nephilim possess super strength, longevity, the power of flight, healing abilities, teleportation, telepathy, angelic wrath, illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and telekinesis.” He raised his eyebrow in awe.

You chuckled as your hands raced to keep up with his words. “Illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and what?”

“Telekinesis, the ability to move things with your mind.” He said.

“I could use that all the time--like, the other day, I was waiting in front of the student council room to return the uniform I borrowed.”

You recounted the story for Jimin as he peeked up at you. You were too engrossed in typing, however, to notice his gaze. “I could have sworn the door was locked, but then Namjoon appeared and it unlocked without him pulling out a key or anything. He just flicked his wrist and open sesame.”

Jimin unabashedly stared at you, a small smile on his face. You always noticed the littlest things about them and it made his heart pound for you a little harder.

“Namjoon hyung always comes in at the coolest moments,” he replied, looking down at what you’d managed to gather so far. “So, we have the powers and where they come from. I think we found a section on their weaknesses the other day.”

“Yeah, it sounds like their main weakness is original sin, or the innate tendency to sin, all humans receive once they’re born.” You thought back to the section you and Jimin read before. “Because they’re part human and part angel, they are constantly at war with themselves and the human side typically wins.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” Jimin asked.

You closed your laptop. “...What do you mean?”

Jimin shifted, tucking his legs underneath him. “I mean, they’re celestial beings. They have cosmic powers at their disposal, access to the heavens, and everything they could have wanted. But they have a choice to throw it away, to sin, for...whatever the reason may be.” He muttered, glancing aside at the carpet. “If they gave it up, do you think they would have made the right decision?”

You paused for a moment, eyeing the shadows nearby branches cast on the library windows. “It think it depends on the person and what they’re sinning for. Whether they were doing it for their own self interest, or to protect a loved one-”

“What if they were doing it because they loved someone?” Jimin interrupted, eyes widened in curiosity.

Your eyes left the window as you turned to face him. “I would admire their dedication. And it’s not as though they lose their abilities when they fall from grace. I only wish that person would be worth it, and that they’re happy.”

You smiled wistfully. “An angel losing their wings to love someone for the rest of their life. What a sad, beautiful thing. ’Tis the plight of being human, I suppose. They’re really not that different from us--besides the celestial gifts, of course.”

Jimin grinned and hummed in agreement.

As always, only you could understand them perfectly.

You stood up from the couch and brushed off the back of your skirt. “Uh, Jimin, could you please tell me where the bathroom is?”

He smiled. “Yeah! You just make a left at the corner, then a right, then another right, and there should be a guest room with a bathroom in it.”

You zoned into and out of your thoughts momentarily and blinked, smiling and nodding at him. “Thanks.”

——————————————————————

Perhaps Jimin told you the directions incorrectly, or you made a left when you should have made a right, but there was no doubt about it. You were lost. There was no bathroom where he stated there was, and you’d been wandering around the third floor for several minutes now with no clue as to where it was.

“Damn this house.” You muttered under your breath. “Only seven people live here, why is it so big?”

You finally came upon what looked like a guest room, one that hopefully had a bathroom inside, when you heard two voices speaking from the behind the partially open door.

“Seriously. You need to be more careful with these sorts of things.” The first voice said, deep and mature.

You stopped in your tracks immediately.

“It’s not like I wanted this to happen.” the second one spoke. Their voice was much lower and raspier than the first.

“Of course you didn’t. That’s why you should pay more attention when doing your work.” The first voice nagged and you heard someone hiss.

“Ah, it’s fine. It was worth it. Still, thanks for patching me up, hyung.”

You were stuck near the crack in the door, too afraid to move in fear of being heard.

“Whatever. You’re too reckless. Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, come on. How was I supposed to know that the kid would make such a-”

“Stop talking.” The first voice stated, sounding much lower than it had before.

Your eyes shook at the sudden silence and you whipped around to look at the hallway, quickly searching for a place to hide.

About two steps behind you, there was a five foot long indent in the wall, courtesy of the prominent display of a large painting.

You risked it and threw yourself backward, stepping as quietly onto the wood as you could before throwing your back up against the indent, facing away from the room.

And not a moment too soon, as you heard the door fly open the second you were hidden from view. You sunk to the floor in a crouch.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” You could hear the younger’s voice sound from the room much clearer now.

You sucked yourself as tightly into the corner as you could.

There was no response from the older and you strained your ears for a sign, a hint, anything.

Breathing felt too loud, swallowing felt too loud, the brush of your clothes against your neck as you turned your head felt too loud. Everything was deafening.

Please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me-

There was the slow, soft padding of feet on the wooden floor. You trembled as it got closer and closer to where you sat.

In the corner of your eye, you could see a socked foot, inches away from where you hid.

“Jin hyung!”

Your savior, none other than Jimin, appeared at the end of the hallway, yelling in excitement.

You know he saw you, of course he saw you. It was impossible not to coming from his direction. You cast your eyes down, praying he wouldn’t reveal your presence.

He grinned as he ran towards the man.

“You came back early!” The younger boy tackled him in a hug, wrapping his legs around him.

The force drove the man back several steps and he grunted, his foot disappearing from your sight. “Jimin, you’re getting a bit too old for this, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I know you’ll always carry me, hyung.” You heard him giggle.

“What are you doing up here?” The other voice asked, joining the other two in the hallway. You remained where you sat, not moving an inch.

“Yoongi hyung! You came back too!”

He scoffed. “Of course I did.”

“Answer his question first, Jimin ah.” You heard the elder comment in a much warmer voice than the threatening tone you heard behind the door.

“I was in the library working on a project with my classmate. She had to use the bathroom but she never came back, so I came looking for her.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the wooden floor in front of you.

There was a pause.

“Have either of you seen her?” Jimin asked.

“...No, we haven’t.” The deep and mature voice, which you now matched to the eldest brother, replied.

“I’ll just keep looking, then. But you should head downstairs. Father will be home soon, he’ll be pleased to know you’re here!”

Due to the series of complaints you then heard, it sounded as though Jimin took both of his brothers by the wrist and led them to the stairway down the other side of the hallway.

You waited in that spot for several moments, until you couldn’t hear anything but the wind blowing up against the walls. Once you ensured that they were gone, you ran back down the hallway you came, bladder be damned.

Of course. How could you have possibly forgotten Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s two eldest children?

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin.

Had you not moved when you did, and had Jimin not interfered when he had, you might have...no, you surely would have lost your life in that instant.

——————————————————————

You made it back to the library, quickly and quietly opening the door before rushing in.

Jimin still hadn’t returned, so no one was there to see you fly over to the couch and plop down to sit. You tried to catch your breath to slow the pounding of your heart.

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin. You were almost caught eavesdropping on their conversation.

You had never wanted to purge your memory more than in that exact moment.

What if they suspect I heard everything? What if they have the Augustuses’ people capture me for it? It couldn’t have been that important--it sounded like they were just patching up wounds. Maybe one of them got into a fight? Surely this wouldn’t be enough to warrant such violence. Even they have limits, yes? Then again, when did they ever need a reason to-

The library doors flew open and you flinched, looking up at them only to sigh in relief.

“(Y/N), there you are! Did you find the bathroom alright?”

Jimin’s eyes twinkled playfully as he smiled at you. You restrained yourself from cursing at or hitting him in anger and relief, choosing instead to let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah,” you stated quietly. “It was fine.”

At that moment you received a text from your mother stating that she was downstairs.

"My mom says she’s here. I guess it’s time for me to go.” You stated, beginning to pack your laptop and notebooks away.

“Sure! I’ll come downstairs with you.” He smiled and turned away from you to return The Word of the Lost to its proper shelf.

“Thanks,” you whispered, then zipped your bag up.

Jimin was already gliding away toward the back of the library, the leather bound book in hand, but he still managed to hear you. He didn’t respond, but he smirked triumphantly.

You accepted his silence as a “You’re welcome” and took the moment to fix your composure. When you were both ready, he led the way downstairs.

“My eldest sons have finally returned home!” You heard Kim Moonsik cheer from the living room.

His tone, usually melancholic and oily, was much lighter today. You surmised that even his mood could be improved by the sight of his family.

He sat on one of the two settees while his two oldest sons perched on the long, gray couch in front of him.

They both had black hair and dark eyes, like their brothers and parents. One was casually dressed in a large black hoodie and black sweatpants, while the other looked comfortable in a neutral toned sweater and slacks.

The one sitting on the left rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why you had hyung drag me here a week earlier than necessary, Father. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Kim Yoongi was notorious for his rebellious attitude. You had heard that since his days at Ichabod Academy, he never listened to authority figures--his classmates were afraid of him and his teachers let him do as he please. The only time he would adhere to rules and tradition was at the required monthly meetings, for obvious reasons.

“On the contrary,” The older man chuckled. “Every time you come home is cause for occasion, my prodigal son.”

“Have some sympathy for me here.” The eldest drawled with his arms crossed. “I get a headache every time I’m forced to drag you home with me.”

Kim Seokjin, on the other hand, was an entertainer. He would lower people’s defenses with a friendly expression and a joke. The citizens of Ichabod found him much more agreeable and respectable as Mayor Kim’s eldest son. They thought him harmless. They fawned over him and Namjoon, praising the mayor for how well he’d raised them in terms of respect and diplomacy.

They were fools. For even now, you could see it as he lounged back relaxedly in his seat: Kim Seokjin may be considered kind and polite, but he was by no means harmless.

“Do you want me to bring you some medicine?” Jimin piped up from beside you on the stairs, drawing the three’s attention.

You could feel the college students’ gaze burning into the side of your face.

You kept your facial expression neutral and descended the stairs behind Jimin, who skipped down the rest of them.

“Who’s this?” You heard Yoongi question.

“This is my classmate, (Y/N). She’s the person I was looking for earlier,” Jimin said, seating himself in between his older brothers.

You bowed toward them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Seokjin smiled and reached out his hand. You extended yours, expecting a handshake.

He held it, turned it over, and pressed his lips to the back of it. “The pleasure is all ours.”

Yoongi smirked as you took your hand back, fighting a blush. “How lovely it is to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, you too. It’s nice to see you again as well, Mr. Kim.” You addressed the older man.

“You also, (Y/N) dear. I’m simply ecstatic you took up our invitation.” Mayor Kim said, the usual, passionate fire in his eyes blazing.

You fought back a shudder.

“You know the entire town needs to be present, Yoongi ah.” Mr. Kim continued the conversation from before. “You’re no exception.”

“I never said I was,” the second oldest retorted. “I just prefer to spend less of my break here.”

“How’s everything at school, Jiminie?” Seokjin asked as Jimin wrapped his arms around his midsection, skillfully redirecting the subject matter.

“Strange, as usual.” He mumbled, hesitantly looking up at you.

“I heard the police finally found the Pierre boy,” Mr. Kim added, and you suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in the presence of this conversation.

Where’s my mother? Weren’t we supposed to be leaving?

“Yes, we heard about it at lunch.” Jimin said. His tone when speaking to his father wasn’t as clipped or standoffish as it was when he was speaking to his mother; rather, it was more lackadaisical. “Right, (Y/N)?”

All four heads spun to you, still standing in the middle of the living room.

“Why are you standing there looking so stiff?” Seokjin sent you a sinister smile. “Come join us.”

This was the last place you wanted to be, but you had no choice in the matter. You smiled awkwardly and shuffled to the empty settee.

Before you could sit down, however, Jimin jumped up and pulled you to the couch, seating you in his old spot between his brothers. He then claimed the spot on the other side of Seokjin.

You stiffened and relaxed in a second, praying to everything that you didn’t look as uncomfortable as you felt.

The atmosphere was stifling. You couldn’t breathe.

“It’s a shame what happened to him, truly.” Mr. Kim continued, humming in sympathy. “I sincerely hope something like that doesn’t have to happen again.”

How dare he sit here and act as though he had nothing to do with it? What happened to Chance Pierre was his fault! You unconsciously balled your fist in your lap.

“I’m sure everyone will take this lesson to heart, Father.” Seokjin consoled him. “May they never underestimate the power of Wylynne’s grace again.”

“She is holy and forgiving, but some actions need to be punished, yes.” Yoongi added from your right with a cruel smirk. “Praise Wylynne.”

“Praise Wylynne.” Jimin nodded, eyes twinkling with amusement.

It suddenly occurred to you that you were the only one left who had not spoken. When you raised your eyes to meet with the others’, indeed, they were waiting for your response.

“...Praise Wylynne.” You smiled. False religion or not, there was no way you would be testing your luck in front of the divine priest and his sons.

Mr. Kim nodded in approval, then broke out into a laugh. “Wise, hardworking, and devoted; like mother, like daughter. Wylynne surely smiles upon the women of the (L/N) family.”

You laughed awkwardly. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Will your mother be arriving to get you soon?” Mr. Kim asked you.

“It was to my knowledge that she was already here-”

“(Y/N)!”

Your head spun toward the sound of your mother’s voice and found her standing in the entryway next to Kim Eunbyul. She wore navy blue scrubs today and her hair was pulled back into a bun with a few loose strands in the front.

You had thought right. The two were a vision next to each other.

Mrs. Kim walked over, bringing your mother with her. “I apologize for the wait--(M/N) and I were having the most delightful conversation. (Y/N) my dear, how are you?”

She sat next to her husband on one settee and your mother took a seat on the other, empty one.

This was your second time seeing Mrs. Kim, yet you still could not get over her beauty. She wore another silk housedress, a muslin scarf draped behind her back and over her inner arms.

Her elegance was neither ostentatious nor arrogant. She demanded respect but gave it in return.

She had what Aemilia desperately sought after but could never possess.

You nodded with a smile, bowing slightly. “Good evening, Mrs. Kim. I’m fine, thanks for worrying. And thank you so much for the sandals, I really appreciate you going out of your way for me.”

The former actress waved her hand lightly as she laughed. “It was no trouble at all!”

She took your hands in hers and looked down at her feet. “Besides, we match!” Following her gaze, your eyes widened. Indeed, you both had the same style and brand of slippers on.

“Thank you so much for the welcoming her so warmly, Mrs. Kim.” Your mother smiled.

“Of course.” She assured. “Think nothing of it. I already think of you both as family.”

Your heart warmed a bit and you smiled in response to her words, for you already greatly admired Mrs. Kim. To think that she had taken a liking to both you and your mother...

It was then that the rest of the brothers trekked downstairs in curiosity, then heartily grinned once they realized their oldest brothers had arrived.

“How about we let the kids step aside so us adults can talk properly, hmm?” Mrs. Kim suggested, taking her husband’s hand.

Mr. Kim grinned and squeezed her hand in response. “A wonderful idea, love.”

The boys then quickly pulled you away from the main couches, moving your discussion toward the glass windows.

You looked back at your mom a couple of times while the brothers greeted each other before focusing on the conversation at hand.

The eight of you stood in a circle near the windows, and you were currently stuck between Jungkook and Seokjin.

“The other day, (Y/N) said she really liked your interior designing, Jin hyung.” Hoseok piped up. “She said she thought the living room was lovely.”

“Did she? She must have impeccable taste.” He playfully winked at you.

You smiled weakly. “Thank you. I really admire what you’ve done with the space.”

Yoongi, across from you, leaned against the glass. “How is everything at the academy these days?” He asked.

You hesitated to answer then directed your gaze to the floor thinking the question was not meant for you. When you didn’t hear any of the other boys speak, you looked up and found six sets of eyes on you.

Their gazes were so focused and intense, as if you would break or disappear the moment they looked away. You shifted your eyes.

“It’s not the easiest, but isn’t that what high school is like for everyone?” You grimace-smiled.

“(Y/N)’s being bullied.” Taehyung revealed, draping himself over Jimin’s shoulder. “Aemilia Augustus and her lackeys won’t leave her alone.”

This little-

You whipped your head around to see if your mother had heard anything. Thankfully, Taehyung’s voice was lowered at the time. She seemed engrossed in her discussion with Mrs. Kim.

“The Augustus princess?” Yoongi asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“She’s what?” Jin started in surprise, his polite smile turning into a displeased frown. He glanced at Namjoon. The student council president simply nodded in response.

“She has the other kids pester or steal from (Y/N).” Hoseok added, glaring out the window. “The students can hardly stop talking about it.”

Jungkook gently tugged on your shirt sleeve to get your attention. “If she’ s bothering you--”

“It’s alright.” You assured them before they could really give Aemilia and her people a reason to go after you. “I’m working it out.”

“And how well is that going?” Namjoon snorted, giving you a knowing look.

You grimaced, locking and unlocking your phone. “...I’m working it out.” You repeated, suddenly fascinated by the wooden floor.

“If she ever gives you a hard time, you let me know.” Yoongi said, holding up his fists. One hand was wrapped in bandages and the other hand was bare, knuckles covered in torn skin and still-healing scabs. “I don’t get these from just lying around, if you catch my drift.”

You gaped at his hands and at the offer. Kim Yoongi? Offering to beat someone up for you? Where had his famous apathetic attitude gone?

“Violence is never the answer, Yoongi ah.” Seokjin replied before you could. He gently took your phone from you while it was unlocked and swiped around until he found your contacts. “If you ever need help, just give us a call. Don’t be afraid to reach out. We’ll always be there.”

You opened and closed your mouth in distress.

Seokjin pointedly ignored the glare Namjoon was sending his way.

He was jealous of his younger brothers, who got to see and speak with you every day. Earlier, he’d been in the middle of healing and wrapping Yoongi’s injury when he saw your shadow outside the door.

He’d barely been able to hold himself back from ripping you out your hiding spot and pulling you into his arms. But then all of their progress would have been for naught.

So he allowed Jimin to drag him away.

But not anymore.

He understood that you needed your time and space but, really, their angel shouldn’t be so stubborn around them.

He held the device out to you and you took it back, observing the six newest additions to your contacts list. He’d taken the time to add not just his number, but the rest of the brothers’ numbers as well.

“Thank you,” You confided with a rare, genuine, and small smile, “really. But I can handle it myself.”

On the outside, some of them nodded while the others frowned at the floor.

On the inside, however, they collectively sighed inside their head, tired of your age old response.

They just wanted you to be able to lean on them, to see them as another option that was always available to you, and only you.

How long was it going to take for you to trust them? How far would they have to go to capture the object of their desire?

Whatever the obstacle, they would surely overcome it.

Your mother called your name once more and you shouldered your bag, replacing the nude slippers with your school shoes.

“I hope you have a pleasant night,” You said to the brothers, fumbling with your shoes. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow!” Jimin waved you off with a smile and his brothers and parents chorused farewells behind him.

You both bowed once more to the Kim family and descended the stairs, making as hasty but collected an exit as possible.

“I swear, (Y/N), I lose years off my life every time I come to this house,” your mother murmured once you both sat in the car.

“You know what, Mom? So do I.” You exhaled, slumping down in the front seat. “Drive slowly, won’t you? I might be the one throwing up once we reach the edge of the woods.”

Your mother barked out a laugh and nodded in thanks to Mr. Bin as he opened the gate.

As you drove away from the Kim family home, you opened your messages and texted Mana, updating them on how you’d nearly lost your life this time.

That night, you ate dinner, cleaned up, finished other assignments, and had an hours long conversation with Mana about Brooklyn and your latest visit to the Kim residence.

The way their eyes bugged out of their head when you told them about how you’d nearly gotten caught made you laugh. Of course, it hadn’t been funny in the moment. Even thinking about it now made you slightly nauseous.

But you went to sleep that night all the same, dreaming once again of haunting, magnificent black wings.

——————————————————————

Once the front door of the Kim household closed, Jimin’s cheerful face dropped into a scowl.

And he was not the only one upset. All seven of them glowered around the room in the aftermath of (Y/N)’s departure.

Kim Eunbyul and Kim Moonsik sat deathly still on the couch, unprepared for whatever was coming.

When someone is explosive with anger, they are destructive. One might break things, they may say harmful words, but for the most part, one takes their anger out in that single moment.

The seven men behind them were different.

When they were angry, they plotted. The harder it was for them to get what they wanted, the harder they fought. They made sure there would be nothing that could possibly be in their way.

“We told you to be patient, hyung.” Namjoon broke the angry silence. “Don’t ruin all of our plans with your ineptitude.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Seokjin scoffed. “I put your number in her phone, too. Try being a little grateful.”

“Don’t disrespect your elders, Namjoon.” Hoseok chided, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We told you to put your dog on her leash.”

“You weren’t complaining when Aemilia’s antics gave you opportunities to help (Y/N),” Namjoon sneered. “I loathe her very existence as well, don’t misunderstand me.”

“You should hear the rumors going around at school, Namjoon hyung.” Jungkook frowned. “People are placing bets on how soon Aemilia’s going to destroy her.”

“I know you’re the brains of this operation but if (Y/N) gets hurt, this is not going to end prettily.” Yoongi stated solemnly.

“I won’t let it get to that point.” Namjoon assured.

“Get it together. And keep that girl in line.” Seokjin nodded.

There was a significant reason Eunbyul was so receptive of the (h/c) haired girl and her mother.

Despite the fact that she really did enjoy your company and was happy to welcome you into their home, she knew what would await her if she ever dared to mistreat you.

You precious thing. You precious, hardheaded, stubborn thing. Why did you not give in to what they wanted? Could you truly not see how much they how much they longed to protect possess be with you?

Perhaps you’ve already started picking up on it, and this was why you wanted to distance yourself from them before it was too late.

You beautiful, foolish thing. It was already far too late.

Eunbyul quivered, squeezing her husband’s hand. Moonsik wore a stony expression on his face, but he squeezed his wife’s hand back with surprising strength.

When she looked up from her lap, she gasped, for Jungkook was squatting directly in front of her. She felt as though his dark gaze was piercing her soul.

The probability of that very thing happening in this instant was high.

She exhaled and carefully avoided his gaze.

“Mother, Father,” he hummed, “is everything alright? You’re shaking like leaves in the wind.”

“Oh dear.” Taehyung replied, resting his arms on the back of the settee behind them. He tilted his head and frowned down at the two as if they were insects, scurrying around in an attempt to escape their deaths. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“I’m sure it was just a result of them working so hard.” Seokjin smiled at Moonsik. “I must say, I was impressed.” The elder simply nodded and avoided his gaze.

Namjoon strolled over to Eunbyul’s side of the settee and gently pat the woman on her back. “Your performance today was especially moving, Mother.”

“At least she wasn’t trembling in front of (Y/N) like she did last time,” Jimin kissed his teeth. “Useless woman.”

Hoseok bent over in laughter, the outburst shortening into a light giggle as he joined them by the couches.

“They work diligently, why not praise them once in a while?” He suggested, suppressing another laugh.

“Like I’ll ever.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “I really hope you know what you’re talking about, Namjoon hyung. I’m going to bed before I feel the need to hit something--or someone.” Jimin glared and bounded back up the stairs.

“It’s alright. We’re fine.” Eunbyul forced out. “Thank you.”

“Yes, you should be. If you weren’t, it would imply you did something wrong.” Yoongi smiled.

“And if you did something wrong,” Jin continued, “...well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

She stiffly nodded.

“Of course not.” Taehyung grinned and pat her head condescendingly.

“Of course.” Moonshik repeated, willing his hands to stop trembling.

He had never expected this to happen. He never thought he would be living the life that he did.

He had called for power, and he had surely received it, but not in the way he thought he would.

Was the insurmountable power worth the treatment he received in his own home?

Yes. And if he had to repeat it, he would have made the exact same decision. It would surely be worth it. That was what he told himself day in and day out, the prayer he spoke to his god in an attempt to convince himself of the lie.

It would surely be worth it.

“We’re trusting you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim.”

——————————————————————

The Augustus residence was a fairly old building, a beautiful family manor transformed into a modern, affluent home. It stood in the center of the city, as their family used to be the epicenter of society.

Aemilia found both her home and its location extremely fitting.

As unfortunate as it would be that she would have to move from this stately home to one in the middle-of-nowhere woods, she was willing to deal with it. She would follow her future husband anywhere, everywhere, if need be.

Usually, the esteemed Augustus home was silent.

“How could you?” Brooklyn shouted in anger.

But today, those grand old walls whispered in the wind through quite the ruckus.

“The people that work for your family dragged Constance’s little brother out of his home in the middle of the day! They tortured him for two weeks! You knew where he was the whole time, and you didn’t say a thing!” Brooklyn gestured toward their friend. “She came to you for help, and you slammed the door in her face!”

The blonde had stopped talking long ago. She curled herself into a ball and tucked her head into her chest, looking well on the verge of a panic attack.

The three girls had arrived at Aemilia’s house earlier, prepared to do the usual: finish some homework, study, and binge watch some shows.

But (Y/N) (L/N)’s words had been ringing inside of Brooklyn’s head all afternoon.

A means to an end.

Disposable goods.

A useful little puppet.

She couldn’t take thinking it anymore, so she finally voiced the dreaded question. Brooklyn asked Aemilia what she and Constance meant to her.

The strawberry blonde tilted her head, staying quiet for several minutes. She then grinned and replied,“My ladies in waiting?”

For Wylynne’s sake. She could have at least been less direct than to compare them to literal servants.

Brooklyn erupted at Aemilia, asking her if that’s what she thought years of friendship had amounted to, thus leading them to their current argument.

For whatever reason, it had never occurred to the brunette that Aemilia may be using her. She thought she had broken the barriers the callous girl held for her long ago, but after Constance showed up at Brooklyn’s house in tears, combined with Aemilia’s response to Chance’s disappearance...

Perhaps it was time she seriously reevaluated their “friendship”.

“Don’t you think you could have reassured her that he was alive? Even police officers tell family members when people have been arrested.” Brooklyn glared at the other girl.

“Get real, Brooklyn. This isn’t a stupid police station. This is Ichabod. It’s because we live in Ichabod that Chance broke the law, and received his due punishment.” Aemilia justified coldly.

“A fourteen year old boy in laying in his bed, covered in bruises and permanently blind in one eye. But I need to get real because this is Ichabod, and that somehow makes it okay?” Brooklyn raised her volume, disturbed by how convicted Aemilia was in her reasoning. “How could you possibly think that makes it okay?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aemilia sneered, “I wasn’t aware that I needed your opinion or approval for my thoughts and actions.”

“That’s exactly the problem! This is about you playing us, using us through your actions! I honestly thought we meant more than that to you!” She snarled in response.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Aemilia shrugged. “You and Constance used me for popularity and safety, and now you come crying to me, claiming that I can’t use you in return?” She barked out a laugh. “That hardly seems fair. How ungrateful.”

The brunette couldn’t deny the benefits that came along with being close to the strawberry blonde, but for her to twist their entire history and friendship into one of utility? She was beside herself with anger.

“Used you? You think we used you? For what?” She roared. “Your money? Your status? Don’t you think we have those exact same things?”

Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre were not one’s normal, run of the mill best friends. In fact, they were in extremely similar situations to Aemilia, for their families were also members of the old city elite.

The Hayes and Pierres had lived in Ichabod for nearly as long as the Augustuses. They may not have had the same amount of prestige that Aemilia lay claim to, but they certainly were not far off.

“You grew up with us and thought we were nothing more than what? Walking labels that strengthened your social status? People you could use to do your bidding?” Brooklyn deadpanned. “We were nothing more than pawns in your game, weren’t we?”

“We didn’t befriend you because of your title or your family, Aemilia. We befriended you because we admired you and your personality. We weren’t the ones that twisted your perception of us into toys, or puppets, or ladies in waiting.” She gave a mirthless smile. “That was all you.”

Aemilia paused, reminiscing on her younger days. In every interaction she ever experienced, she was treated like royalty. At some point, she simply assumed it was natural for everyone to bend to her every whim.

Everyone...except for those two.

They had approached her for some childish reason like playing dolls or tag or other, but it was all genuine.

“I honestly can’t believe you.” Brooklyn shook her head at her silence and stormed around the room, collecting her and Constance’s materials and shoving them into their respective bags.

“All these years. All these years, and I was that clueless, that hopeful.” Brooklyn muttered as she gave her a cruel smile. “I can’t believe (Y/N) (L/N) knew you better than I did.”

Aemilia’s face flushed bright red.

“Your ladies in waiting are going to relieve themselves of their position now.” Brooklyn carefully dragged the non responsive blonde to her feet, holding both of their bags and contacting her personal driver. She curled her lip. “Please feel free to march your way to the throne by yourself, your highness.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and for a moment, the residence was silent once more.

Then, with an anguished cry, Aemilia picked up whatever textbooks were nearby and vaulted them at her walls.

First, her future husband. Next, her friends. What would that (h/c) haired bitch steal next? Her life?

“No. No. I won’t let it get that far. I would never let you get away with it!” She screamed, hurling another book.

Her bedroom door swung open and her father ducked the incoming textbook. “Aemilia! What on earth is going on? Brooklyn and Constance just left looking extremely upset, did you three have an argument?”

She dropped the rest of the textbooks, raced to her father and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Daddy, I need you to call up the special squadron.”

Aloysius Augustus held his daughter’s hands and warily pried them off of him. “Whatever for?”

Aemilia flashed him a maniacal grin. “Namjoon just texted me. He says his father believes he’s found in another soul in dire need of discipline.”

——————————————————————

Ever since engaging in this battle of wills with Aemilia, you tell yourself that there isn’t anything that could surprise you anymore.

Yet the actions of your classmates the next morning were strange. Stranger than you could possibly anticipate.

You entered the classroom and found a group of girls standing in a huddle around a desk, whispering to one another.

The room was strangely empty. Neither Mana nor Jimin had arrived yet, nor had some of your other classmates known for coming to school relatively early.

The girls noticed your entrance and quieted immediately. You found this suspicious, so you decided you wanted nothing to do with them. You shifted your gaze away from them and kept on walking to your seat.

That is, until you heard one of them scoff loudly in your direction.

“I mean, just look at her. She walks around the school as if she’s better than us, just because Ms. Diivi had Jimin sit next to her.”

You froze but their tittering only got louder.

The girl that scoffed before, a classmate of yours named Seph, left the group and stood in front of you with crossed arms.

“You’re not anything special, (Y/N). You shouldn’t mistake yourself.”

The others seemed to agree with her as, soon enough, they left the desk one by one to surround you.

“It’s really pathetic how you practically beg for Jimin’s attention.”

“The other day, when you made him give you his sweater? It was really embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I could hardly stand to watch.”

They imitated your shivering as they laughed, making it look as though you were having a seizure.

“You used to be tolerable at the least, but Jimin transferred to our class and you finally decided to take the opportunity to climb the ranks, huh?” Another sneered.

You could hardly move. You were stuck in place, the words swimming around in your head.

Externally, you stared down at the ground in confusion, but internally, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe the accusations the girls were coming up with.

Even after everything this town had been through, the Kim brothers still had some sort of deluded fan club...and now they were coming after you.

“What the hell?” You finally said, lifting your head to look each of them in the eye. “Why would I go begging for his attention?”

“Don’t try to deny it, bitch.” Seph snarled. “You used to keep your head down and mind your business like the rest of us, but now, all of a sudden, you’re relishing in the spotlight.”

“We’ll see just how much Jimin likes you soon enough.” One of her lackeys snickered.

They left you where you stood, turning their attention to the doorway.

You could see Jimin from the glass window in the door, waving goodbye to Taehyung as he headed off to his respective classroom. He reached down to twist the knob and pulled the door open.

Had you blinked, you would have missed the entire thing.

Seph pulled a bucket out from under the desk they were all crowded around and threw its contents all over Jimin.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth in shock as he was doused in water from head to toe. His uniform was soaked and his hair lost its floofy nature, flattening down over his eyes.

One of the girls ripped the bucket away from her and shoved it into your hands. They moved back in tandem, shocked gasps hiding their deeds as Jimin wiped water out of his eyes, which landed on you holding the bucket.

“(Y/N)...?”

You were just as shocked as he was, mouth agape. The evidence was completely against you.

He looked up at you with teary eyes. He looked hurt, so angry, you figured there was no way you were going to get out of this.

“I didn’t do it, why would I?” You protested.

“Jimin, are you alright?” The ringleader picked back up, skillfully concealing a triumphant smirk with an open look of concern. “(Y/N), how could you do such an awful thing? Especially after he’s been nothing but kind to you...”

Wow, does she get lessons from Mrs. Kim or something?

You dropped the bucket in surprise. “No! Jimin, it wasn’t me, I promise, they just grabbed the bucket out of nowhere-”

This is it. My mother is going to have to bury her daughter young. I failed to provide for her, or thank her for everything she’s done for me. Your thoughts couldn’t stop racing.

“Even for a prank, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?” They continued behind you.

“She’s been acting all this time. I’m not surprised.”

“He treated her so well and it all just blew up in his face.”

“That’s just like her.”

“She’s lying directly to his face, how fake.”

“Disgusting.”

They continued spouting lies in front of Jimin, telling him about how you were only using him, how you would curse his very existence behind his back.

Jimin approached you, his wet shoes squeaking on the tile floors.

You backed up, intimidated, bumping the back of your leg against another desk and falling to the floor.

...Would begging help?

When you finally looked up at him, begging felt like an appealing option.

Jimin’s eyes glistened, chocolate colored irises now hardened and flashing gold.

They were even colder than the ones you’d seen in your dreams, and you felt the temperature around you drop considerably.

You must have been going crazy with terror, something that wasn’t completely amiss in your town. The girls behind you were feasting on the fearful expression in your eyes.

Then, right as you were about to stand, Jimin gently put his hands on your elbows and guided you up.

To their surprise, he tugged you to your feet, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and pulled you in for a hug.

“You must have been so scared, weren’t you, (Y/N)?” Jimin whispered in your ear. “Those rats dared to mess with you. They tried to come between us with petty rumors and tricks. It’s okay, I’m here now. I believe you.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your back, the water from his uniform seeping into the front of yours. “I’ll make sure you have nothing to fear.”

Jimin pulled away from the hug, smiling at you. He then turned to face the girls, and with that same chilling smile, spoke.

“You all enjoy playing pranks, yes?”

The girls’ expressions changed in a matter of seconds, from snickers and taunts to tearful pleads.

Seph could hardly pick her jaw up off the floor. “Jimin! It was (Y/N), we all saw her-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You heard a low chuckle sound from the doorway and whipped your head towards the sound.

“I saw everything with my own eyes.” Hoseok stood in the entrance, his arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.

When had he gotten there?

“And quite frankly, I don’t take too kindly to you lying about what happened to my darling little brother.” His famed smile slipped from his face as he stared down the girls with more hatred than you’d ever seen him possess.

“Jimin...” you reached out to get his attention, but he couldn’t pry his gaze away from the detestable scum that stood before him.

How quickly the tables had turned, you thought as you watched them cower.

Jimin calmly walked toward her and tucked his hand underneath her chin, yanking her ear to his mouth.

He directly whispered into Seph’s ear, but everyone in the room besides (Y/N) heard the same thing, the message pulsing loud and clear inside their heads.

“I’ll make you wish you had never done that.”

He left the group huddling against one another in fright.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” Hoseok smirked and kicked off the door, walking off with his hands in his pocket.

You stood, incredulous at what had just happened.

“Jimin.” You lay your hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his, turning to meet your gaze. His eyes were wide with expectation.

“Let’s go see your brother, we can get you some new clothes.” You said softly. He smiled serenely and nodded, dragging you to the door by the hand.

Before you could step out, however, he turned around to face them and glowered. “Clean this mess up.”

Seph whimpered and knelt down to pick up the bucket. The other girls scrambled to collect paper towels to dry the floor.

You watched them, trying to conjure up some form of sympathy. That could have been you, cowering beneath him. Moments ago, that was you.

Frighteningly enough, that familiar, heart-strengthening feeling made no appearance. There was no hatred, no remorse. You felt nothing as you were dragged away to the third floor.

Jimin knocked on the door to the student council room, smiling as he spotted his brother. Namjoon, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Hyung! I need a new uniform.”

He stepped back to let the two of you enter. Jimin released your hand and beelined for the atrium, grabbing a new shirt and a pair of pants. He then stepped into the bathroom and loudly shut the door.

“Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Namjoon looked down at you for a moment before his eyes flew up and he stared at the wall with newfound interest. “Feel free to grab a change of clothes as well.”

You followed his gaze and jumped at just how wet the front of your shirt had gotten. “Thanks,” you muttered, desperately hiding your blush.

I’m seriously finding myself back here too often.

You got another polo from the closet and left the door open as you changed, praying that Jimin wouldn’t leave the bathroom and that Namjoon wouldn’t walk around the corner. To keep him busy, you filled him in on what had happened moments before.

When you were finished, you stepped out into the main room with your wet shirt folded over your arm. Namjoon leaned against the wooden table with his arms crossed. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or punch someone.

You glanced at Namjoon and thought back to the way he looked at the people around him.

It quickly dawned on you how bothered you were by Namjoon’s view of everyone around him as some sort of game.

He always wore an amused smile on his face: when he was looking at his mother in his family home, when he heard what Constance did to you, when he saw all of the students worrying over Chance, and whenever Aemilia and her antics were brought up.

He probably thought he was so clever at hiding it, at being the misfortunate yet accomplished gentleman that everyone perceived him to be, but you saw right through his act.

“The audacity they have to dare make such a ruckus on school property,” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry. They will surely receive proper punishment.”

You nodded, eyes glazing over with indifference.

You were too grateful that it was not you or Mana and too exhausted to be concerned with the affairs of other students.

They should have been prepared for this, at the very least. You were only worried about the well being of you and your loved ones.

Did that make you incredibly selfish? Did that make you just like...them?

A hot flash of anger rose in you and died as quickly as it had appeared.

Perhaps Namjoon’s act angered you because it was so similar to, no, better, than your own.

Your face twisted in response to your thoughts. “Thanks for the help. I’ll be sure to pay you back. Tell Jimin I’ll see him in class,” you muttered and bowed then left, needing to separate yourself from them as soon as possible.

Namjoon watched you leave, intrigued by the sudden look of displeasure you wore. “...She noticed,” he chuckled to himself.

"She must not have liked it,” Jimin said as he walked out, fully changed. His hair was still a little wet, but it was nothing he couldn’t take care of later.

Namjoon scoffed.

His little brother subsequently seized opportunity of your absence to explain to Namjoon just how delightful you looked in front of him.

“She looked as though she were about to beg, hyung. As gorgeous a sight as it was, those lower beings had the nerve to send her to her knees.” Jimin growled. “They terrified her, made her think I was going to hurt her.”

“What would you like to do with them?” Namjoon asked him as he leaned against the wooden table, a familiar smirk on his face.

By the end of homeroom, those girls were removed from your section. By the end of lunch, they had left your class and the school completely.

——————————————————————

The final bell rang and you lifted your head off your desk. You’d been trapped in your thoughts since earlier today, but your class schedule had given you no time to focus on your inner monologue.

Someone’s finger tapped your shoulder and you snapped out of your thoughts, directing your attention to them.

A freshman stood before you nervously and passed you a folded piece of paper.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

The kid nodded and scurried out of the classroom.

You unfolded the paper, reading the slightly disorganized handwriting.

You and me, (L/N). Show up alone. Rooftop. 4 pm.

You didn’t even need to ask the kid who it was from.

“This is the game you’re going to play?” You mumbled to yourself. “You still can’t even confront me face to face.”

Unfortunately for you, you already were alone. Mana never came to school today, as they had gone with their father to visit their grandmother at her nursing home, and Jimin was going to be in robotics club for the next forty-five minutes or so.

Then again, Brooklyn and Constance didn’t look like they were attached to Aemilia’s hip today either. The brunette spent all of lunch sending her a bunch of particularly nasty glares from across the cafeteria.

You eyed the clock. fiddling with your phone. After several minutes of deliberation, you opened it to text your mother that you would take yourself home today.

Let’s get this over with.

Approximately thirty minutes later, you shouldered your back pack on and made your way to the school staircase.

You texted Mana an update on where you were going and what you were going to do, just in case. After a second thought, you also texted Jimin.

They must not have had their phones on them because they didn’t text back immediately, so you locked yours and put it in your pocket.

When you finally arrived to the rooftop, you saw Aemilia standing near the edge, strawberry blonde ponytail swinging in the autumn breeze.

You already weren’t feeling well and wanted to go home several hours ago. Alas, you were here.

Your school rooftop was moderately large; appropriate, considering the size of the building. There was nothing up there but a few stacked, forlorn chairs, scattered materials, and blocks of concrete that functioned as storage spaces.

“What do you want, Aemilia?” You asked tiredly.

She didn’t say anything, nor did she turn around. You walked a couple steps closer to her and stopped. “Hello?”

“Did you enjoy yourself, (Y/N)?” She asked, her back still facing you.

You squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you enjoy taking everything away from me? Everything that I deemed mine?” Aemilia finally turned to face you.

On the outside, she looked no different than she had a couple of days ago, but her eyes seemed...hollow.

“I didn’t take anything from you.” You pointed out. “Though, it sounds like you finally realized how skilled you are at pushing people away from you. That has nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t lie to my face.” She croaked out a laugh. “Don’t you dare claim that you haven’t stolen anything of mine.”

Her gaze turned malicious. “I thought you’d be a bug. Small, easy to crush. I wanted to make you even more insignificant than you already were. Unidentifiable.”

“But the harder I tried, the more I failed to crush you. I wanted to rub you into the dirt, but you kept on escaping unblemished.” She gazed in bored ire at her own two hands as though there was something on them that only she could see.

“So I realized, if I can’t crush you, then I’ll just have to destroy you. Completely.”

Foreign hands grabbed your arms with a vice and you started, immediately fighting to pry them off.

“Are you fucking serious? What are you doing?” You voice was a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Had your greatest fear finally come true? Were the Kims actually going to make an example of you?

“I’m simply executing my right as an Augustus. I am removing anyone who is a threat to the Kim’s empire. My future empire.” She calmly remarked, nodding tonce o whoever was behind you.

No. She was doing this for her own purpose. Her sense of order, of what was right in the world.

“Aemilia! You can’t do this!” Your voice raised in pitch and your breathing increased, your blood pumping faster and faster by the second. The hands on your arms were growing tighter and tighter.

“Oh, (Y/N). I tried to warn you several times. You didn’t listen.” She chided with false disappointment. “You did this to yourself.”

“Are you scared? Have you now realized your wrong doing? What a shame.” You watched in horror as a deranged smile crept its way onto her face and Aemilia threw her head back in laughter. “It’s already too late!”

There was no time for her descent into madness.

You stilled for just a second, then rocked your head back and successfully slammed it into your captor’s. There was a low grunt from behind you and the person let you go. You took off without a second thought.

You didn’t even bother trying the school door, as you knew it would be blocked.

Instead, you ran past Aemilia, shoving her aside as hard as you could, in the direction of the roof’s edge.

The strawberry blonde fell, but her laughter didn’t pause--if anything, it only rose in volume.

You realized the person had regained control of themself, as they came barreling after you.

Yet you also knew that one floor below you, there was a balcony informally used by all the students as a multipurpose space. To your knowledge, it consisted of old blankets and furniture.

I’d rather take my chances with an old table or couch than these bastards, you thought as you ran towards the eaves.

The closer you got, the harder your heart beat in your chest. You were terrified. But somehow, under all the fear, you were able to rationally think and suppress your fears.

You willed yourself to keep running and, before you could think about it, threw yourself over the edge.

You were in the air for about three seconds before your captor grabbed you by the jacket and stopped your descent. With surprising strength, they yanked you up and backward, tackling you to the floor.

Your body met the concrete with a harsh slam and you yelled out in pain. Hopefully, you had received nothing other than a few nasty bruises.

Aemilia’s laughter had quieted by now and she stood on her feet. She brushed her clothes off with a pleased grin.

“Nice try, sweetie. Mr. Byun, why don’t you give dear (Y/N) here a reminder on what happens should she mess with the Augustus family?” She crooned.

Your captor pinned your hands behind your back and shifted so that they were kneeling on your arms, bones digging into your back. He grabbed you by the hair and slammed your head repeatedly into the concrete.

It hurt.

It hurt more than when you sprained your ankle that one time walking to a monthly meeting and had to continue walking on it for the rest of the evening.

It hurt more than when your mother healed a particularly deep cut of yours by stitching it up herself because she couldn’t afford to take you to the hospital.

It hurt more than seeing your mother’s face whenever you asked about your father.

Everything hurt.

You couldn’t even cry out in pain as it would take up too much of your effort, effort that you didn’t have to spare.

“Thus, I declare myself the victor of our little battle of wills.” Aemilia chirped, not at all disturbed by the violence occurring in front of her.

There was something hot running down your forehead. After a couple of blinks, red crept into your eyes, falling down your face with your tears.

“Your pride’s going to be the death of you.” You choked out, then winced as the Mr. Byun kicked you harshly in the stomach.

“Should my time arrive, at least I will go out in a blaze of glory.” She said brazenly, beaming with triumph. As she bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, her strawberry blonde hair turned a shocking red.

You blinked blood out of your eyes and squinted up at Aemilia, not that it helped as your blurry vision kept her form shifting in and out of focus.

“Yet I can’t say the same for you.”

Then the grip in your hair tightened and your face met concrete for the last time, your entire world going dark.

Halfway across the campus, Kim Jimin turned his phone on and felt his heart drop to his stomach as his eyes landed on your text message.

——————————————————————

hey y’all! whew this is a long one--i’m sorry for taking longer than normal to update! thank you all so much for your enthusiasm and love! i adore reading your theories and comments :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! feel free to let me know what you think will happen next~

~taglist~

@melaninkpops @loserwithapen @hellaspookystudent @ecillartto @omgsuperstarg @ace-angel-judas @jjamsbangtan @lovinggalaxies @lovesick-heart0 @ksxmpoison @girlmeetsliv3 @thedarkwinterrose @purpuravm @oneweirdbean @hopelessfountainjoonie @mazmaz30 @enigmaticlove-03 @uppiespuppy @queenceline22 @kokofikats @taeyohonic @creatorspalace @supertweetycherry @anachikartadze

#yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere kim namjoon #yandere kim taehyung #yandere kim seokjin #yandere jung hoseok #yandere min yoongi #Yandere jeon jungkook #yandere park jimin #yandere ot7 x reader #yandere x reader #yandere high school #high school au #bts cult au #supernatural #supernatural creature au #yandere jhope #yandere rm #yandere v x reader

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Note

Do you have any personal headcanons about Celebrimbor's mother and her relationship with Curufin? I always thought that it's weird we don't have even the barest information about that considering Celebrimbor's unique position as the only next gen Feanorian. (Sorry if you already talked about this somewhere!)

thanks for the ask! i have, but i'm not going to pass up an opportunity to blather on about my ocs for several paragraphs

curufin's wife (she lacks a name because i hate giving characters names and will delay it until i absolutely have to) is noldorin, she lives in valinor in the years of the trees. i haven't thought much about her family, but i suspect they're middling nobility at the highest the did-valinor-have-social-classes debate is a whole different rabbit hole. she's a metalworker like her husband (she probably specialises in a slightly different subcategory but idk enough to say what) and is a member of the same tirion artisan guild. it's in that context that they meet and begin their Intense Crafting Rivalry

you know that trope where a pair of rivals are so obsessively devoted to one-upping each other it's blindingly obvious that what they actually want is to kiss? that's them, that's their relationship. their specialties are just similar enough they do a lot of the same stuff but just different enough their approaches tend to be radically divergent. what starts as the two of them trying to prove the superiority of their own artistic circle or whatever evolves into them trying to show up him/her specifically, s/he's wrong about x and i know i can do better, why does my family keep asking if we're dating yet????? their competition gets absolutely ridiculous in ways only a pre-scarcity society can get, like building an entire fountain out of solid silicon specifically because he said she couldn't do it (he actually said shouldn't but screw him (not literally cousin oh my valar))

but yeah. their relationship grows an undercurrent of the-only-one-allowed-to-push-around-my-archnemesis-is-me, and they find themselves fighting back to back (occasionally literally) when tirion guild politics takes a turn for the tirion guild politics. they just slowly come to trust each other, more than anyone else, and soon there comes an appropriately dramatic moment for them to suddenly kiss. they're still always trying to out-craftself each other, celebrimbor grows up in a house that's about 70% forge to the background noise of his parents insulting each other's work, but they're comfortable with each other in a way neither of them could have imagined in the early days, and when things get rough they always have each other's backs

things do, in fact, get rough. maglor won't meet his wife until beleriand, caranthir's relationship with his spouse slowly falls apart along with the political situation in tirion, but curufin's wife is loudly team fëanor. she suffers from an acute case of finwean spouse disease, she thinks going to middle-earth to build their own world is an awesome idea, she's deeply embedded in the tirion artisan scene with an entire social circle as think the same way, and when the inevitable civil war flares up she'll probably be even more eager to fight the fingolfinians than her husband. she goes with him and their-still-pretty young son to formenos, and when the trees get eaten and fëanor does the speech she prepares for the adventure of a lifetime

then, alqualondë. i stand by my conviction that nobody on the noldorin side walked in planning to steal the boats, let alone murder the teleri, but it was dark and the world was ending and everybody had sharp things. like everybody else involved in the first kinslaying, curufin and wife got caught up in the battle because somebody shouted 'they're attacking us!' in the distance. she is at first more trying to stop them from stabbing her, obsidian fishing spears glancing off ornamental steel, but then she lashes out and she hits someone in the chest and -

there was this recurring trope in her and her husband’s endless mutual critique. she’d create something beautiful, artfully devised and elegantly constructed, showing off a whole ton of design principles and doing things with the material no one had ever done. he would look at it skeptically and go ‘okay, but what use is it? what is it for?’

red liquid running down the fuller of the exquisite sword she forged herself, light guttering out of another elf’s eyes as he coughs up blood, she knows, sure as once were the light of the trees, what the piece of metal in her hands is for

the next few moments are a blur. she threw the sword into the water, she knows that. somehow she wound up running out of alqualondë, tears streaming down her face, as buildings burned and people screamed behind her. she found a concealed spot by the road, tore off her armour, peeked outside, and watched. when the fires were dying down and the boats were clearly gone, she mustered her courage and went to save her family

in the centuries to come, very few people believe celebrimbor when he tells them his mother tried to get his father to come back by, among other things, appealing to his better nature. nobody believes that it almost worked. but curufin was still only starting out on the road to hellbeastery, and his wife was his eternal partner-in-crime. right there at the beginning, staring out over a burning city, she saw where the road the noldor were walking would eventually lead them, no matter how much they tried to deny it. no dreams could be worth that, she told him. no ideals. and she was always the idealist, wasn’t she?

she was. maybe that’s why he, who had so very few ideals to mark his path, refused to abandon this one. their discussion rapidly devolved into a screaming argument half the camp could hear, much like curufin’s last argument with celebrimbor, centuries later. soon enough, though, it became clear that he wouldn’t turn back, and she refused to go on, and neither of them could change the other’s minds. the only thing left between them was celebrimbor

celebrimbor was eight (-ish in elf years), and completely freaked out, and eight, and knew almost nothing about what was going on, and eight, and had grown up listening to his grandfather’s dreams, and eight, and was surrounded by adults who very loudly thought going to middle-earth would solve all their problems, and eight, and couldn’t tell why his mother was abandoning them. panicking, on the spot, he buried his face in curufin’s smock to wipe away his tears. when he looked up, she was gone

so yeah, curufin’s wife went back with finarfin, that’s why she didn’t go to middle-earth. she initially stayed with nerdanel because almost everyone else on both sides of her extended family remained by (and later burned) the boats, i’m only just realising the horrible curufin argument probably wasn’t even the only one she went through that night, jeez. also she really needed a hug. the sun rose, alqualondë started rebuilding, and she ended up head of her and her husband’s former mutual craft guild, mostly because nobody else with the skills to do it was left. decades turn to centuries, news slowly filters back from beleriand, and her worst nightmares are proven so awfully right

probably the biggest emotion she feels towards curufin in the aftermath is betrayal. they were partners, in every sense of the word, they took on the world and they did it together, using their constant competition to drive each other to ever greater heights. they listened to each other, they trusted each other’s judgement, and she knows he understood the point she was making. him continuing on anyway, and diving face-first into the void - the elf she thought she knew would never have done that. as time passes by, the grief and the loneliness get subsumed by a deep abiding rage. if she ever sees the thing her husband let himself become again, she’ll throw a welding torch in his face

but that anger, that heartbreak, none of that applies to her son. when the hosts of valinor began gearing up for war - she’s the leader of tirion’s most prominent metalworking guild, she can’t not go. while they’re unloading supplies and siege equipment and stuff onto the isle of balar, she happens to pass by this relatively short dusky-skinned noldo hauling some smithing equipment about. as soon as he gets a proper look at her, he gasps. she looks back in confusion, and then she meets his eyes

later, she’ll hear his tales of his adventures in the hither lands, all of the hardships, yes, but also all of the brilliance. later, she’ll learn about the person he’s grown into, someone she can be unreservedly proud of in his choices and works. later, they’ll talk about the future, about his ambitions of making his grandfather’s dream come true, but with open hands and a light to be shared with all the peoples of middle-earth. for now, though, she wraps celebrimbor in a massive hug, and lets the tears flow down her face, because no matter how much they’ve lost, no matter how deep the darkness around them, right here and now, her son is alive

#my terrible ocs #ask #minkasartyplace #curufin #celebrimbor #assorted textual ghosts #noldor #look with all the shit that's gonna happen to tyelpe the least he deserves is a hug from his mum #i was gonna write that he ~never saw her again but then i realised there's no way she wouldn't join up with the war of wrath army #she was aware of the possibility that the nargothrond thing was a front and he'd been as corrupted as his father #she was studiously ignoring that possibility until if and when it became relevant #which it didn't #i feel like seeing the person celebrimbor became softens her opinion on the exiles #probably makes up with some members of her own family #anyone who's involved in the later kinslayings is still bad people though #she glosses 'feanorian minions' as 'target practice'#she's a reasonably prominent leader of the noldor what stayed behind #specially the ones who would have been feanorians if they'd gone #which is a proportion of the population that shrinks and shrinks as the ages roll on. by the third age she's middle tirion's craft granny #in the kidnap-dads-all-the-way-down au she's perfectly happy to mother celebrimbor's sisters #sometimes i think about making her part-telerin but i feel that undermines her choice after alqualonde #half wanna write an au where baby tyelpe stays with her now #jk i do not have the time #but i had a lot more to say about her than i expected. thanks for asking!

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knives-and-lint · 3 years

Text

Ah, honey honey

There's a sign on the door, asking that you press the button rather than knock. One that looks like a regular doorbell, but Nancy guesses they must have some kind of setup where the Captain can be made aware there's a caller, rather than rely on his wife and son to inform him constantly.

Nancy has yet to meet Ace's mother, their paths never quite crossing over the course of her handful of visits to the house, so she's jolted momentarily by the woman in question answering the door.

“H-hi,” she stutters, then quickly clears her throat. “I'm-”

“Nancy Drew,” the woman finishes with a smile. “At last we meet.”

A slow smile forms on Nancy's lips to match, very much reminded of her own mother who is not really but dead just the same, and my god this is not the time to delve into that while standing awkwardly on the porch with a stupid grin plastered on her face.

Ace's mom waits patiently for a reply, with a calm but expectant expression.

“Yes,” Nancy continues. “At last.”

For a beat they simply look at each other.

“Sorry to push past the formalities,” Nancy forges on. “But is Ace here? I tried calling, but he's not answering his phone.”

The woman nods with this information.

“Oh, he never keeps it on him while he's attending to the bees.”

Nancy's head tilts, not quite sure she'd heard correctly.

“I'm sorry, the what?”

Ace's mom doesn't elaborate at first, but does step aside waving Nancy into the house, and promptly closes the door behind them. She then follows as the older woman guides her toward the kitchen, where Nancy tries to clarify.

“For a second I thought you said he was tending to the bees.”

A playful look comes across the woman's face.

“Oh no, I did say that,” she assures with a grin. “If you take a look out the window there, you can see him.”

Nancy does exactly that, and sees her friend outfitted in typical beekeeping gear, complete with smoker. He's standing between two of three hives, lifting the lid from one, and pulling out what looks like a good sized square of honeycomb.

“Ace is a beekeeper?” she asks, more to herself but still loud enough to warrant a response.

“Since middle school,” his mother informs. “Found a book on it at the library and somehow convinced his father and I to let him try his hand at it.”

Nancy shakes her head and chuckles softly to herself. This is really no different than any of the random interests she discovers he 's into over the course of their friendship. And yet, with a few of the others, she can't help to be slightly baffled he partakes in whatever they may be.

“You can go out there,” his mother goes on. “Just keep a safe distance.”

Nancy glances back at the woman, who points at the sliding glass door beyond the dining table, with another friendly grin.

“Okay,” she accepts, moving toward the door. “Thanks.”

Ace doesn't notice the door open, though Nancy is sure she's within his peripheral vision, and walks slowly across the lawn toward him.

“You might want to stop there,” he advises, once she's just a few feet away, but is concentrating on the task at hand rather than shifting toward her. “This one has the Queen inside, and the drones can get a little jumpy.”

Nancy knows she is making a face, because seriously, how can one person be so continually dumbfounding?

“You never mentioned this before,” she states, offering a hand to his getup.

He gives a hum of agreement, and she can see the smirk of his face clearly through the protective veil.

“The fine art of apiculture feels a little misplaced between mystery solving and ghost hunting,” he gives. “And not a topic that regularly comes up in conversation.”

Nancy can't argue with that, watching as he carefully inspects another sheet of honeycomb, before carefully setting it back into the hive.

“What brings you by?” he asks, once its slid firmly back into place.

“You weren't answering my texts,” she responds. “Or calls.”

Ace glaces at her, and at the very least, appears apologetic.

“My bad,” he concedes. “I leave it in the house while I'm tending. Text alerts and ringtones can anger them.”

“Okay boomers,” Nancy teases, then immediately winces at the bad joke.

Ace doesn't laugh, but does shake his giant protective bonnet covered head in amusement.

“I assume crime is afoot?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Nancy concurs. “George got a tip on the Baker case from a customer at the Claw, and we need everyone to saddle up.”

“Right,” he agrees, that bonnet shaking again with his nod. “I'm on it. But I need to you do something for me first.”

Nancy waits curiously for him to clarify, and when offered a fresh piece of honeycomb, almost doesn't take it as a few bees begin to buzz around.

“They won't sting you,” Ace assures.

Still Nancy hesitates.

“Trust me.”

Taking the comb from him she lifts it to her mouth, balks another second, before finally nibbling off a piece. The raw sweetness is like nothing she's ever tasted before, mumbling 'oh my god' as the honey coats her tongue, while Ace smiles widely at her.

“Pretty good, right?”

#Nace #nancy x ace #drabble #cw nancy drew

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ljf613 · 4 years

Text

Zutara in the Earth Kingdom

Let me start by saying that, first off, I’m more of a Kataang shipper than a Zutara one. There are several reasons for this, including (but not limited to) a) I generally prefer canonical ships, and, b) I think it’s important that Zuko left his father to join Aang because he truly believed it was the right thing to do and not just because he had a crush on a pretty blue-eyed girl. (And if I were to ship Zuko with someone from Team Avatar, it’d be Toph, not Katara.)

However, while I don’t write it, I have no opposition to reading some well-written Zutara.

And, in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve discovered a Zutara trope I’d never heard of, but am now really into. Namely, that Zuko and Katara are a married couple living a peaceful life in the Earth Kingdom (typically Ba Sing Se, since, you know, there is no war in Ba Sing Se or whatever), probably with a coiuple of adorable steambabies, away from all the chaos in their pasts-- until the war comes dragging them back in. (Bonus points if there’s Dai Li brainwashing involved.)

I’ve seen four fics that involve this:

Yesteryear: (Season 2 divergent. Complete.) When her husband Lee is captured by Fire Nation soldiers, Tara leaves their village to find him. Meanwhile, Lee is stuck in the Fire Palace, where everyone (including the deluded old Fire Lord who calls him “Nephew”) is acting like he’s the long-lost Fire Prince. He just wants to go home.

Hopeless: (Alternate Season 3. Complete.) After being separated from Aang and her brother, Katara made her way to Ba Sing Se with Zuko. A year and a half later, the city falls, and she finally reunites with them, infant son in tow. Meanwhile, Zuko is back in the Fire Nation, wondering whether he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.

It Must Follow, As Night the Day by @catie-does-things: (Season 2 divergent. In-progress.) Six years after Katara goes missing, Aang returns to Ba Sing Se to search for her-- and, if possible, Fire Lord Iroh’s missing nephew. He certainly doesn’t expect to find them together. Even more shocking, neither of them seem to know him-- or their own names.

we walk a fragile line (also avaliable on fanfiction.net) by @antarcticasx: (Post-canon, war was lost during Sozin’s comet. Complete.) After the war, Zuko and Katara were the only ones left. They fled to Ba Sin Se, where they’ve spent the past fifteen years in hiding. Unfortunately, their oldest child does not appreciate having to hide his firebending, or all the lies and secrecy surrounding his parents, and decides to forge his own path. This does not go very well.

If anyone knows of any other fics that use this trope, please let me know!

#avatar the last airbender #fic rec #recommended reading #zutara #zuko #katara #steambabies #earth kingdom #ba sing se #there is no war in ba sing se #quiet life #until it isn't #ao3 #fanfiction.net

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ladyfogg · 4 years

Text

May I? - 1/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

A/N: Hey guys! I have this fic posted over on AO3 already but thought I’d post it here as well. Currently there are 12 chapters. This fic is ongoing and while I have a clear arc/story in the works, I haven’t decided when it will end. I’m just kind of going with it. This story has been my support fic throughout this whole fucking quarantine mess and I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it. I’ll be posting all the chapters so far throughout the week.

It may seem that everyday something happens aboard the Enterprise. It was almost like every week it was an invasion, a messy political shift, a weird time distortion loop, hostile negotiations...the list went on and on. However, in reality, there was a lot of time when nothing happened. When the ship glided through space effortlessly and the crew fell into a steady routine. Occasionally, they stopped at a planet to gather samples or map it. But other than that, all was quiet.

It was on one of those routine days that Data found himself in Engineering, helping Geordi with several re-calibrations. They were minor modifications the two had wanted to implement for some time yet had not been able to.

All had gone according to plan and they were in the process of completing their work when Geordi stood up straight, a triumphant smile on his face.

"All set," he declared. "The conductors are functioning five-percent higher than normal. We should run a level one diagnostic just to be sure but there shouldn't be any issues."

"I agree. Readings are well within standard parameters," Data concluded, fingers dancing across the console.

"I asked Diaz to do a manual sweep just to be sure," Geordi said. "I haven't heard from her yet but it doesn't seem like anything is out of place." He tapped his communicator. "La Forge to Ensign Diaz, what's the status of your sweep?"

Geordi waited for a response but one did not come. He tapped his communicator again. "Ensign Diaz, report!"

Nothing.

Data had only known Ensign Diaz in passing but he recalled Geordi's increasing frustration with the new crew member. She did not seem to have the same level of skills as some of her fellow engineers and her behavior had been less than exemplary.

"Where is she?" Geordi muttered. "Computer, locate Ensign Diaz."

" Ensign Diaz is located in Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Now what the hell is she doing in there?" Geordi said with exasperation. "And why isn't she answering?"

Data cocked his head as he ran through all possible scenarios. "I have calculated two hundred and thirty possible reasons for Ensign Diaz's behavior. One, she found a structural issue that she decided to correct. Two, one of the conductors may be showing signs of stress the computer cannot detect. Three—"

"Thanks, Data. I get it," Geordi cut him off. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm going to find out what's going on."

He had barely taken a step away from the console when his own communicator beeped. "Riker to La Forge, meet me in Transporter Room One. Prepare to beam to the planet's surface."

Geordi sighed but responded, "Aye, Commander. On my way."

Data saw Geordi glance in the direction Ensign Diaz had gone. "I am not required on the Bridge until oh-eight hundred hours. I can locate Ensign Diaz for you," he offered.

Geordi looked relieved and gave his best friend a smile. "That'd be great, thanks, Data. I'll be back as soon as I can." He gave him a pat on the back as he walked by.

Data finished his work a second later before heading to the tubes. He found one of them already open and climbed inside.

He did not see any signs of the ensign so he proceeded forward.

"Ensign Diaz?" he called, his voice echoing off the metallic walks around him.

He came across her communicator a short distance away, sitting at the bottom of a ladder. Frowning, Data picked it up and examined it. It did not look damaged and a quick diagnostic revealed it was in working order. He continued his search.

When he climbed the ladder, he was met with the sight of Ensign Diaz, deeply engrossed in one of the panels on the wall.

"Ensign Diaz?" he asked.

She spun around in surprise. Once she realized who spoke, she tried to straighten up, though it was difficult in such a tight space.

"Commander Data! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Data held up her communicator. "I found this in the shaft behind us. I believe it is yours."

Diaz touched the spot on her uniform where it should have been as if she had not known it was missing.

"Thank you. It must have slipped off when I was climbing." She took it from him, pinning it back in place.

"Why are you in the tubes? Commander La Forge asked me to find you. He said you were told to do a manual sweep."

"I was a-and I did," Diaz stuttered, tucking a loose strand of dark hair back into her braid. "While I was doing so, I noticed one of the panels was out of alignment. Physically. I-I tried to correct it. It wouldn't budge so I decided to try to get it from the other side."

"I see." Data moved forward to check her work. Sure enough, he could see where the unit was off-center. "Most curious. That should not be possible."

"That's what I thought. But I can't seem to get it back into place."

Data knew what was going to happen before it did. Yet even with his quick reflexes, he was not able to prevent the accident.

Diaz did not have a proper grip on the part when she tugged on it. She had been perspiring and as a result, her hands slipped. The momentum sent her forward, where she smashed her head on the metal edge of the unit.

She screamed in pain, hand pressed to the spot as Data pulled her away. "Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed.

"Are you alright?" Data asked.

"Aside from seeing stars, I think so. Let's just fix the stupid thing and get out of here."

"I will handle it." Data carefully released Diaz, letting her rest against the tube wall while he took her place. Within seconds he fixed the situation, securing the unit into its proper position before determining it was in perfect working condition.

"My readings indicate everything is in working order," he said as he moved his tricorder over the unit. "Good work, Ensign."

"Thanks," Diaz said, removing her hand from her head.

Data looked at her, only to realize her forehead was smeared with blood.

"Ensign Diaz, you are bleeding."

"What? No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I believe you injured yourself when you hit your head."

"It's not that…" She looked at her hand, the color draining from her face when she saw blood on her palm. "...bad."

Data put his recorder in his pocket and made a move to tap his communicator but she stopped him.

"No, wait! Don't!"

"Ensign, you are bleeding. I must contact sickbay."

"Honestly, I'm okay. I just need something to wipe up the blood. I'll be fine."

"I insist."

Diaz sighed and Data noted her eyes looked glossy. He wondered if the injury was more severe than she was letting on.

"Let's at least get out of this stupid tube," she said. "I promise I'll walk there myself."

"That would be acceptable. As a precaution, I will accompany you to Dr. Crusher."

He motioned for her to move ahead and the pair began to backtrack. It was slow work as Diaz was careful not to leave a trail of bloody handprints in their path. When it came time to climb the ladder, Data insisted on going first so he could monitor her in case she needed help.

He kept his eyes on Diaz, looking for any signs of distress while she descended. He noted her balance was unsteady. She rocked slightly and had to pause several times. During one of those times, she shut her eyes, arms wrapped around the rung in front of her.

"Ensign Diaz—"

"Please, call me, Faith. I never liked formal titles very much."

"As you wish. Faith, are you experiencing dizziness?"

"Sir, I'm fine."

Data found himself making a noise of disbelief. "No. You are not."

Faith cracked her eyes open, glancing down at him and Data saw her arms trembling as she tried to keep herself up. "Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I think I might pass out."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her grip loosened, sending her tumbling off the ladder. For the second time, Data caught her in his arms. Quickly he tapped his communicator.

"Data to Transporter Room Two. I need immediate transport for two to sickbay. Current location Jefferies Tube 42B."

"Aye, Commander!" O'Brien's voice answered. "I'll have you there in a jiff."

A second later, Data found himself standing in the middle of sickbay, Faith's limp body in his arms. Dr. Crusher whirled around, eyes widening when she saw them.

In an instant she was at their side, scanning Faith. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Faith hit her head. She became weak and lost consciousness."

"How long ago?"

"The injury took place approximately ten minutes ago. She has been unconscious for thirty seconds."

"Data, get her up on the bed for me."

As he carried her across the room, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ugh, where am I?"

"You are in sickbay," he answered, gently lowering her down onto one of the beds.

"What happened?"

"Do you not remember hitting your head?"

Faith's eyes closed and she swallowed thickly, her head lolling from side to side. "It's all fuzzy." She grew still again.

"Faith? It's Dr. Crusher. I need you to open your eyes again. Can you do that for me?" When there was no answer, Beverly injected Faith with something while handing Data a towel. "Data, press this to her wound while I get my dermal regenerator. We have to stop the bleeding."

"Yes, Doctor."

Data did as he was told, pushing Faith's bangs back from her face so he could see the wound properly. It was deeper than he initially noticed. He pressed the towel to it, noting how much paler she had become in such a short period of time.

Beverly reappeared a moment later. He stepped aside so she could work, watching with rapt attention as she peeled the towel away before spraying the wound with antibacterial ointment. Once it was clean, she carefully sealed up the wound, leaving nothing but smeared blood in its place.

"That's done at least," she muttered to herself. She picked up her tricorder and resumed scanning the young woman.

"Will Faith be alright, Doctor?"

"She should be. According to my readings, she has a concussion. I recommend she be taken off duty for the time being."

"A smart recommendation."

Beverly finished scanning Faith, but this time her mouth deepened into a frown. "Hmm…" She scanned her again.

"Is something wrong?" Data asked.

It took a moment for the doctor to acknowledge his question. When she did, Beverly gave him a tight smile. "Nothing you need to worry about. Thank you for your help, Data. I can take it from here. You're free to go."

"I have already created a formal report of the accident. I will send it to you now for your records."

"That'd be great, thanks. And I'll let Geordi know not to expect Faith for a few days."

"Excellent. Have a good day, Doctor."

Data took his leave, but something came over him and made him pause, turning to look back. Faith was still unconscious and Dr. Crusher was staring at her as if deep in thought. Her expression was one Data had come to associate with that of concern.

However, he had duties to attend to. So he left sickbay and filed the incident for later review.

#data soong #commander data #lt commander data #data tng #star trek next generation

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dragonloverdoran · 5 years

Text

Struck to the Bone

~2k words, mentions of violence, smol Lief

There are ghosts in Del.

By now, Endon has lost count of the times he has caught a glimpse of familiar palace folk within the city's crowds: a shock of orange hair just like Lady Elisa’s, perhaps, or Captain Jessop’s crooked nose, or Min’s kindly smile.

Oh, he knows they cannot be real. Sharn never notices any of it, and she is much sharper than he is. Barda says that whoever he sees must be distant relatives at best. Neither of them ever manage to hide their concerned looks quite well enough.

Besides, in his dreams he watches his people sprawled out on the palace tiles, life draining out of them in rivers of red. He sees their shattered tools and instruments and weapons, and he hears their desperate warnings to a king who has already abandoned them. It is only when the warnings turn to curses that he can awake, a weight in his heart telling him his dreams are true to the bitter end.

In this way, he reminds himself that these ghosts are nothing more than illusions, mere tricks of a guilty mind. It doesn’t stop them in the least.

An execution, the Grey Guards shout, their fists thundering against the forgehouse door. Come to the palace to witness our first midwinter execution! Entertainment for all the family!

A chill seeps into Endon's soul. Braced against the other side of the door, he waits until the raucous laughter fades down the street, reaching for his coat only when he is sure the Guards will not batter down the timbers. Sharn has already passed Lief his thick jacket and a knitted hat.

Once the boy is bundled up, Endon places his hands on his son's shoulders. “Listen closely, Lief,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. If he panics, he cannot expect his son to stay calm either. “You have grown much since the last execution. You are now tall enough to be able to see the event without being on my shoulders. That means you must stand on your own, near the front, and the Grey Guards will hold you responsible if you happen to catch their eye.”

The words taste like ash in Endon’s mouth. No child should have to be told such things; no child should even know of the kind of evil that the Grey Guards wreak in the heart of the city. But having spent all nine years of his life under the reign of the Shadow Lord, Lief is already far too familiar with the process of public execution. He nods solemnly.

“Do you remember the rules?” asks Endon.

Lief begins to fidget. “Keep your head down,” he murmurs. “Face the platform. Stay silent, no matter what you see.”

Three simple rules. Not unlike the ones in the forge, which Lief can rattle off with the speed of an auctioneer, and which are just as vital in keeping him safe. Endon breathes a sigh of relief and releases the boy.

But after he takes the keys off the hook, Endon turns to see Lief’s cheeks flushed red, words tumbling out as quick and sudden as the tears in his eyes. “Father, I’m going to bring Monty along. I know I’m too old to play with him and he’s balding and needs repairs and I should have fixed him up ages ago, but no one will see, and no, I’m not going to say why I need him and I don’t care what you think about it.” Lief folds his arms, mouth turned sharply downward.

Endon pauses, not knowing how to reply. What has he done, he wonders, to make Lief think he would disapprove of a child’s fear, especially now? He wants to tell him that he is the last person who can demand bravery, but speaking of that would not help at all. Instead, he kneels down and embraces his son.

While Lief weeps into his collar, Endon looks around for Monty. A charming little thing despite its loose threads and rough patches, the toy kin has never been too far away. Sharn, ever-knowing, disappears into the bedroom, emerging a few seconds later with Monty in hand. Letting go of his father, Lief snatches up the furry creature and stuffs it awkwardly into his pocket, his cheeks still burning.

Sharn tuts gently, sounding almost calm. Endon knows better. Her rueful smile is tight, and as she does up her coat buttons he can see how white her knuckles are. He has learnt long ago that if his strong, courageous wife is afraid, then he has no chance at keeping the fear at bay.

“Soon it will be over,” he says.

It is all the comfort he can offer. This time, he cannot keep the crack out of his voice.

In happier, more ignorant times, the stretch between the palace’s great hall and the garden wall was known as the Place of Peace. Magnificent feasts and parties had been held there every other month, weather permitting. Jesters and musicians brought laughter and joy to all in attendance, surrounded by candles so plentiful that it had seemed as though he and Sharn danced among the stars.

Now, as they enter the Place of Punishment, he clutches at her hand once again. Truth be told, it is a far more apt name than the old one, for the word “peace” is a poor substitution for “easy manipulation of a foolish king”. The high platform that now stands before the people of Del makes no such pretenses about its nature. Adorned with rows of fang-like stakes, previous executions have patterned its wooden slats with layers of red-brown spatter. Bones old and new are strewn around the square, fragments crunching underfoot like gravel. Above it all, the Shadow Lord’s red mark flies high in the sickly air.

“If a tick is tall enough to gawk, they’re tall enough to squawk,” chortles a Grey Guard as they pass. “Hear that, Teak 7? Came up with that one myself. I sure hope someone refuses to watch the show.” He hefts a gigantic club in one hand, and Endon quickly averts his eyes.

All too soon, they are pressed against the backs of the crowd gathering at the foot of the platform. Endon takes a peek at Lief. The boy’s jaw is set, and he has a vice-like grip on Monty, hidden within his pocket. True to the rules, he stares straight ahead before pushing forward and disappearing into the crowd. Beside him, Endon feels Sharn squeeze his hand twice. Our son. She too has seen him go.

Endon recognises neither the names nor the faces of the condemned. For others, perhaps, that could make it a little easier to watch the agonising deaths unfolding in front of them. They are able to believe that this cannot happen to them, as long as they keep their consciences clean and sufferings silent. It is too late for him. His people are here because of his failures, and a part of him goes with every poor soul slaughtered in his place.

Soon after the executions are complete, a tug at his sleeve announces Lief’s return. The poor boy looks about as ready to faint as Endon feels. “Mother, Father,” he whispers, “I dropped Monty somewhere near the front. I’m going back to get him, but you have to come with me. Please?”

Startled, Endon turns to Sharn.

“Well, let's go,” she says quietly, her mouth forming into a thin line. “Even the Guards have had their bloodlust sated for today.”

She is right, as always. Most of the Guards are busy directing cleanup and traffic. The rest are clumped in groups, discussing the details of the killings with schoolboy enthusiasm. Either way, none of them are paying real attention to the citizens, who are leaving as eagerly as they dare. He glances at Sharn again. She nods, so he takes a deep breath and follows their son.

Pushing through the throng, Endon cannot help but feel like a fish swimming upstream through the River Del. Where Lief is able to squeeze between people with ease, and Sharn with only a little more effort, he is jostled left and right, his bulk hampering his progress. Using more force, he quickly finds, does nothing but yield him angry looks. With every second that passes, the others get further and further away.

He is midway through his umpteenth apology when a peculiar stillness draws his eye. A few paces away, the crowd ebbs and swirls around a lone man, standing nearly a span taller than his neighbours. His nose and mouth are covered with a dull green scarf, and a pale scar winds its way across his cheek from beneath the cloth. Where most have their heads bowed, his is held high and proud, the dark hair tangling about his shoulders his only sign of motion.

Endon blinks, half expecting the man to be seized before his eyes. Armed or not, boldness such as this is beyond foolish. Surely it was obvious that attracting attention here would be rewarded violently, yet the man makes no attempt to blend in. Still, there is something else odd about this man that gives him pause, a half-formed thought evaporating before Endon can properly seize hold of it. His chest tightens. Whatever he has forgotten, it is important. Trying to regain his line of thought, he finds himself pushing closer. At the very least, he should warn him of the danger.

The stranger, Endon surmises, is some kind of seasonal traveller. Besides the ill-informed attitude, the cut and fabric of his clothes are better suited to some thorny path than Del’s cobbled streets. Beneath the dense cloak, the man’s frame is as lean and strong as Endon’s own- fitness greater than the city’s hunger often allows. From this distance, he can guess at the features behind the scarf; a couple of steps more and he can speak to him, even reach out and touch him.

And then Endon looks at the stranger’s eyes, and he thinks better of it. Dread darting suddenly through his nerves, he sees that there is neither touristic curiosity, nor sadness, nor even fear within them. Nothing but fury, bright and savage, fixated on the Guards as though they could combust with a stare.

He had been mistaken. This was not the madness of ignorance, but of hate: all-consuming hate, hate that mattered more than love of home, of family, of life itself. Endon had felt echoes of it himself ever since the world ended nearly ten years ago. It was agonising and self-destructive, he knew, but it filled the void left when it seemed all else had been torn away. And even he had been fortunate, for whatever had befallen this man, there was nobody beside him to keep him grounded, as Sharn and Lief did. Nobody to tell him what had happened to the pottery workers, who had been possessed by the same feeling not too long ago. Nobody to prevent him from being a danger to himself and others, a spark waiting to set the forest around him alight.

Endon is backing away when the half-formed recognition returns to him complete. It is as good as a punch to the gut; in an instant, it buckles his knees and squeezes all the air out of his chest. No, it cannot be, he thinks numbly. No, he has never loved anyone who could possibly muster such rage. But, try as he might, he cannot deny that that hair, that build, that proud, stubborn stance, that curve of the nose and those dark, dark eyes are so very much like…

The dear name is on Endon’s lips before he remembers that it is he who wears it now. Heart thudding, he chokes it back. Calling out his own name in the Place of Punishment- what an absurdly stupid way to ensure the Shadow Lord’s eternal rule. He should know by now he cannot trust his own sight, not when it comes to those who had misguidedly cared for the king he had been. But of all the visions he had seen, this one was not so impossible, was it?

Trying to still his racing thoughts, he shuts his eyes and begins to count silently to ten.

“Jarred?”

Endon jolts at Sharn’s voice. The square is clearing, and for a moment he thinks she has seen the man too. But the stranger-who-was-not-a-stranger has vanished, and it is himself that she gazes worriedly at. Without another word, she loops her arm around him, steadying him as she has so many times before. Lief stands nervously behind her, clutching a dusty Monty like a long-lost friend.

Suddenly exhausted, Endon shakes his head and lets it drop.

“I promise I won't lose him again,” mumbles Lief, misunderstanding. He does not take his eyes off his beloved kin.

Endon swallows, trying to push away memories of similar promises he had made and broken a lifetime ago. “I am sure you will not,” he says, and takes Lief’s free hand in his own.

#deltora quest #endon #sharn #lief #my fic #this is pretty angsty but hopefully at least slightly cute too #sir that's my emotional support toy kin #this has been in my drafts for literal years so while it's not perfect i am DONE with it for now #i can't believe lief saw all this execution nonsense and still hung about after curfew in his teens #the absolute madman #i didn't even include the canonical rotting corpse decorations in here

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fernwehbookworm · 5 years

Text

Knight of Kandor- Chapter 12

My entire body hurt. The chain mail and plate chaffed against the still open wounds of my back and stomach. Three days of travel on foot wore at me. I decided to finally stop in a small town to stay in an Inn instead of on the side of the road. It is a small two-story building. The entrance leads to a low ceiling tavern that is filled with towns folks drinking after a hard day of labor. The room quiets a little at my entrance, no doubt very few strangers passed through such an out of the way town. I was taking an indirect route to the border just in case the queen decided to have me killed anyway.

I place a couple copper coins on the bar to get the attention of the portly man behind it. He is carefully cleaning it, no doubt having spent most his life in this place and proud of what he built. He eyes me as he wraps up his conversation with the man across from him before making his way to me at the end.

"What can I get for you son?" I almost roll my eyes, I guess I was not quite Kara yet. It was safer to be a man while alone so I do not correct him.

"A room and a hot meal. Just for the night."

"What brings you here? Most people don't travel so far from the Queen's road."

"Moving."

"You don't look like someone moving."

"I am starting over." The man gives me a knowing look.

"Ahh, some pretty lady broke your heart." A faint smile plays on my lips.

"You could say that." He looks confused at my wistful smile but it was almost a joke to me. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen broke my heart and all because I was born a woman instead of a man.

"Very well lad. Would you like to eat here or in your room?" I consider that. I wanted to drink too to ease the constant throb of my entire body.

"Here is fine. But can someone take my pack to my room? I have been traveling hard for days."

"Boy! Here!" He hollers.

"First door on the right."

A boy around the age of eight or nine scampers up from somewhere. I hand the boy the heavy pack that he staggers under. Before he scampers off I grab his arm and slip a coin into the boys pocket. I put my finger to my lips to quite him. No doubt the man would take it if he knew. The boy scampers up the stairs to the second floor. When I turn back to the bar I see a large mug of ale and a plate of steaming food. I carry it to a corner watch the room. I get a few stares but no one tries to talk to me, thankfully. When my first mug is empty I wave for a refill and tuck into the food. Roasted lamb, mashed potatoes, and a gravy that made my mouth water. The man obviously took great pride in everything he owned. I guess small towns meant that this was one of the only places to eat and drink.

The second ale goes down faster than the first and finally, the constant ache begins to fade. I wave for a third. A lyre player plays in the corner for coin, the notes just barely making it over the din of conversation. A couple serving girls expertly weave through the crowd. A third mug of ale appears in front of me with a smiling face. I almost bite my tongue off to keep from saying Lena's name. The girl has dark hair just like hers, but that is where the similarities end. Her eyes are dark, face a little more round and scared hands of a working girl.

"Hello," she says almost nervously.

"Good evening." I focus on her hair, it frames her face just like Lena's. It is just as long and shines in the faint candlelight.

"Where do you come from, stranger?" My drunken mind barks a laugh before I can stop it.

"Nowhere really. Its been a long time since I called somewhere home." I see interest spark in her eyes. She gets up from the bench across from me and sits in the small space next to me, forcing me to slide over a bit. She sits so close that only my plate mail separates our skin.

"Sounds lonely." Her eyes fixate on mine and in the near darkness of the room I can almost pretend they are Lena's.

"It wasn't for a brief time. Now I am alone again." The girl leans in closer. This was a mistake.

"Brief is better than nothing." Her breath hits my lips as she sighs out the words.

He lips meet mine sloppily, not with the elegance of Lena's. Still, I pretend. I pretend the hair I wrap in my fingers is hers. The hands pressed to my neck are hers. Somehow she pulls me from the bench and through the crowd. We go up the stairs and stop outside my room. The girl presses me against the wall and meets my lips again. Suddenly how this would play out explodes into my mind. I was not the mysterious man she thought I was. And this was not Lena. I pull away.

"I'm sorry. I can't"

"Whoever she is she still has your heart." I smile a small smile and trail my fingers down her cheek.

"She never thought to give it back, and I left before she could."

The girl places one more kiss on my lips before disappearing down the steps. I enter my room and wedge the only chair under the handle since it lacked a bolt. I strip naked and attempt to find a comfortable way to sleep, avoiding my back and stomach.

After a few hours of a deep sleep that only a bed can provide, I rise before the sun. Dressing again, I leave a gold coin on the bedside table. More than enough for the room and food, but my coins would be no good once I reached the border. Cadmium had different coins and neither country accepted that of the other. Border towns filled with black markets usually did, melting and forging new coins for whatever direction they needed them. I quietly leave through the empty tavern and walk through the town before the half-light of approaching dawn.

My feet find the path south. Each step carrying me further from Kandor, from Lena. Each day began to blur together. I avoided towns after my mistake in the tavern. Camping, hunting, walking, repeat. I thought of trying to buy a horse but my heart wouldn't let me. I hoped Comet was happy. Hopefully, he would forget about me soon.

It took twice as long to make it to the borderlands as it did to get to Kandor on the horse. Nearly a month had passed and I could feel the cold coming. Days were shortening and leaves on trees were turning colors. I was walking through one of the ramshackle towns built in the ruins of civilization. I carried a small doe over my shoulders, hoping to trade it for Cadmium coins. Dust from fires long since gone swirled at my feet and through the burnt out streets. I followed the pillar of smoke to a man who was selling meat. After much back and forth we settled on a small purse of coins, mostly copper, but some silver was thrown in. He also threw in some cured meat for my travels. As dusk began to fall I tucked my self into the corner of a shell of a hut, sword hilt gripped firmly in my hand. I fell into a shallow sleep, my ears ever listening to approaching sounds.

When the scuffling comes I jump to my feet, sword already out. But someone drops on me from above. I can only glimpse the multiple figures standing over me before something heavy hits my head, knocking me unconscious. When I come to, I have been gagged and bound, stripped to my underclothes and bounce in the back of a wagon. I try to sit up but a boot comes down on my chest. Out of the shadows of the dark covered wagon comes a crooked grin and a foul little man.

"Easy there, pretty lady. You were hard to track. Can't have you getting away again. No doubt the Banished Hero of Argo will get us some good coin." He laughs a greasy laugh.

Suddenly I roll over, the man falls to his face as his leg is taken out from under him. In a swift move, I bunch my legs to my chest then use all my effort to throw them to the ground and my torso upwards. Hoping on my bound legs to the back I can almost see the ground falling away behind the moving cart. A club hits my stomach and I fall to the side, I almost throw up against my gag.

"Not so fast." A large man looms over me, then kicks my stomach for good measure.

The two drag me back into the back of the wagon and bind my hands to my feet, completely hobbling my movements. The two watch me from the corners of their eyes as they settle in a safe distance from me, both now armed. I resign, too tired of fighting, and try to lose consciousness, thankfully my wounds had at least scabbed over. I knew we were headed south, the temperature already rising despite the night.

I woke up in the near darkness. My entire body was sore from bumping along the cart. My head throbbed from where the men knocked me out. My armor was no doubt already sold for gold. Sweat made the dust of the stone floor cling to my skin. Why was Cadmium so hot? I try to push up off the floor but my hands were still bound by the rough ropes behind my back. They must have rebound me and put me here while I was still unconscious. I think I was taking too many blows to the head. I roll over and sit up.

"Look, boys, there's a new lady in the pit." Comes a deep greasy voice.

"Careful, the last lady down here killed three of us." A smaller, weaselly voice.

I blink and my eyes begin to adjust to the half-light pouring in from above. It really was a pit, stone walls rose all the way up, at least ten times what a man could jump. Surprisingly it was clean for the most part. Four other men sat on the other side of the near-perfect circle. One stands and begins to walk towards me. He was a large man, scars covered his face and seemed to spread down his entire torso. At least what I could see through the tattered undershirt that he wore. Quickly I tuck my knees to my chest and roll backward, in the same motion, I bring my arms underneath me. I spring to my feet with my arms now in front of me. The man laughs.

"Oh, she's got some moves. Let's see how well she plays." The shock of she being used pierced into me and reminded me of everything I had lost.

The man pulls a knife from the waistband of the nearly ruined paints. It glints in the faint moonlight. I crouch slightly to be ready. Take down the biggest and the rest would fall in line, a lesson I had to learn early growing up among soldiers. He charged at me and I let him. The fight was quick, he went for my head and I ducked, ramming both my fists into his charging torso. It knocked the wind from him and he staggered backward. Unfortunately, he still held on to the knife. As his one arm pinwheeled to balance himself, I grabbed the wrist of his knife hand and twisted. The move was awkward with my hands still bound but it wrenched his shoulder and caused the scarred man to twist with it.

I jump and manage to wrap my legs around his neck, using his own arm to balance myself. With the extra weight, the man falls backward, my own back hits the ground hard but the knife is still in control. My tightening legs caught off his air. While he struggles to breathe I run the ropes binding my hands against the sharp blade. They part with little effort and I take the blade from him with even less. Once freed, I roll backward and spring to my feet. Before the man can stand I am back on his chest, knife pressed under his chin. I press just hard enough to see a small drop of blood run against the steel.

"Can we be done now. I have had a hard few days. Or would someone else like to try?" I direct the last part to the other men who had half risen. They seemed to think better and sit back down.

"Now where am I?" I question the man under me.

"The Pit." I roll my eyes.

"Obviously. But where is that?"

"The heart of Cadmium. Daxam, the capital city." My blood runs cold. I was deep in enemy territory.

"What is the purpose of the Pit?" I ask, still keeping the knife firmly to the man's throat.

"To contain the most dangerous fighters, well those who are not willingly participating."

"Fighters? For what?"

"The fighting pits. Damn, are you thick? Do you know nothing?"

"I am Kryptonian. We have no such thing as this." The man actually rolls his eyes with a knife to his throat.

"Well then know this, you fight to survive. They will come for us in the morning. Get ready for the rest of your hellish life. The last girl didn't come back after her first week. Can I have my knife back?"

"No, I think I'll keep it. After all, you were irresponsible enough to lose it."

The night is long. In the morning, food rains down on us. Partially rotten fruit, stale bread, and several water skins. Quickly I scoop up my own skin, an apple in good condition and a loaf. I brandish the knife to keep the others back. The men quarrel over what little is left before settling down. I tuck the knife in my boot and pull the pant leg over the hilt. Luckily my captors let me keep that much. The light shift rubs against the still healing scars on my back, the lashes had cut deep but at least I was able to keep my life. The pain brings Lena's face to my mind's eye, the hurt and betrayal written all over it. She may not have given the order, but she did not stop it. Still, my heart yearned to return to her side and protect her.

Before the sun is too high in the sky, shadows appear over the hole. I look up to find the opening ringed with archers, bows drawn taught. A rope ladder is lowered over the edge, the men line up at it and begin to climb one at a time. I get in line last, right behind the scared man.

"What is happening?" I ask him.

"The fighting pits are opening soon. We go or get used as a quiver." He nods to all the arrows knocked on bow strings.

"Whats your name?" I ask him, suddenly feeling a need to have someone know mine in case I don't make it back.

"Benjamin Krull." We step forward, clearly only allowed to climb when the person ahead reaches the top.

"Ka...Kara." I almost said Kal, but I won't be needing his name anymore.

"How did you get here?" I asked.

"I tried to assassinate the Prince when his armies burned my village, my wife and I were trapped inside, somehow I lived and she died."

"Oh, I am sorry. My parents died in much the same way, but no one knows whose side it was. We lived in a border village." Benjamin grunts.

"How did you get here?" He asks after a few minutes. I almost laugh.

"That is a longer story. Let's just say I lied to the crown, was lashed, banished, captured, then sold." He actually turns to me and raises what I would assume is an eyebrow but it was long since gone, replaced by scars.

"Damn. Well, you might just survive this then."

And I did. The fighting rings were loud as people jeered and hawked and cheered. Men and women alike placed bets on the winners of each fight. Most of the fighters were there willingly. They got a little bit of profit and food and beds to sleep in at the end of the day. Prisoners did not. From what I could tell, each ring was separate, linked only by underground tunnels where armed guards shuffled us through. Each fight left me bruised and battered. At some point, the wounds on my back reopened. Thankfully I was allowed to have that bandaged.

According to Benjamin, they did not want me to get an infection and die. Prisoners were their most profitable income in the fights. That's why every day while we fought they cleaned out the pit and made sure our wounds were taken care of, well the major ones that did not actually kill us. At the end of the day, we were herded back to the hole in the ground where they kept us. I collapsed and dug up the water skin a had buried this morning, finishing it after a long draft. I push my back against the cool stone of the walls and sleep on my side.

Sometime during the night, I hear soft footsteps that bring my mind to conciseness. A hand is placed by my side and another gently lifts my pant leg. I move like a snake, pulling the knife from my sleeve and jamming it into the hand next to me, pinning it to the ground. My other hand quickly covers the mouth of the man leaning over me to muffle his scream. It is still loud but hopefully won't draw the attention of the guards most likely standing above us.

"Did you think me so foolish not to keep the knife at the ready?" I ask Benjamin. He makes a sound that is neither a yes or a no. Slowly I pull the knife from his hand. Blood flows out of the hole as he cradles it to his chest.

"I have killed more men then I can count, all of them much larger than you. Do not test me again." Benjamin retreats to the other side of the hole, cursing the entire way.

The next morning brought the same routine, food rained down, several small scuffles from the men, then the ladder. I was the last to climb. When I get to the top, the archers had already departed. I stand alone in a walled off courtyard with an armed guard. Something glints in his eye and immediately I am on edge. my fight or flight instincts battle each other while I stand motionless.

"Now what I want to know is how such a pretty girl ended up in such a dirty, dirty place." The man saunters toward me. He is much bigger than I originally thought. My eyes are level with his plain chest plate and he is probably as wide as two of me. This was a man who got what he wanted by sheer force. He lifts a hand and draws a finger down my jawline, instinctively I turn away.

"I could help get you out of here, my beautiful girl. I just need a small favor." He steps even closer. I can feel his manhood pressed against my stomach, already hardening. I swallow.

"Actually I rather like it here. Free food and water, I put those men in their place, and I get to hear crowds calling my name."

"Oh, I can get you all the food you would like, a bed to sleep in, and I could be calling your name." He leans down and whispers in my ear. My flesh prickles at the implications. My hands reach up and grab the top edge of his mail, right at the neck.

"How about.." I trail off as he looks into my eyes.

Suddenly I jerk him forward as I bring my head towards him. The man's nose collides with the top of my head and then I push him staggering back. Blood rushes out of the now clearly broken nose.

"Bitch!" He yells and draws his sword. I draw my own dagger, not that it would be much help. He charges toward me with a wild swing.

Suddenly the man lays sprawled at my feet, I look up at the figure that was standing again, having just tripped the man in his mad charge. Whoever they are, they are shrouded in all black. They walk over and give the man a kick to the head, knocking the dazed man unconscious.

"Thank you... whoever you are," I say to the hooded figure.

"Come with me." says a distinctly feminine voice.

"Who are you?" I ask still unsure even though the women just saved me. She turns back and lowers the hood. Dark red hair is cut short, perfectly framing the sharp features.

"Alexandria Danvers. But you can call me Alex." She disappears in a shadowed doorway, forcing me to follow if I want more answers.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #medieval #knight #au #alex danvers #KoK

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ronan-dreaming · 6 years

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EDIT: updated banner!

Time for some new session notes, including Falón’s reaction to becoming a vampire.

Falón awakes to the sun burning him. He scrambles out of the light with a yelp of pain and wakes Bree, who stares at him in relief. Bree states that he’s alive, and Falón is very confused, insisting that it’s ridiculous that he would’ve been dead at any point.

Once the others are awake (and Finryn is hugging Falón very very tightly), Bree asks him why he screamed, and Falón says he felt like he was on fire. Finryn checks him for a fever and comments on how cold he feels. Chrys asks if Falón feels thirsty, and he replies that he feels a little thirsty... but not a normal thirst, it feels almost like he wants soup.

Chrys comments on how his eyes look different, and when Bree takes a closer look they tell him that now they’re gold. Falón is confused and goes to look in a mirror, only to NOT be able to see himself! He’s understandably startled and asks if there’s something wrong with the mirror, and Bree goes to look as well-- their reflection can be seen, but not Falón’s. Bree asks Chrys about his earlier, thirst-related question, and at his awkwardness and hesitation they whip around and push Falón’s lips up to look at his teeth. Indeed, they get a glimpse of two very sharp looking fangs before he pulls back.

Bluntly, Chrys tells him that he’s a vampire. Falón insists that that’s impossible, and, in a usual stroke of their lack of brilliance, Bree pricks their thumb with a dagger.

Immediately Falón hones in on it and lunges at Bree to suck their blood. Chrys attempts to tackle him to tear him off Bree and succeeds in distracting him, only for Falón to turn his attention to Chrys and chomp him instead.

Bree yells for Finryn’s help and together the two of them restrain Falón against the floor as Chrys faints. Slowly, no longer distracted by the scent or appearance of blood, Falón comes back to himself. Bree confirms he’s okay and they release him before going to wake up Chrys. Falón apologizes and offers to heal Chrys, who hesitantly allows him to.

Interestingly, Falón’s own blood trickles out and glows as if imbued with healing energy, which is not something that’s ever happened before. Chrys is healed but is also successfully creeped out. Abashed, Bree apologized for being so impulsive, and then Falón excuses himself to get washed up so he wouldn’t be covered in blood anymore.

In his distress, he ends up curled up on the washroom floor and cries tears of blood.

After several minutes, Bree goes to check up on him. The two have a conversation about whether or not Falón is a monster. Bree says no, because he didn’t do any of that intentionally and it’s not like he sought out being a vampire. Falón says it might be best and safer for everyone to travel without him, but Bree manages to convince Falón to stick with their group and eventually they head back to the others.

Chrys suggests that Ezra may be able to help because of the whole undead thing being his specialty. We also discuss renting a wagon so we can travel easier (instead of being restricted to night travel and protecting Falón from the sun), and Falón mentions that he wants to visit Mera after the sun sets.

Chrys, Bree, and Zoved head out to find a wagon and an ox. We rent one for about two weeks before heading back to Falón, who stayed in the manor with Finryn. Bree asks if Falón has tried praying, since the Raven King seems to have an eye on him, and Falón replies that he’d rather try at the temple. We’re a little concerned at the thought of him trying to enter sacred ground, but we agree to accompany him.

While we wait for sunset, we rummage through the manor! Yay looting! (this was actually added in later since we’re an awful DnD party and completely forgot to do this, but we have an excellent DM who let us backtrack lmao)

After the sun sets, we head to the Raven King temple. Falón goes to the center again, joined this time by both Bree and Finryn, and begins to pray for guidance. He slumps over, immediately falling asleep, and Bree manages to catch him and supports him while he communes with the god.

Falón is indeed visited by the Raven King, who says now Falón is lost to him and thrust into the shadows of death. He confirms that there’s nothing he can do, but encourages Falón to go forth in his name and follow his guidance, and in the very least the Raven King can grant him the gift of sunlight again. Falón thanks him and again says he’ll do whatever he asks. The Raven King smiles and says it won’t be easy, but he believes in him more than he’s believed in any other mortal.

Falón wakes up then and relays the vision before we head to Mera’s. She’s surprised to see us, but extremely relieved when we tell her the murderer was taken care of. She questions him on exactly who it was, and Falón tells her about Aimo and the bodies in the basement. Then he asks her about her son, and she says it’s so peculiar but just yesterday Galel returned safely. After bidding her goodbye, we load up our wagon and hit the road to Zaramuth.

For safety, Falón wraps himself in Bree’s cloak of the manta ray. The weather continues to turn as we head further north into the mountains.

At some point during our week and a half or so of travel, Bree asks Chrys what exactly the adrafalune is. Chrys tells them that it’s a necklace forged by fire of obsidian, and Bree is surprised that it’s not a weapon of some kind. Chrys explains that when you put it on, you can channel the power towards the idea of killing a god, and that’s how it works.

We follow Zoved’s lead and, although she does get us turned around a few times, eventually she leads us to an obsidian staircase where we proceed on foot downwards between two mountains.

The ground grows more moist as we descend, but thanks to some nice rolls neither Bree nor Falón fall... but Chrys and Finryn do trip and fall onto a landing. Falón is also starting to feel very hungry.

Pale blue lights begin to glimmer and light our way further into the earth and slowly the city comes into view. Chrome buldings hang from the ceiling, and there’s a large gate of magic energy book-ended by raven statues right in front of us. Bree tosses a rock at it and immediately the rock gets launched 100 ft backwards, so Chrys steps forward and shouts that he’s friends with Dagra Bloodhammer.

A smiling dwarven man pops out from behind a statue and asks for our business. Bree says we’re here to visit Dagra and we introduce ourselves.

The guard says we must have the blessing of the Raven Queen since we found the path to the city well enough, then dismisses the barrier and allows us to enter. We discuss how to find Dagra, and Falón (as he’s the only one who speaks Dwarvish), asks a random woman where to find her.

The woman says we should look in the forgers’ sector, and she gestures to a large and loud, even from where we are, ziggurat structure. Falón explains where we should go and we begin to head that way... until someone tugs on Falón’s cloak.

From behind, we hear, “Well, if it isn’t Rafael. What are you doing in my city, you rat bastard?” and we end.

Falón just keeps getting mistaken for his dad! It’ll be interesting to see how this person ties into our story...

#beyond the sea #dnd #dungeons and dragons #campaign notes

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

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Novena Prayers for Mother’s Day - Recited For Nine Consecutive Days Prior To Mother’s Day - Yearly

Jesus, give all mothers wisdom in making decisions for their children

________

Day 1

Standing by the cross of Jesus were His mother and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom He loved, He said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your Son.” Then He said to the Disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took here into his home. (John 19:25-27)

Mothers have long looked to Mary as their role model. As the mother of Jesus and, through His gift, of us all, she is seen as a model of motherhood. Yet if she were interviewed today, Mary would, in her humility, probably emphasize her role as advisor to mothers. She would point out that she is the one to whom mothers can turn for help with their concerns, worries, and questions about their children. Instead of striving for perfection, Mary would urge mothers to let their actions be guided by love, for in the end, love is all that matters. She would acknowledge that mothers, being human, make mistakes, but, she would add that mistakes can be righted through forgiveness. To all of us, Mary would say she is the one to whom we can turn if our mothers fail us or if our mother-child relationship is askew. She would note that relationships can be mended and failures conquered with understanding hearts.

Thank You, Jesus, for giving Your mother to us. We are grateful to have Your heavenly mother to whom we can turn for nurturing, guidance, and love. Please bless all mothers on earth and in heaven on this Mother’s Day. Amen.

Day 2

During those days Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste to a town of Judah, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the infant leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice and said, “Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” (Luke 1:39-42)

Pregnancy is a time filled with varied feelings for both younger women, like Mary, and older ones, like Elizabeth. There is the joyful anticipation of the child to be born. Yet such joy is often tempered by concerns for the unborn baby’s health. With firstborns, there can be added worries about the experience of childbirth and the responsibilities of motherhood. Women must also deal with various physical conditions, from morning sickness to labor pains. Yet when she gives birth to her child, a woman joins hands with God in the miracle of creation. There is no greater joy on earth than this.

We pray for expectant mothers everywhere. Bless them, God. Soothe their aching bodies. Calm their worries. Alleviate their fears. Mary and Elizabeth, be with them now and at the moment of birth. Join with God and these mothers in the celebration of new life. Amen.

Day 3

Pharaoh’s daughter came down to the river to bathe, while her maids walked along the river bank. Noticing the basket among the reeds, she sent her handmaid to fetch it. On opening it, she looked, and lo, there was a baby boy, crying! She was moved with pity for him and said, “It is one of the Hebrews’ children.” Then (the baby’s) sister asked Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and call one of the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” “Yes, do so,” she answered. So the maiden went and called the child’s own mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will repay you.” The woman therefore took the child and nursed it. When the child grew, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, who adopted him as her son and called him Moses; for she said, “I drew him out of the water.” (Exodus 2:5-10)

Like Moses’ Hebrew and Egyptian mothers, the mother who gives her child to another and the mother who adopts that child share a special bond. Though they may know little, if anything, about each other and may never meet, they are linked through the child they love. Both make a selfless commitment focused on the welfare of the child. Both truly are mothers.

We pray today for mothers on both sides of an adoption. God, console those who have given a child to another. Bring them peace through an awareness that their child is being carefully nurtured. Lord, be with those who have adopted children. Give them wisdom to be compassionate parents. God, guide women who are considering adopting from both sides those giving and those receiving. Help them to put the child’s welfare first. Amen.

Day 4

When they arrived at the house of the synagogue official, Jesus caught sight of a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. So He went in and said to them, “Why this commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but asleep.” And they ridiculed Him. Then He put them all out. He took along the child’s father and mother and those who were with Him and entered the room where the child was. He took the child by the hand and said to her, “Talithakoum,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise!” The girl, a child of twelve, arose immediately and walked around. (At that) they were utterly astounded. (Mark 5:38-42)

Imagine how this mother felt as she waited by her sick child’s bedside. Now, as then, motherhood brings many joys but it also brings worries. A mother is concerned about her children’s health, safety, education, spiritual life, and social development. Even as she goes about her daily work, a mother carries these concerns in the back of her mind. Stemming from her love for her children, these worries are an important reason why mothers pray to God for their children each day.

We pray today for all mothers in the midst of child rearing responsibilities. Give them wisdom, Jesus, in making decisions for their children. Refresh them when they are tired. Guide them when they are uncertain. Ease their worries and give them peace. Amen.

Day 5

After three days, Mary and Joseph found Jesus in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teacher, listening to them and asking them questions, and all who heard Him were astounded at His understanding and His answers. When His parents saw Him, they were astonished, and His mother said to Him, “Son, why have You done this to us? Your father and I have been looking for You with great anxiety.” (Luke 2:46-48)

Mothers of teens can identify with Mary in this story of the 12-year-old Jesus who decided it was time for Him to be on His own. As teens grow, change and question, they bring tumultuous times to the mother-child relationship. Life can be a daily struggle with a lot of pain and hurt feelings on both sides. As teens initiate the separation process that will carry them from childhood to adulthood, mothers often worry about the decisions their child is making and at times, may feel they are losing their child. Although they walk separate paths, a mother and her teenage child move together through the transition period from a parent/child to an adult relationship.

Today, God, we pray for mothers of teens. Give them understanding, compassionate hearts to continue nurturing their children even as those children move toward independent adulthood. Give them the wisdom to know when to stand firm on an issue and when to ease up and let go. Give them the courage to allow their child to grow and change. Open their eyes to the joys of these years. And help them prepare for the day when they will forge and adult relationship with their child. Amen.

Day 6

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have not wine.” (And) Jesus said to her, “Women, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.”

His mother said to the servers, “Do whatever He tell you.” (John 2:1, 3-5)

Mary sensed it was time for her adult Son to be about His Father’s business, and she chose the wedding at Cana to send Him off. Like mother birds, all mothers must, at some point, push their adult children out of the nest and let them fly on their own. Still, they do so with mixed feelings. There is the joy of seeing their children go out to make their mark in the world. Yet there is the sadness and perhaps a twinge of pain because another stage of their life has ended. This can be especially difficult if the adult child is moving a great distance away. But even then, a mother remains a mother.

This prayer, Mary, is for all the mothers sending their adult children out into the world. You know how they are feeling as they reach this moment they knew would one day come. Be with these mothers, Mary. Wipe away their tears and put a smile on their face. Help them rejoice in the completion of their task of child rearing. And remind them that there will also be a special place in their children’s hearts for them. Amen.

Day 7

Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back, each of you, to your mother’s house! May the Lord be kind to you as you were to the departed and to me! May the Lord grant each of you a husband and a home in which you will find rest.” She kissed them good-bye, but they wept with loud sobs, and told her they would return with her to her people. Again they sobbed aloud and wept; and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law good-bye, but Ruth stayed with her. But Ruth said, “Do not ask me to abandon or forsake you! For wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” (Ruth 1:8-10, 14, 16)

Many mothers, like Naomi, develop loving relationships with the spouses of their adult children. When this does not happen, however, friction and hurt feelings within the family often occur. This can affect communication between the mother and her child, as well as interfere with the building of relationships with grandchildren. More and more today, we hear of grandparents being denied the opportunity to visit with their grandchildren when the parents divorce or one of them dies.

Oh, God, today we lift up mothers-in-law to You. Bless them with loving daughters-in-law and sons-in-law, as You blessed Naomi with Oprah and Ruth. Open the hearts of mothers-in-law to accept the spouses of their children with the same love, compassion, and understanding they give to their own children. Where differences exist, help them to find common ground. Help them to grow in Your love and to become one family. Amen.

Day 8

As Jesus drew near to the gate of the city, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. A large crowd from the city was with her. When the Lord saw her, He was moved with pity for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” He stepped forward and touched the coffin; at this the bearers halted, and He said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. (Luke 7:12-15)

The normal order of life is that a mother dies before her children. But that does not always happen. No matter if the mother is 90 and her dead child 70 or the mother is 20 and her lifeless child a baby, the pain is the same. And even though the pain may ease as the years pass, the heart is pricked again when special days arrive-birthdays, death anniversaries, Mother’s Day. A mother never forgets her child.

Jesus, as You helped the widow burying her son, help all mothers mourning the loss of their children. Make Your loving presence known not only to those who have lost children through death but also those who have lost children to drugs, imprisonment, cults, prostitution, slavery, or broken relationships. Heal their wounds, bring them hope through You and give them peace in their hearts. Amen.

Day 9

Despise not your mother when she is old. (Proverbs 23:22)

When mothers grow old and frail, it can be difficult for them and their children to accept the role reversal relationship that must occur. It is not easy for mothers to grow old gracefully. And adult children often struggle with their feelings as they watch their mother lose her independent lifestyle. Life becomes a challenge when already busy children must assume responsibilities for a mother who fights to hold onto as much independence as she can. Yet elderly mothers are a blessing to be cherished. Ancient societies revered them. So should we.

Today, God, we pray for aging mothers. Guide them in this stage of life, as they begin to let go of their homes, possessions, health, and independence. Remind them of Your presence through their children who come to their assistance. Give these mothers and their children the wisdom to make sound decisions and the strength to accept them. Fill their relationships with love, understanding, and compassion. Let memories flow to warm their hearts. Let joy bloom each day of their lives. Amen.

________

Click below for:

Novena Pamphlet For Mother's Day

https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/a84285_698a50a3eca147a59e20b69b3f2562b9.pdf

All Novena Pamphlets

https://www.pamphletstoinspire.com/novenas

#mother's day novena

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pendragonfics · 7 years

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Ten years, One day, Four hours and Seven Minutes.

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Slight Violence, Not too much violence to be tagged, just a flesh wound, Brief moment of medical procedure, Loki is stubborn, Awesome Frigga

Summary: A young maid comes at the wrong end of Loki's wrath after an unimpressive royal family dinner. Folly entails.

Word Count: 2,494

Posting Date: 2016-05-19

Current Date: 2017-05-08

You had served the royal family of Asgard for nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirteen minutes of your life. It had begun as a bargain for your life - either be taken by raiders, forced to do who knows what to who knows who, or be relinquished by Odin to serve his family. And so you did. You wore your woollen maid's dress with as much honour as a common woman could, and did your best at your job.

It so happened, that nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago, you'd been assigned to be Prince Loki's personal chambermaid, and, you'd done what his brother joked often about at the table.

It was nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago that you'd found yourself completely and honestly...in love with him.

Love was often confused with lust, or blind devotion when it came to young women watching men from afar. They see bodily traits and love them. They see personality quirks and love them. They see charm and money and love them. Maybe that was you, at first, but it certainly was more than that.

Like, now.

The door slams to open, a loud crack! sounding in the the room. His eyes are wild, as if he's searching for blood to spill, and has come for an alternative method of release. You've known Prince Loki from the shadows for a large portion of your life.

You can't both love him and be afraid of him.

Yet you are.

You stand still.

Loki's dinner had gone the same way as the food did; it had started off lovely, then it all went to shi- how did Thor become the golden child of their family? He remembered a time when the two of them had been equals, but more and more, Loki feels Odin's distain for being a magic-user, a book-reader, a useless son in battle.

Dinner was horrid. And so he let out steam.

His mind was racing, his pulse aching, his words lost to him as he let out a roar that was so ungodly, it could be heard all over the land.

Loki slammed the door closed, and began methodically tossing things everywhere. A chorus of crashes and shatters filled his ears of things he'd collected over the years. Loki's boots crunched over the splintered china and pottery. He felt immortal, then, truly. Like a young god who could do whatever he pleased.

He could be better than Thor.

One intact vase on the bedside table - a hideous orange tone with orange flowers -caught his eye, and he flung it into the wall over the other side of the room.

Loki wasn't aware of the girl standing there, and watched in stilled horror as she threw herself to the floor, the vase hitting where her head had been.

Loki's breath caught in his chest.

He knew this girl. Not her name, because they'd never directly crossed paths, but her face. Her kind (s/c) face and her deep (e/c) eyes which he'd once or twice spelled himself to be invisible on slow days to watch work. She had been his servant for almost ten years, and for that long a time, he couldn't help but admit that he'd fallen a little in love with her.

"I'm a monster," Loki woke from his fit of anger, numb. He saw all the destruction he'd caused, all the lovely trinkets in his room, destroyed. He'd never done that before. "Oh no," he muttered, treading toward you.

He met your eyes. All that had been cut was a sliver under your cheekbone, and the trickle of blood shocked him. He'd never seen a servant, or even a resident of the palace bleed.

"I'm so very sorry, please forgive me -," he began.

You leapt to your feet, head swimming with white noise. He's apologising, he's a prince, he's the prince, he's Prince Loki and he's apologising for his own act. No. It was your fault you were in the way. Not his. Not his.

"My lord," you speak your first words to him, heart racing not only from the fact you're speaking to him, but that the blood from your cheek keeps you alert and you can't believe this is how you finally talk. "S'not your place to apologise - it's it is my fault I am injured, I was slow today with my chores."

You look to the wall that is half scrubbed, and now half re-dirtied with the water of the vase, and inwardly sigh. You can't look at him. Not now. He's a caged animal, a beast you find at a zoo to ogle at, and you're a mouse.

"Little bird, I hurt you, it was I; my fault alone." Loki goes to cradle your face. "Let me help-,"

You back away from his touch. No. No. He's your master. You're the servant, scum of the palace to clean the actual scum and be silent and invisible. It was a dream to work for him, but you should have known; every dreamer must wake.

"My lord, I must go," you cry, his touch stinging your wounded cheekbone, and leaving your pail and brush, you flee.

It had been nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty three minutes since you began working for Prince Loki. Maybe that was too long.

The next day, Loki woke to all the damage he'd caused to be cleaned up, the wall mopped and rescrubbed, the pail his (h/c) haired chambermaid had left gone. His room was perfect; there wasn't a trace of what he'd done in there at all. Except for his heartbeat, which worsened his pain. He was blinded in his anger from what couldn't be helped and hurt those around him.

Loki rose and went about his daily duties as a prince - giving his stiff smile at functions, watching the entrance to the servant's quarters to see if he could find his (e/c) eyed maid...reading to forget what he'd done, and then walking a bout in the garden with his mother, Queen Frigga.

"I suppose you miss her, isn't that the trouble with you today, Loki?" The Queen pondered, producing a small pair of secateurs to trim her garden.

Loki couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't look anywhere.

"I also suppose you're wondering how I know what's happened? And that I know what exactly took place last night after dinner to your maid." The Queen continued, her smile sad. "I've moved her to a more quiet part of the palace, Loki. Somewhere where she won't be hit by vases and subjected to fits of rage."

Loki bit his lip. "I was so infuriated, I -,"

The Queen pocketed her garden tools, and turned to her younger son, her joy and pride she wasn't so prideful and joyful for for this act he had done. "Tell me everything that happened, and I'm sure we shall work out how never to allow this sort of thing to happen again."

Nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty nine minutes, and you were assigned to work as an assistant cleaner for the royal medical wing. It was a stressful job, being around Asgardians in so much pain, around Healers who never lost hope in a patient, but you found a sort of serenity in it. A calm in a storm. You cleaned the marks and messes the floor would have spilt, remove taints from the bed sheets. You even shadowed the Healer Eir as she worked.

It had been now nine years, eight months, nineteen days, eleven hours and fifty five minutes, and you had somehow become more than a chambermaid; more than what you had been for so long and forged a part of your identity in. You now worked alongside the Lady Eir, still learning the ways of healing Asgardian wounds, but helping clean and heal the afflictions that came. Lady Eir was certain you would become a great healer one day.

You only hoped you could one day heal your broken heart.

Nine years, nine months, thirty one days, two hours and fourteen minutes. There was tell of battle arising around the palace, after Prince Thor's coronation was interrupted by an invasion of the Frost Giants from Jotenheim. From a patient you tended to, you heard that Prince Thor and Loki were in the foreign land themselves, gone to fight for Asgard. You shouldn't have felt that tug in your chest. Prince Loki was a man grown, and he chose to do with his life as much as a prince could.

Ten years, one day, four hours and seven minutes.

You stand in the Healer's wing, slowly wrapping a man's wrist after an ill-thought out twist to it in mock battle. You have forgotten to keep count of how long you've worked for the royal family, because it's not a tally of a sentence anymore. You've found peace in this place, you found something you are valued for, as a person. No longer are you called 'maid' or 'girl' or a variation of bad names for unfaithful women, but your own. You are Lady _______, Healer.

"Lady ________, Prince Loki needs tending to! He's injured from the battle of Jotenheim!" A healer in training, Terra, calls to you. You hear panic in her voice.

Before you can respond, Loki is brought in by two of Thor's friends, Hogun and Fandrall. Loki's face is paler than his normal ivory, and limp. There's a gash on his side that seems to have taken upon itself to recolour his emerald robes red.

"Terra, prepare a bed. I need the healing slab cleared and ready for use," you tell your healing staff. "Where is Lady Eir?" You ask Terra, who has made a bed.

"I am unsure, m'lady," Terra stammers.

"Find her, please." You tell her, and turning to the rest of your fleet, say, "I need his armour taken off!"

Loki becomes lucid, falling in and out of sleep like a babe with an inflicting tooth. He's in pain, so much pain, but he doesn't want Lady Eir and her healers to see him like this.

"I need his armour taken off!" He hears. He can't put a finger to it, but that voice...he's heard it before. Somewhere.

His heart beats a little quicker. He holds on.

"Yes m'lady," a chorus of healers follow her words.

Loki feels a bout of pain course his veins, sway his mind into following into a stupor of sleep. He nearly does, it hurts so much. He can barely feel the armour from the battle slide off. But he hears one thing.

"Stay with me, my prince. Please," he hears a whisper.

Feels a kiss upon his brow.

His eyes flicker open. Has he died? Has he passed onto Hel and met with the one person he believed never to see until the end of his life? Loki doesn't believe any other possibility that could have him face to face with you, the maid he loved, the maid he hurt, the maid he regretted losing for months and months.

You.

"How?" He whispers. He isn't sure if he's asking how he's died, or how to stay with her. But she knows.

Loki's vision begins to tunnel, his gaze focused on his maid, his girl. His biggest regret. "Be strong," you murmur, hands working deftly on his chest. "Drink this," you add, lifting the milk of poppy to his lips. "I know you can."

It all fades to black, and Loki accepts it. He can die in peace. He's seen you again.

"I see you've been busy."

You sit straighter. For hours, you worked on Prince Loki, cleansing his wounds, working around the clock to pause the bleeding, changing the bandages...sewing. And now, its nearly daybreak, and you're still by his bedside.

For...other reasons.

"My lady Eir," you rise quickly, stumbling over the hem of your skirt, awkwardly. "I am so sorry, yes. Prince Loki is going to live."

She smiles. "So I've told his parents," she comments, moving to you. "And, according to the Queen, I've found the reason for your devoted application to your healing last night." She smirks.

"Lady Eir, it is not what you -,"

She waves her hand. "The fact you are in love with the Prince is your ailment I cannot cure. Though, what you did was the most apt display I've seen a student of mine perform." You're speechless. For your months working for Lady Eir, you've not heard such praises from her, "Lady ________, I am not saying your love for the prince has made you better. I am saying you are better...though I do not dare say than me."

"Thank you, my lady," You curtsy, a little wobbly still from your fatigue. You can't find yourself to sleep, yet you're dead on your feet.

"Now, sleep, _________," she ushers you to the bed beside Prince Loki, and unable to do a thing but comply, you curl up. "He will be here when you wake."

Loki's eyes feel heavy when he wakes. It takes a moment for him to remember, and when he does, his heart races. He was dying. Did he die? He saw his old chambermaid, the maid he didn't know the name of yet. A kiss...

The prince is a smart man. Intelligent beyond comparison to any scholar in the castle, and he soon works out he's in the healer's wing of the castle.

"My prince?"

His heart misses a beat.

His head turns.

It's her.

She looks so tired, weary beyond anything he's seen in his life; her bright (e/c) eyes seem to be carrying baggage, her (h/c) locks limp. But Loki can't see you and see someone who looks like they've seen Death. He sees utter beauty in your features.

"My name is ________ ________, and I was your maid for many years," she introduces, her hand moving slowly toward his bed. "Since leaving your quarters, I've become a healer..."

"___________," Loki tries out, your name soft on his pallet.

"I know you are a prince and I am only a common healer, but it's been slowly poisoning me for years keeping this out of me..." He listens in rapture. He can't get enough of your voice. "For the last ten years, a day, four hours and seven minutes, I've been completely and honestly in love with you. And I know you'll marry someone worthy, someone of a position of power -,"

"________," Loki interrupts, reaching over the side of his bed. His hand is weak, but it finds yours, and together, your hand warms his. "You have forgotten to think of the possibility that I could - and do - love you."

He feels your pulse race in your hand. "And I you, Loki."

#loki #loki mcu #thor #thor: the dark world #avengers #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki x oc #avengers x reader #maid reader #pendragonfics #chaotic--lovely #Female reader

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ckyking · 7 years

Text

the world forgetting, the world forgot

finally done with this timetravel!hc which grew so fucking long omg. so, yeah, new ot3 + nyxnoct. enjoy!

guess who is going to a special kind of hell for this? me! and guess who doesn’t give a fuck? still me!

now that’s out of the way, let’s get on with it

the astrals like their cycle

if the first king of light fails? allow the bloodline to grow in power

a king is born, dies, goes to the crystal

rinse and repeat, until the expected spike in power comes

but what if this went even further?

it always seemed strange to me that regis gave noctis what would have become his royal arm, the culmination of all he did as a ruler of lucis

aren’t they supposed to be forged in the heat of battle? a weapon stolen and made greater still? a weapon born from its wielder’s being?

no, noctis’ royal arm is and has always been the sword of the father, not that it bore that name at the time

all that he is and he would be compressed in one blade, the one that would ultimately take his life

and the engine blade? regis’ weapon

(in other worlds, this is not true, and regis gave him the engine blade as a birthday present, for his son who would never get to make his own path)

this is how it happens

when noctis dies for the first time, the crystal refuses to let him go

the king of light is born at dusk and dies at dawn, so it is written

but for him to die, he must be born first

this is a given

so, when he dies, the crystal takes him back into himself, and whisks him away to a time where his shadow lingers over everyone he ever touched

the soul of eos does not care for linearity, it exists at every point in time where the planet is still alive, and it would not be denied

he reappears around forty years in the past, in the tempering grounds, unaware of anything but his name

gilgamesh, for all that he is ruthless, still recognizes a member of the line he had sworn himself to

the line that he himself belonged to, once upon a time, before forsaking his name to protect his brother, and become his shield

he is the one that takes the last king in, that heals him and takes care of him, helped by the lucian souls who dwell in their resting place

noctis is cut off from the crystal’s power, because he is not a king in that world. he is just a man, adrift in time

elemancy, inherited from his mother’s side, still runs in his veins, but it is the only magic he has access to now

and the blade he wields is the one responsible for the scar on his chest

as well as the two daggers that had followed him in death, like their owner would have

noctis spends a lot of time in the tempering grounds in the beginning as he slowly regains his strength and adapts to the hole the crystal left inside of him

not that he knows what the dull pain inside of him is

training with gilgamesh, talking with the souls, healing

the past is not that different from the future in that moment

after a while, gilgamesh pronounces him as healthy as he will ever get, and tells him that it is not yet his time to dwell in the tempering grounds

that the lake would accept him, someday, but not at the moment

but still, so he may always find his way back, gilgamesh gives him one of the banners adorning the caves, which he ties around the handles of all three of his blades

he starts exploring after that, getting back in touch with the world he was kept away from for his own good

jobs as hunter, mercenary, always on the move, never settling

one of the people he likes to spend time with is kimya, who feels both familiar and grounded in a way that doesn’t leave his head aching

he feels like he knows her, but it’s not as urgent a feeling as when he tries to pierce the veil obscuring his memories

it’s during one of those hunts that he meets clarus for the first time

the future king’s shield usually get out of the city for training purposes, to test his strength against stronger opponents than he would find in insomnia and to see his friends amongst the hunters

it’s not unusual for him to go to hunters’ bars to share glasses and stories afterwards

that’s when he starts noticing a lone hunter, always in black, with simple and functional clothes, but the sigils and subtle ornaments betray them as being of lucian make, even if older than what he is used to seeing

the crystal earrings which glinted in the light, the old jewelry around his neck, the designs engraved in his sword’s hilt

all of it betrayed his lucian heritage

no one seems to know who he is, he just appeared one day and starting taking all of the higher bounties and coming back none the worse for wear

and he is always alone, no matter that more than one hunter offered to accompany him

but what struck him the most was how similar he looked to aulea

the features, the eyes, even the unconscious little movements when confronted with either cold or heat were the same

and this is what pushes him to seat at his table the next time he sees him

noctis is surprised to be approached so boldly

people are always either completely at ease around him, like kimya or little dave, or put ill at ease by something...out of place around him

clarus is neither, and he is curious in spite of himself

something in the back of his mind hums in recognition

it’s almost too easy to fall back into half-remembered banter as the shield asks him about his latest hunt, the one everybody had been buzzing about

because who goes to hunt a family of malboros on their own?

but there is a reason why noctis doesn’t like to stay around people for too long

warm and mellowed by alcohol, it’s easy to forget the splitting headaches that incapacitate him at the least opportune of times

the only sign of pain this time around is a brief furrowing of his eyebrows before his face smoothed out

and clarus is amazed by how much he looked like regis in that moment

regis, whose face could clear of laughter in less than a second when faced with a member of the council

but he has no time to dwell on it, because his drinking partner gets up and starts gathering his gear

“i will see you around?” he says uncertainly, looking back with cloudy blue eyes

“you will.” clarus has an inkling about who this mysterious hunter may be, and he is not about to let go before confirming it. “i’m clarus.”

“noctis. just...noctis.”

and he is gone

they don’t see each other for quite a while after this

because noctis’ head won’t stop hurting

the memories are almost there, and whatever is holding them back is raging

half-blind from pain, he makes his way back to gilgamesh by letting his feet take him back, based the feel of the elemental deposits he encountered on his way

he doesn’t know how he is not killed before arriving, really

elemancy is his saving grace, close-combat so out of his reach it’s laughable

noctis finds his way to the havens simply by feel, feeling for the runes humming with blessed magic, eyes closed to try and lessen the pressure behind them

they grant him just enough peace for him to doze off fitfully, images flitting behind his eyes

when he finally, finally gets back, he almost cries in relief

death would be better than this

the first thing he feels is gilgamesh’s gauntleted hand on the side of his face

“what have you done to yourself now, lost one?”

noctis turns his face into his hand, cold metal a balm to his burning skin

the blademaster leads him gently to the lake at the center of his domain, and makes him drink

while inwardly cursing the astrals and the crystal for the way they chose to play things out

noctis finally falls asleep, and gilgamesh takes him to the island, letting him rest on the altar at its center while it takes effect

once again burying his memories and healing him

this time, he lets it go deeper, granting him a part of his power

the ritual was only ever meant for his own warriors, but exceptions are to be made sometimes

(the tempering grounds and everything associated with them were forgotten for a reason after all, and that reason is the water)

the recovery takes longer this time, noctis’ exhausted body and mind falling deeper into slumber to recover

when he wakes up, it is to the warriors’ concerned voices and gilgamesh leaning against the slab of stone he was asleep on

“whatever you did almost killed you, lost one. do not attempt such a thing again.”

noctis takes a moment before answering

“they were almost back. i don’t know if i want them to.”

a solemn silence fills the grounds

the memories are safely back behind their wall now, but the lost king vows to stay away from others even more than before after this

he doesn’t want to go through this again

the barrier is stronger now, and the headaches are gone by the time he goes back to the surface world, away from the tangle of dimensions that make up the caves he calls home

his resolve does not last as long as he had wished

as soon as he gets back to an outpost to take another hunt, he is asked by no less than 3 people how he was doing, if he was alright, what had happened…

mostly the people he interacted the most with, like ezma’s husband, david, who liked to move from outpost to make sure everything was alright or the tipsters who had gotten to know him through their usual “bartender witchcraft”, as david would put it

he is a bit overwhelmed but touched by the concern

the concern quickly melts away when he learns that the hunt he had been keeping an eye, for a pair of behemoth causing havoc in duscae, was taken, and by clarus nonetheless

from what he had gleaned before his retreat to taelpar crag, the man usually took his time to do recon on the bigger targets, which noctis hopes is true as he heads to the last place they were reported at

“get back!”

clarus’ body moves before the words register to his mind, the tone, cutting and commanding, leaving no room for disobedience

he jumps out of the monster’s way just in time to avoid the lightning storm aimed at the spot he was standing in just a second before

glancing back, he is startled to see noctis and not regis as he had first expected

and even more by the unsettling violet illuminating his eyes, so unlike aulea’s deeper blue

but he is sure of one thing now : noctis truly is a leonis

the elemancy is confirmation enough

the way he fights? definitely hammers the point home

the dodges, edged in red and gold compared to the traditional lucian blue; water and air being drawn to him as he fought, replenishing his reserves like he had seen aulea do countless times; the same precision and deadliness at the base of cor’s style; the way he focused his aura into the edges of his sword

and the sword in and of itself. he had only seen the likes of it in king mors and regis’ armiger. the lines, the carving, the runes. a sword worthy of the royal line

the shield understands why this man could go head head to head with monsters even hunter groups hesitated to face by himself and win

the first behemoth goes down without a hitch in a combination of lightning and fire, igniting the very air around it in glorious red and blue

the second one is more difficult, and flees in the face of the hunter’s power with only a scar left to prove that it survived his sword

when they are dealt with, noctis rounds on clarus

“what the hell were you thinking!?”

he is pissed off, and it shows

nobody is stupid or reckless enough to go after a mated pair on their own

even he was planning on asking for david’s or ezma’s help for that one

clarus is not cowed in the least by his wrathful stare, but he does seem to grow more uncomfortable by the second

which is how he figures out that he is injured

noctis’ bedside manners are not the best

he brusquely tells him to strip off so he can deal with the wound, and nearly starts tapping his feet in impatience when he is not listened to immediately

the shield does, reluctantly, not willing to try his luck with the clearly angry hunter, moreso that he used all of his recovery items during the fight

(a lifetime knowing aulea leonis will do that to you)

there is a pretty consequent clawmark on his back from where he got caught by surprise

drawing clean water from the nearby swamp, noctis starts cleaning the wound and encouraging the edges closed. lightning to stimulate healing, fire to clean, and he is set

the older man can damn nearly hear gilgamesh talking about a warrior’s pride and why it should be taken seriously, and it does not help his temper

the vague grumblings about pride makes the amicitia chuckle in spite of himself, which just puts noctis in a worse mood

when he is done, clarus catches him by the arm and thanks him

tells him that he owes him a debt, and that he could call on him whenever he wanted

the older hunter visibly restrains himself from refusing, and abruptly deflates after actually hearing gilgamesh

it’s good enough for clarus

for now

because he is damn well making sure to either bring regis/aulea to this unknown leonis, or to make him come to them

though he is not going to try his luck now, with how put out noctis looks

their second meeting is quite the exciting one

after getting back to insomnia, clarus seeks regis out to tell him about the interesting man he met, who fights and acts like a leonis

which prompts the crown prince to dig into the archive behind his father and the council’s back

aulea and cor were born to their father’s second wife, the first one having died 5 years before in the infiltration of one of niflheim’s biggest bases

she was a soldier in the king’s army known for her ability to modify magitek on the fly and transform it into devastating bombs when mixed with the king’s magic, explaining why she was given this mission

they did not find anything confirming her death, and she was pronounced killed in action

their father found out later while shifting through her personal effects that she had been 3 months pregnant at the time

it would not be out of the realm of possibility for her to have survived, explaining noctis’ existence

perhaps this was another one of niflheim’s schemes. how could they be sure?

regis is sceptical, but willing to hear clarus out and meet this supposed leonis

aulea, being aulea, learns of this and tells them she is coming along, no matter what they say

no way is she letting them deal with something concerning her family without her

so, it’s a group of three that leaves insomnia

meanwhile, noctis is still exploring eos, still doing hunts, but stays closer to human settlements because of the encroaching MTs

david doesn’t stop teasing him about that, because his friend finally connecting with someone else? unthinkable!

“so you like them younger, huh?”

“shut up dave”

“now you’ve just gone and dashed my dreams to pieces”

“i swear to the fucking six i will feed you to that coeurl.”

“hey now, let’s not get hasty, what would dave and ezma say?”

“she would agree with me. and dave would never find out how much of an idiot you truly are, i’m saving you some trouble.”

“wow, that’s cold.”

“oh hell, look what you’ve done, it’s coming our way now! you owe me so many drinks after this.”

the three lucians get to the outpost in the aftermath of this hunt, noctis laughing and poking fun at david, ezma judging both of them from where she is teaching dave proper weapon maintenance

aulea marches straight to him, because she wants to know

“aulea leonis, thanks for saving that knucklehead back there. he is an idiot and needs constant supervision, like that other one” she says as she jerks a thumb at her companions

there are definitely no indignant sounds in answer to that

noctis is bemused, but shakes the hand she thrust in front of his face

a quicksilver smirk unnoticed by everyone but her oldest friends crosses her face

because she got him exactly where she wanted him

a lot of things can lie, but not magic

and the way he instinctively starts drawing on the reserves she purposely left open is the sign she was waiting for

their timing couldn't have been better

when exhausted, a leonis tries to fill their their reservoirs of magic from everything around them, be it elements, deposits, or other wielders themselves

it cuts off as quick as it started, but noctis’ startled eyes meet hers, and he knows

“hello, brother. i wonder where you have been all those years.

regis and clarus are appalled by aulea’s lack of tact

noctis is not...shocked, per say. something inside of him knows it’s not the truth, which he tries to tell her

she is not having any of it

“you are a leonis, magic doesn't lie”

“even it it was so, that doesn't make me your brother”

“it does. only three of us were born with the gift in the last hundred years : my father, my brother and me. you can't be anything but blood.”

(the leonis’ blood is one that strengthens overtime, privileging a few members over the others to focus itself)

noctis shakes his head silently and goes back to healing david, trailing sparks of lightning on his skin as he forces the wound closed

“i don't have anything for you to settle your debt yet, clarus, if that’s what you are here for.”

the dismissal is clear

aulea prepares to argue more, but she is stopped by clarus’ hand on her shoulder

the hair, the face, the eyes, noctis and aulea are so similar, it’s eerie, is what regis thinks as he takes over

he is still wary, but there is something about the hunter that calls to him

the practiced detached look is evident to him, for having seen it many times in the mirror, but he forges on

“you could come back with us. family may be waiting for you at the end of it.”

“i have everything i need right here, thank you.”

“is there anything i can do to change your mind?”

“no.”

noctis thinks that everything is said and done at this point

oh, how wrong he is

he inherited his stubbornness from somewhere after all

“very well then. we’ll just have to convince you.”

and then they rent a motel room

noctis cannot believe this is his life

david is silent beneath his hands

“you sure you don’t want to see what this is about? not everyday you get an invite to insomnia’s upper echelon.”

“not interested.”

a smirk curls his lips after that, but just as he opens his mouth–

“ouch! what did you shock me for!?”

“whatever you were about to say, i don’t want to hear it.”

cue mock wrestling match

noctis may have the height advantage, but david is mean to make up for it

ezma wonders how she got saddled with this idiot sometimes

dave is alternatively cheering for his dad and noctis

really, what regis meant by convincing was “we’re going to accompany you on your hunts because this is apparently how you bond with people”

noctis is unimpressed, but lets them tag along

they are a pretty impressive bunch, really

lightning quick aulea with her rapier, magic at the tips of her fingers, as quick to laugh as she is to frown

cunning regis who refuses to give up no matter what, who moves in the air like he moves on earth

stoic clarus, unmovable as a rock, always ready to meet a challenge head on, and to pull the other two back when necessary

noctis hates to admit it, but they are growing on him

it’s the little moments, like regis holding them back for a second when he comes up with a new plan

clarus yelling at aulea when she nearly hit him with a spell and the sheepish shrug she gives him in return

regis and clarus watching noctis care for his sword, or the play of firelight on his earrings, the flex of his back as he trains with aulea, the glint of his jewelry at his hands and throat

laughing together over drinks as regis gets progressively more drunk and handsy around clarus

subtle around each other, those two are not, especially so far away from the city, and from its citizens’ constant judgement

aulea looks on in exasperated fondness and shares commiserating glances with noctis, who is looking on in amusement at regis’ uncharacteristic behaviour and his shield’s attempts at appearing unaffected

watching clarus unceremoniously carrying regis back totheir motel room is what makes noctis laugh around them for the first time, jacket thrown over his shoulder and hair tied back to deal with the heat

clarus and regis stop bantering for a bit, and it is when they think maybe

it’s a slow process, their trust, interrupted at times by aulea’s insistent questioning or noctis’ faraway gaze, his fingers lingering on either his sword’s sharp edge or the holstered blades at his thighs

their stay vary from a day to a week, the time they can spare until they are missed back in the city

after a while, weskham starts joining them, the butler both amused and worried by his friends’ constant absence

they click immediately, much to the three’s annoyance

weskham is too damn charming for anyone’s good, and not even noct is immune

telling him stories about aulea and regis’ shenanigans when they were younger, including the time regis inadvertently warped on top of a building and aulea climbed after him to get him down

kings mors didn’t stop laughing for 10 minutes straight when he found them

regis wants to hide his face in his hands, but he refrains from it. still does not help the blush when noct catches his eyes and his smile widens

this is not how he want to be noctis to see him dammit

from the corner of his eyes, he notices clarus hiding his smirk behind his class and kicks him in the chin

because they are ridiculous

but really, what actually manages to get him back to insomnia is cor, who learned about him from his sister and decided to see for himself after making sure that his sister is still in insomnia

cue tiny cor challenging noctis to a fight when he finds him

noctis is even less impressed than by his three usual tag-alongs and just freezes genji in its scabbard

“proof enough for you?”

cor is spluttering and really want to kill someone, preferably noctis

which does not happen because the hunter is not letting a child go back to insomnia by himself

the youngest leonis is offended but stops protesting when he gets a look scarily similar to aulea

he really doesn’t want to listen to him but as they journey back to the city, noctis starts teaching him little tricks which he starts using in spite of himself, like how to increase the amount of energy he can absorb from deposits, or how to maximize his aura and increase his strikes

pointedly showing that yes, he has magic, and to stop and listen for a second

because grumpy noct is grumpy and needs a nap

they make a stop by hammerhead to rest for the night before heading on to the crown city; cid takes one look at cor’s disgruntled face and noctis’ amused one and wants to go back to his cars

he settles for whacking cor on the head once and tells him how aulea was ready to search the countryside by herself to find him, which cor looks vaguely guilty for

and then he turns to the hunter, looks at him for a second and shakes his head

“so you’re the one the two idiots have been singing the praises of for months?”

“cid, i take it?”

“yeah, that’s me”

this is the beginning of beautiful friendship full of grumpiness and complaints

it’s great

cid tells noct to come on in and to take “the brat” with him while he’s at it

they end up sharing a meal together, which mainly consists of cid and noctis taking turns needling cor who tries (and fails) to stay stoic

cor and his self-assigned minder leave for insomnia the next day

cid is just wondering what kind of trouble regis and clarus got themselves into, because oh boy is noctis completely their type; it’s unnerving

he is too old to deal with this

the smallest leonis may or may not have hidden behind behind noctis at aulea’s unnervingly calm, “please open the gates, before i break them down for you.” when they arrived at the entrance of the crown city

that one was followed by a decidedly not calm death threat aimed at her brother

regis, clarus and her are waiting just behind the gates as they open slowly, still in their formal clothes from the council they hastily escaped once they got cid’s message

noctis enters insomnia, and never really leaves

no way are they letting him go now that he is finally there

and noctis is reluctant in the beginning, but damn if he didn’t get attached to them

so he stays, rejects aulea’s offer of an apartment, because she is the head of the family after her father’s death

she stopped trying to convince him about being her elder brother, because she saw how uncomfortable it made him, but he’s still added to the family register

noctis ends up renting an apartment in what would become the galahdian immigrant district in the future with the money he accumulated from hunts

they don’t even ask him about becoming a crownsguard, it wouldn’t fit him

he gets dragged to the citadel on most days when he is in the city, because they know he would either try to lose himself in the city or go back outside the if left to his own devices

sword and elemancy training with cor, because he got attached

wandering the gardens with regis as he vents about the council or expresses his worry about niflheim

getting conned into trying weskham’s new recipes

going out for drinks with clarus

aulea dragging him for an excursion in the city because “you’re too gloom for your own good”

generally making sure that he does not end up like cid

which noctis bitches about to the man in question. he is not sympathetic at all to his plight and mostly laughs at him

regis and clarus stare when they see him in casual clothes, because noctis looks that much wilder when compared to the other lucians. his hair pulled back from his face, the small galahdian braids at his temple used to keep everything in place, the piercings and accessories that caught and held people’s attention as they enjoyed the city’s night life, the small knives he kept hidden on his person just in case. just, noctis

(noctis does not remember who taught him those twists in the first place, only calloused hands gently running through his hair, arm wrapped around a bare calf, hand following the lines of a tattoo. a soft memory he keeps alive by rebraiding his hair in this fashion, letting his fingers work as he closes his eyes)

their first kiss happens in the green lands surrounding the city, the three of them sitting by one of the small ponds hidden amongst the trees

noctis is warm and comfortable between them, leaning against clarus’ shoulders and looking up at the sky, pointing out constellations to them

regis makes the first step, touching him on the back to catch his attention before leaning in for a kiss

the panic that springs in him is more distant than usual, because he wants this. he doesn’t see why anyone would want him, who had nothing except three blades and a name, but oh how he wants

then, it’s clarus’ turn, turning noctis’ face and catching it in his hands before kissing him, slow and careful, unlike regis’ surer nips and teases

the leonis lets go, stops thinking and enjoys the moment

a lot happens during those war torn years, but mostly they are happy

niflheim can still be held in check by the old wall, leaving them free to travel, even more so with regis grown and able to protect himself

he wouldn’t have accepted staying caged in the city, which is a caelum if anyone has ever heard of one

mors sees noctis in action while he is training with aulea, clarus and regis, red and gold haze surrounding his sword as he danced around the prince’s warp strikes, blades seemingly jumping to his hand as he countered aulea’s magic with his own and singing as they cut through the air to intercept clarus’ strikes

which is how he ends up accompanying the king to the front lines as he fights to reach the lucii statues maintain the wall protecting lucis from niflheim

mors “the tower” lucis caelum, a beast of a man whose favoured weapon is a bow, shooting down soldiers and daemons by the dozens from afar

(the bow of the tower : this weapon belonged to the king who held strong against an invasion, sacrificing lands to save the kingdom's heart)

noctis finally letting aulea and cor call him their older brother

“what will you do if i disappear one day? i won’t always be there to help.” noctis asks during one of their training trip outside of the city, to get cor more experience, which everyone else invite themselves to

cor just frowns at him in reproach

“don’t be ridiculous, i will always find you”

noctis grins and drags him closer, messing his hair up and knocking his beret askew

“what would i do without my tenacious little brother, huh?”

cor tries to push him away half-heartedly, badly hiding a smile while aulea is laughing, arm wound around noctis’ waist

weskham chooses that time to take a picture, and it’s the one cor will keep for years

the leonis family, smiling together

getting taken on fishing trips by regis and clarus, using the opportunity to visit david, ezma and little dave, as well kimya when they go to malmalam thicket for some of wesky’s ingredients

aulea throwing him to the sharks by making him her escort during most of the official functions she attends, because she is enabler and likes making her friends suffer

jealousy and wandering hands in dark corners of a ballroom may or may not happen when noctis in a suit makes his first appearance

helping him out of it is just as good, in regis and clarus’ opinion

but all things must end one day

noctis knows it, because the wall holding back his memories starts to break down, and he hears the lucian souls’ whispers more clearly than before, one of them tugging at his heartstrings with how familiar they (he) sound

when cor expresses the desire to pass the trial, noctis and clarus accompany him

if he is a little more frantic, a little more tender during the last night he shares with his lovers, well, it’s his secret to bear

trying to engrave the sight in his mind, knowing he would never see it again

cor and noctis walk parallel to each other across the dimensions, cor going through the trials led before him and noctis walking to his resting place

as the youngest leonis and gilgamesh battle, noctis finds himself back at the place he first appeared in, on the altar in the middle of the lake

pulling out his sword, the sword of the father he remembers now, he unwinds the prayer banner that kept it tied to him from the hilt and leaning, his forehead one last time on its cold metal, says his goodbye

the sword of the last, the sword of the lover, the sword of the father

two blades meeting in the middle and crossing paths in the stream of time

in insomnia, regis’ armiger appears around him, thirteen blades circling him

when cor takes gilgamesh’s arm, noctis slips back into slumber, to await his time

the waters swallow him, and with him disappears all memories of noctis leonis, events slowly warping at the edge to erase his presence

there is a reason why a leonis’ eyes are blue

the owner of the voice he had heard so many time appears to him as he sinks into the, and the last king of lucis remembers

a roguish smile and pale blue eyes, tattoos he had traced so many times

“welcome back, little king”

and he sleeps

when the king of light sacrifices himself to bring dawn back, noctis, no longer a caelum, not truly, awakens, and gilgamesh greets him

“without the crystal my brother gave his life for, without the ring that adorned your hand, you are mine more than his, lost one; my own”

gilgamesh, founder of the leonis line, the first king’s brother, and his shield

the one who willingly lost his name to better protect his brother, and eos’ future

a family history mired in loss, eyes forever reflecting the blue waters of the tempering grounds; to remember, and to forget

“even if everything you know disappears, even if you are left adrift in time, you will always find a place here”

across eos, events shift back into place, and memories break through the pane of glass they had been hidden behind; in leide, in duscae, in altissia

cor is waiting for him as he emerges from the welcome darkness of the caves

“i told you i would always find you.”

noctis smiles a little at this, both happy and sad. because the life he had left was no more, all the people he had known dead and gone

(a father, a lover, which one came first, which one came last)

to be continued

#my fic #regis/noctis/clarus #noctis lucis caelum #clarus amicitia #regis lucis caelum #nyx/noctis #nyxnoct #nyx ulric #final fantasy 15

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