#and then to put it in the Lucien tag while also getting mad at people for defending Lucien’s very reasonable mindset is laughable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writeshite · 2 years

Note

OMG luce is back at it BOOOOOM. DO I KNOW WHO TO REQUEST FEO: no. Do I know it'll be angsty af? YES! Should I keep writing my own ff instead of writing Requests? Kinda. Also I just stepped on my MacBook and i think its dead- NYways enough from my life :)

Of course it's gonna be for morphy again, cus I love that man.

So. There ist this one guy, who cheated death in Greek mythology (wikilink) . So my Idea is that there is someone on earth who does the same, best woul be to set it in the mid 18th hundred bc of the clothes, I love the clothes.

Death had been chasing that boy for like a while, but genuinely cant discover him and when she does reader always runs away. So she asks dream for a bit help, and the the good lil brother he is, he agrees to help. He and Lucien read through nearly all the books in the library, dont find that boy in the dream books though, but they find his diary.

Morpheus reads through it and starts sympathizing with the reader, so he visits them. They argue and he starts liking them more. The rest be urs :D I just cant put things in words rn. <\3

I really loved how u made my other Request in a wonderful fanfic so... I thought why not Request again.!

Greets Luce ~

One More Lifetime Won't Kill Anyone

Summary:

“You wouldn’t like what comes after,” she warns. The prospect of eternity is hard enough as an immortal being, but as a human, it could drive one mad - grief is but just one of many things you’d have to contend with. You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

Pairings:

Morpheus x Male!Reader

Tags:

Words: 3182

Author's Note:

You will not believe the amount of math I had to do for this.

Death first crosses your path at eight. The plague traveled through the village - the doors were sealed days prior, windows shut, and with no contact with the outside world, your grandmother’s body was still fresh. Still on her bed beside her, your cousin was slumped; she’d stopped hacking out blood and could barely speak; the bile gathered at the corner of her lips; every so often, she would reach out her hand, and you’d curl even further in the corner. The house stank of sick, and your stomach provided a reminder you were still alive.

When people passed, they’d mutter prayers; the plague doctor came once a day; when you responded to his calls, he would tut and leave you, ignoring your protests. You used to pound at the door, but with your energy lacking, you only begged. When Death came, she was kind. Your cousin took her hand and stood anew - dead, but anew - your grandmother followed suit, and then she turned to you. You shook your head, though; you couldn’t die; you were healthy; the ailment had yet to curse your veins.

“I’m sorry,” she comforted you. She directed the three of you from the house - you the only one corporeal - Death led from the village, the path evened out, bumps vanishing, and people fading away. The light, as it would come to be called centuries later, shone brightly. The other two were ecstatic that or had already resigned themselves to their fate; you, on the other hand, were terrified. Eight years old. Eight years old, and you turned away from Death and ran. Away from the light. Away from the village. You ignored her calls, covered your ears when your grandmother cried out for you and pleaded you return to paradise.

Like every child, you thought the forest was a perfect hiding place. The bramble pierced your feet, branches grabbing at your clothes; you stumbled through a shrub, and the ground vanished beneath you. Pulled down by gravity, you fumbled down the cliff, body contorting as it spun; the aching pain of your neck breaking was the last you felt before you died. That should have been the end.

Your village is barely what it was when you return, twenty years passed, and the old path was all that was left. The plague had done its work, and after, the lord of the land - the smell of burning flesh festered, but you ignored it through your work. The makeshift tombstones had taken the better half of a week to make; with no knowledge of Latin, English, or any of the upper languages, you’d elected to carve - as best as you could - your family’s faces. You’d erected them far from the main path, secluded beneath an old peach tree, “Sorry about running off back then,” you muttered.

You hadn’t stuck much near home; scared Death would be waiting; the first few days after not dying had been painful, your neck resetting itself slowly, all the while, you could barely move. Stuck staring up at the canopy, praying Death wouldn’t stumble across you. You’d survived on stealing from the carriages and people that passed through the woods - a hefty reward had been set up after you’d stolen from some noble, but it was well past disregarded. “Is it nice up there?” you asked. “It’s just, I remember how you would speak of the afterlife, and I —” sometimes, in the lowest moments, you regretted running, wishing you could follow along.

Ale did well to stifle the thoughts, leaving you curled in on yourself as you cried; they were few and far between. You shook your head, “ —never mind.”

“It depends,” another voiced. You turned, and there she stood, Death, “You look tired,” she observed.

“Usually, people say hello,” you quipped.

“I suppose you’re right. Hello.” She comes to stand beside you, “They’re happy, by the way, a little angry about you running off.”

“Understandable.” You don’t exchange much more small talk before she brings up the glaringly obvious matter of her visit. You step away when she holds out her hand, “Please, you’re long overdue,” she says, reaching out again. But you back away, shaking your head; she calls out your name, not a warning, more cautiously, as you look ten seconds away from bolting.

“Yes, well, I’ll have you know I’m doing quite well,” you tell her.

“Are you?” she asks. And you huff in response, brushing off her hand and bidding the graves your goodbye; you walk fast. Your feet carry you as far as they can; you hear a sigh, then the sound of footsteps; she’s gone when you look back and right in front of you. You halt, “Don’t fight me on this,” she pleads.

You back away, “I’m not going anywhere with you; you can’t make me.”

“I don’t want to —”

“Then don’t.”

You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

She lets you go, perhaps agreeing with your statement, but you don’t stop to ask; you run, barely stopping in the woods. You gather what you have hidden away among the trees, weave a new persona, a new life, and stow away on the first ship you can. A modest thing, the inside is damp and cold; you’re sure the captain knows of your presence - judging by the wrapped bread thrown over the crates you hide behind. Death is there sometimes, sat atop the crates; she often glances down at you, offering her hand once in a while, but you turn away, huffing stubbornly.

“Morpheus, I’m your favorite sibling, right?”

The endless in question glances over at Death; she’s laid back, face pinched in irritation, and eyes shut, “Usually, I would say yes, but I feel there’s some sort of baggage to it this time.”

She rubs her temples, “There’s a human —”

“ —Hob?” Morpheus interjects.

“No, not him, another one. He doesn’t, he ran away from me, and no matter what I do, nothing I say will convince him to pass.”

“What does this have to do with me?” he asks. She sits up, and he already knows he’s not going to like this.

He most definitely, does not like this.

Not the favor, more so the lack of results. The library has nothing on you; he finds your family, friends, and even your village but nothing on you. Lucienne is far luckier; she resurfaces from a mountain of books, a worn-up journal in hand, and on the cover is your name; the first few pages are your childhood - dreary, at best, the plague doesn’t make for such happy moments - after it’s muddled, the writing is a mess. A few pages are caked with dirt and leaves. One even was just soaked in blood.

“Oh dear,” Lucienne mutters, “It appears the poor boy hasn’t had a very happy life so far –is that seawater?” The next set of pages are just wet, though not too much, as they manage to read some of the writing.

Death came for me again; we had a bit of fun this time, though. The captain got sick of me stowing away in his ship and put me to work…………never peeled so many potatoes in my life…………three days…………don’t know what I’ll do…………

I accidentally married……………………count……………………shit……………………

Morpheus chuckled at the accidental marriage bit; he’d love to hear that story firsthand. “He sounds lovely,” he remarks.

“No matter what I say, you’re going to visit him, aren’t you?” Lucienne notes, and he voices agreement, already leaving the library.

Walking through dreams - not that he doesn’t already do that - your dreams are strange; most people in this century dream of riches, wealth, usurping those above their stations, but you, you dream of a little house with two other people and nothing eventful.

“Hand me that, dear.” One of the other people, an older woman, she’s making stew, she’s always making stew, and she never eats it. Portioning what little there is to an adolescent - face often blurred and uncertain - and another child. “Oh, no, no, I’m alright. I had some of the bread; I’ll be fine. Eat up, dear; we don’t want you catching the plague so thinly looking.”

“It’s rude to trespass into other people’s minds.” The scene trickles away and is replaced by a void.

“How do you know I am trespassing?” Morpheus asks, “I could be a figment of your imagination.”

You chuckle, form appearing before him, “I doubt my mind could conjure a man of such beauty.” He smiles a little, “A man whose name eludes me.”

“How can it elude if it was never given,” he counters, “You look rather different from what Death described; shouldn’t you be sickly?”

You huff, “It’s been twenty-nine years of running from her, things are bound to change, and when you live so long, well, things get easier.”

“Then why dream of a shabby little hut?”

“We’ve barely been acquainted, good sir,” you respond.

“Is that an invitation?”

“If you like.”

He very much did - not that he’d admit it to himself - and left the Dreaming, finding himself in the countryside; you’ve done quite well for yourself, looking healthier than you had when Death had last seen you. Your new home - correction manor house - is well spaced, with rolling fields all around, well kept, and very few staff; it’s quite isolated - a home fit for someone undying.

“You don’t look that different awake.” You say from behind him, the reigns of a horse in hand, “In fact, I’d say you look quite average.”

“Insulting me won’t do much to change the subject of my visit.”

“I suppose not,” you hand the reigns over to a waiting stableboy, “shall we?”

“You walk like a noble.” He comments, it’s not that hard to do, really, nose stuck up, face passive, and arms behind your back, you’ve got it down quite well. “You also seemed to have adjusted quickly to —what’s your title?”

“Count,” you reply, relaxing back on the armchair, “What of you? Associate of Death, what title do you hold?”

He chuckles, “I’m no associate, rather a brother fulfilling a favor, and as for a title, Lord of Dreams seems to be universal, but I prefer Morpheus.”

He asks for your name in return, and you give it; you’ve never seen the need to change it with the turning centuries, “Now then, Morpheus, why has Death sent you to my doorstep?”

“She didn’t,” he admits, “her favor required less involvement on my part.”

“And what sort of involvement would that be?” you inquire.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” he responds; you’ve both seemed to have shifted in your seats, leaning closer to the other, “Why? Are you proposing something?”

“Morpheus, we’ve only met. What do you take me for?” You feign innocence, placing a hand on his chest, and push back the lapel of his coat. You’re not sure who leans closer, but you find yourself holding him close, his hands holding your face as you fall to your bed. Clothes were discarded somewhere between the move from where you’d sat, and you didn’t bother to think of them now. Morpheus lowers himself, head nestled between your legs; you grasp him by his hair as he swallows your cock - your moans echoing in the room - he kisses along your thighs when he comes off it, dark eyes glazing back up at you.

Your back arches when he draws an orgasm from you, your legs loosened by the feeling, and you spend many hours finding endless ways to bring each other pleasure. You lie next to Morpheus, “I’ve quite enjoyed your involvement, Morpheus.”

He grins, “I doubt Death will; I’m certain the favor was to garner insight into you.”

“Oh, I think you’ve done that well enough,” you tease, and he sighs, a slight pout to his expression; you roll him onto his back, “let me give you some more insight.”

“Would you like something to cover that up, my lord?” Lucienne jests.

Morpheus is going to keep walking with dignity; he is going to ignore the blatant hickeys along his skin, the flushed look on his face, and his tussled hair. He is also going to ignore Lucienne’s smug little smirk and Death’s glare as he strides past them.

The age of enlightenment, they’re calling it. Rubbish. Traipsing around the world like they own the place, the age of entitlement is more like it. You chuckle at your own joke; your fellow counts and noblemen had been appalled by your commentary, angry that a member of their own caste would say something so indecent. The Renaissance had been no better, but at least you’d had Leonardo, a genius he was, immortalized in so many ways - you’d barely left your manor house after returning from his passing, and she’d been there. Death, gaze steady as you held his hand, “You could follow, come with,” she offered once more.

“I doubt he would; he’s a stubborn old man,” Leonardo had said before Death guided him away.

You’d left his assistant, Salaì, to his matters, then retired to your home - many of the friends you’d come to know had either passed or gone senile; their children and grandchildren had grown weary of you, “You’ve never aged a day,” they’d say, and you’d shrug, dismissing the conversation.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance up from your mug of ale; the foam is long gone, and the taste is stale, “Of course, who else would I be reserving it for?” you quip. It’s still strange to see Morpheus among humans, they don’t seem to register him as anything other than a man, but after the years you’d spent avoiding Death - and distracting him - you’d come to know how to pick out otherworldly beings from a crowd. The endless dons 18th Century apparel befit a nobleman, his hair held back and a grim expression on his face - perhaps concern. You’d be remiss to dismiss him; he’d become quite the shadow over the years, especially today - the anniversary of your family’s death - morning hours at the grave, evening hours at the bar.

He placed a hand on your glass before you could take another swig, “It’s still light out; at least let me get through a few glasses before you cut me off.”

“I did, last year, and we woke up in another country,” he reminds you.

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pout, Morpheus,” you pout back, over exaggerating all the while, but he doesn’t budge, and you groan. “You’re no fun; you know that? Can’t you let me live out my dreams?”

“Getting blackout drunk is your dream?”

You purse your lips and nod, “Today? Yes.”

“This isn’t healthy,” he chastises you, and you scoff.

“Says who? I’ve lived a long life; I deserve to kick back and drown myself in alcohol,” you tell him, running a hand around the rim of your glass, you haven’t had enough to get you drunk, but you’re on the edge of tipsy. You brush his hand away and knock back the rest of your drink, a satisfied smile on your face. “Cheer up, Morpheus; I’ve got enough dread to endure today.”

“There are other, healthier ways to cope with grief.”

You almost laugh, snickering at his statement, “Oh, please, what do you know of grief?” You ask him, “What could a creature of eternity know of suffering?” you seethed.

“I know well of suffering,” he defended, “I’ve lived far longer than you could ever imagine.”

You scoffed, “Suffering? You hold more power in your hand than anyone could fathom, and you think you could grasp the finite pain that boils through me?” You turned to him with a breathy laugh and the onset of tears, “You walk among gods; I hide in their shadows. Our suffering cannot be compared, perhaps you have suffered, but could you ever comprehend the mortal toil that stains my world?”

“You think my life free of turmoil,” he sadly mused.

“Is it not? You do not fear Death; she is your sister. You do not experience hunger; it is beneath you. You do not suffer thirst, illness, or fear. Your immortality was yours from birth, mine, a once fortunate accident.”

“You’ve become resentful of me.” It’s less of an observation; your journal entries at the library have become more haphazard than before, and a few unfinished sentences mention him, but without context or elaboration, what else is he to assume but the worst?

“Oh no, not you, more so myself….my stupid, cowardly self….” you lament, laughing as tears fall from your eyes. Your memories of the past, before this mess, have become hazy, your dreams have no faces, their voices carry in the distance when they speak - never clear, never certain, you’ve forgotten what so many people sound like by now, “My mind’s become forgetful,” you tell him, “I can’t remember anything that well anymore, well, except you I suppose, but then again,” you brush your hand against his, “you are a constant aren’t you?”

He smiles a little, “Always.” He accompanies you back home, and you lie atop him, mind muddled and slumber stricken; he watches over you when Death approaches. She stands by the bed, face painted with disappointment.

“You can’t keep doing this, Morpheus; I asked for your help; falling in love with him isn’t doing that.” Death lectured.

Morpheus glanced down at you, “He needs me,” he argued.

“Does he? Or do you need him?” she counters. “I know you’ve come to care for him, but he is spiraling; you saw it. How many more years do you think he’ll manage before he goes mad?”

“He won’t. I’ll be there; I’ll always be there,” Morpheus proclaims.

The 21st Century is rather strange; technology has excelled beyond what you’d ever imagined; despite the choice of travel, you’ve elected to return home, close to the site of your long-gone village. A site now in the hands of a museum, alongside your family’s gravestones, they’d taken down the peach tree, excavated, and placed everything else behind a glass pane. You’d put off buying the land for decades, the area had never been popular, so interest was never an issue, but now, glancing at the exhibit, you felt everything and nothing all at once.

Unlucky victims of the plague….

You couldn’t read it without scoffing; what business did they have digging up the gravestones? You feel seconds away from buckling, and as you’re about ready to do so, a hand slips into yours; you hadn’t heard Morpheus approach - mind you, you could barely focus on anything - he lightly tugs, and you turn, hiding away in his embrace.

End Note:

Originally, I was gonna have this end so sad, but then, I decided to be kind. 🙂 Stay Hydrated.

#morpheus x male reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman imagine #shiterequests

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retroandreal · 4 years

Text

Hanging by a Moment (Lucien Rivercrest x MC)

Hey guys, its ya girl with another ficcy fic. So while I was writing this one here, I unconsciously took a massive left-turn and this turned into a “His POV” type of situation. I’m not even mad because I loved when Lovestruck did those little extras for the characters. I was also jumping for joy when they brought them back for Havenfall is for Lovers. Tagging @official-alex-cyprin

AN: Four snippets of Lucien’s POV from when he first met MC to winning the bake off, the most iconic scenes that stuck out in my opinion. Especially that spat with Vallia. (lil biss). This is inspired by the song ‘Hanging by a Moment’ by Lifehouse and this called for major fluff feels. TBH, all my fics have had major fluff feels. Guess it’s time to change my Tumblr banner name…

Sweet Enchantments café; my second lifeline. I’ve basically be annexed from my family after I landed myself in this rehabilitation center. I don’t resent it; I love to bake since it was what my grandmother raised my brother and I with. Now, It seems like my brother doesn’t even know me as well. Once you’re charged with a federal offence, I guess not even your family will back you up. Grandma was really the only one that believed in me. I was meant to inherit the Rivercrest business, but I knew it wasn’t ever going to be for me. Grandma knew that baking was all I had and that’s exactly how it led me to be the pastry chef at Sweet Enchantments. The owner and coordinator, Liora, has been more than welcoming of my desires and use my magic for presentation. Every day done; I would make the daily sweets for the display case but save the dessert acrobatics for the crowds of women that formed my fan-base. They feed my confidence and my ego, I know I’m good at what I do but it’s all on a day-to-day basis, no sustenance or real joy but I know I have to make the most of this second chance.

“Lucien! Pay attention!” Runa snaps at me, she’s the head waitress here at the café. I respect her as a coworker and a friend; we’re all in the same boat here

“Yeah yeah, sorry. I need to prep anyway before we open” I stand up abruptly and the chair that I once occupied screeches across the tiled floor. Another day, another day closer to the end of my sentence and I promise you, grandma, I will make you proud.

The afternoon rush hits; and my pastry counter is the busiest in the café in exception to the main dining floor

“Hello ladies, ready for today’s spectacle?” Met with squealing cries of excitement, I begin my magic-filled performance. ‘Oooohs’ and ‘ahhhs’ overcome my senses as my ego is constantly being fed, this is fine. The temporary bliss of adoration is enough to get me through the day, never more but only just enough. That’s when I see her; lost, wide-eyed, in awe of her surroundings. Like a lost puppy looking for its owner, or maybe in hopes of finding something… or someone. She is probably a first-timer here. I turn my back to fetch one of my enchanted whisks and cast a spell to beat my egg-whites into soft peaks to form the perfect meringue.

I turn back, she’s there

Looking just as starstruck as she did before

Then meets my eyes as I finish the final touches on the tarts just assembled for the crowd in front of me.

The wind subtly shifts around me

“She’s different” I murmur under my breath

“I-I was looking for my scarf and I stumbled across this café! I’m sorry” she stammers, as if she’s in the wrong. I shake my head in disbelief, this girl is so naïve. I hold out the last of the batch of tarts.

“Try one” I offer her

She accepts gratefully and our hands briefly touch, with little jolts of energy travelling between us.

“She’s different”

~~~~~~~

“Lucien! Come join me!” as she pats the bed just beside her energetically. She’s always been one for stories; telling and reading them. Standing still in my place, I debate whether I should join her since, lately, I have been growing some sort of feelings for her. I cannot fathom what these feelings are yet. I wouldn’t say I love her or even have a crush on her, but I’ll say that I do care for her.

“Ok, I’ll take your invitation” I make myself comfortable next to her. God, I can still smell the buttery pastry scent on her from when we were preparing the tart base for tomorrow’s day.

She smells like home, not the home where my parents are.

But the home where grandma raised me.

Surrounded by the same scents.

She smells like home, and I feel the most at ease with her presence here.

The sound of her voice and narration just becomes white noise in my ears as all that I can concentrate on is the engulfing scent radiating off her clothes from today she still has on, refusing to change until we have finished our platonic pillow-talk. She’s constantly pulling me in with how much she eases my incomplete heart with just her being beside me. I have not felt this way in a long time. She’s filling a void within me that hasn’t even been filled by my daily ego boosts but yet she makes me feel like I can conquer the world with just a whisk, oven and a few ingredients.

I’m closer to where I started, I was desperate for changing, but now I’m chasing after you

She swats my shoulder closest to her

“Hey! Get your head out of the clouds! Are you even listening to me?”

I chuckle deeply at her childish whining

“Don’t laugh, Lucien! It’s not funny! How long was I even talking to myself” she complains as she makes a god-awful attempt at an angry, threatening face and burying her face into my pillow

Dammit, is this what I’ve been missing? Comfort? I find myself not missing the presence of grandma as much ever since she’s been appointed my pastry apprentice. She’s made baking for me an enjoyable experience again, not just some monotonous chore just to by myself time throughout my sentence. She’s learnt so much within the past few days, she reminds me from back when I used to learn how to bake with grandma and my brother in the kitchen when I was just a kid. I’ve learnt how to accept and share my love of baking with other people and not just put on a show for my own reputation, to share my love of baking with her.

She forgets all that I’m lacking, how I’m completely incomplete

I’m done living for the tedious days in and days out, I want to make her life as filling as mine has become with her in it. I feel a little bit self-conscious and guilty that her basically being held hostage in Sweet Enchantments is my fault; If I had not shamelessly tried to show off my magic in front of her on that very day I met her, she would probably be home safe and sound. Not stuck here, illegally, glamoured, and awaiting the official response from the government which is, frankly, taking a decade and a half.

I have this need inside me to keep her happiness. Selfish as I am, I hope to wake up to that smile of hers for as many mornings as I can.

~~~~~

Vallia is relentless. Giving her a piece and half of her mind. But she’s not taking it herself.

My headstrong angel. The way Vallia is giving her a threat. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at her, or maybe how long she’s been tormenting her. She doesn’t back down. Instead, she holds her own against the force of nature which is Vallia. She advances on Vallia, thrusting one of her perfectly delicate fingers towards her.

“I did NOT do anything to you, and I don’t deserve the way you have been treating me”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you are a screw up”

Oh my, Vallia. You couldn’t have said anything else as wrong as that to her. The bickering goes back and forth. I want to defend her. I really do. But I know I have to trust her that she can stand up for herself, because I have full faith in her self-defense as much as her ability to keep up with me; in the café as my apprentice as well as dealing with everything that has been dumped on her… because of me.

My mind is running and not quite sure where to go, so I continue to stand there. Proud of her, and her willingness to stand up for her own rights, self-worth and our relationship that was ungratefully exposed by Vallia herself.

“You’ve pushed and pushed me. I should CRUSH you”

I’m shellshocked by the hardness of her words, usually in the place of words of encouragement and love for me. But now, she’s furious. I try my hardest to hold back a small grin but fail when she catches the corners of my mouth twitching, unable to hold back the proud feeling I have toward this woman at this very moment.

I haven’t stepped in yet. I’m surprised I haven’t, But I trust her with my life. I’m letting go of all that I’ve held on to; my reputation, my image… for her. But I don’t care, I would give up a lifetime of fangirls and temporary loyalty just to make sure she’s the only one standing by my side at the end of the day. If the previous weeks haven’t proven anything to me, at this moment, I know that she is the one that I want; to support me throughout the rest of my sentence and the rest of my life.

I was living for the only thing I ever knew

But now, I want to live to make her happy

Right beside me

And I don’t intend on letting her get away

She’s taken all of me now, and I’m damn lucky to have her

Since that fateful day she literally stumbled into my life, till even now, I don’t know what I’m diving into. My little firecracker, she ignites a new light within my self to continue, to continue to grow. I want to grow and learn alongside her. Life has become so unpredictable with her in it, from the slight points of contact while we work in perfect harmony behind the pastry counter. To the secret rendezvous in the café storage room. While I run my hands through her hair and place soft, peppery kisses into the junctions of her neck where I know will ignite the most delectable of reactions from her. Those little moment where I can be myself with her in my room makes me proud to stand next to her. Hanging onto these little moments that I’ve had with her urge me to keep going. And I’m going to make sure that she is with me, every step of the way.

~~~~~

“And the winner of the bake-off is…”

I’m nervous. The most uneasy I have ever been in my life, but not for my own sake. For her sake. She encouraged me to compete as a new baker and, frankly, I fear to disappoint the love of my life. The past few days on the island have been the most emotionally tiring time in my life, but I know I’ve grown as a person, for the better… for her sake. Everything up until now I have done for her. To reconnect with my brother, bring myself closure from the passing of grandma… Grandma. I know you would have loved her. She brings as much joy in my life as baking did when you were still here. You would have loved her, maybe as much as I do now. She’s urged me to move on, to become a better man. She’s made me a better version of myself that I, if you would have asked me the same question a few months back, I would have laughed in their faces.

But it’s true

“LUCIEN RIVERCREST!!!”

She’s my rock

Cheer from all around me invade my ears and a seawall of loyal and new fans have gathered around me to celebrate my victory over that vindictive pixie.

I’m closer to where I started

I lock eyes with her from an opening in the crowd

I’m chasing after you

I part the crowd and make a hasty beeline towards her. I could spot her from a mile away.

I’m standing here until you make me move

As I get closer, she starts to push through herself in hopes of meeting me halfway. But I get there first, because I’ve been chasing after her since the beginning.

My new beginning.

My new life.

With her.

But right now, as she barrels into my arms, I lift her up into a Hollywood worthy kiss in front of the floating camera orbs.

I’m hanging by a moment here with you

#Voltage #voltage games #voltage usa #voltage inc #voltage otome #sweet enchantments #lucien rivercrest #runa amberthorne #liora skyheart #emeril everbloom #lovestruck smut #lovestruck fluff #roman tarrenglade

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slxrpindust · 5 years

Text

Labor on That Midnight Wire

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: M

Archive Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Relationships: Molly/Alastor, Angel Dust/Husk, Charlie/Vaggie— mentioned, Arackniss/Salem, Lucifer/Lilith — mentioned

Characters: Angel Dust, Molly, Arackniss, Alastor, Husk, Salem, Henroin, Lucifer, Minor Character(s)

Additional Tags: Non-Consensual Drug Use, Alternate Universe — Royalty, Alternate Universe — Nobility, Mentioned Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Violence, Fade-to-Black Sex, Conflict No Resolution, Incomplete, Viva la Revolución

It’s a classic European royalty AU, with King Lucian, Queen Lilith and Princess Charlotte. Varona (Vaggie) is Charlie’s Lady in Waiting but they have been secretly courting each other for quite some time now. (Unfortunately this is just the B plot and I don’t have much planned for it.)

Our focus will primarily be the House of Cadaverini: Marquis Henry Cadaverini and his late wife Marchioness Clementine, and their three lovely children, the Lord Nicholas, the Lady Maria, and the Young Lord Angelo.

Nick is the perfect heir. Upstanding young man, handsome, does what he’s told, handles quite a few of the House’s duties, helps maintain good relations with neighboring lords... the usual. In fact, many suspect that he will be betrothed to the Princess come year’s end.

Lady Maria is the talk of the land for her beauty and grace, but mostly her sharp wit. Normally ladies are expected to be prim and proper, and while she is, she has also never hesitated to cut a man down with her words... Many a rumor about what lucky lord will be able to “tame” that lady into a proper wife... Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon, since Henry is soft on her, his only daughter who reminds him of his wife so much; he’s given her the liberty of rejecting any suitor that comes before her and she does so gleefully.

And lastly.. of course, the Young Lord, Angelo. He is much more reckless than both of his siblings, and tales of his escapades travel far. He’s a heartbreaker, said to be able to woo anyone woman in the land. Although it would seem his tastes lie with the gents.. and is also exceptional at challenges of the equestrian variety. While beloved by many, much of the older Nobility find him disgraceful, due to his blatant disrespect and unwillingness to perform the duties expected of him. As you can tell the House is quite the popular topic for gossip.

Now one day, Lord Angelo and Lady Maria are out for one of their rides, (another thing she shouldn't be doing but WELL..) and they come across a hovel of a building.. Never noticed it because they never come out this far..... and it's so creepy it's like an above ground graveyard or a mausoleum or something..... there are coffins EVERYWHERE.... some open... some, more disturbingly, closed. This is where they meet the estranged Alistair who has.. no last name? Despite Angelo’s distrust, Maria seems to be immediately intrigued by this strange man... the first able to keep up with her Wit, following along with every twist and turn and giving as good as he got.

[ Interaction Interlude:

“So... Alistair...... What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a Carpenter! :)”

“..... who only makes coffins?” :doubt:

“................... Correct! :)” ]

Eventually, Angelo has had enough and is like “Alright let’s go!” And Maria seems frustrated by this but she agrees anyway.. they leave but even as they do both Alistair and Maria know... She’ll be back.

And she is! She starts to visit Alistair more and more often, all alone as well, which is extremely unacceptable for a woman of her status. And before they know it they’ve begun their own private little courting dance that neither will admit to. And thats. Main Plot Part A.

MEANWHILE IN MAIN PLOT PART B.... While Maria is off on her secret dates, which Angelo knows about and is begrudgingly been covering her for... Angelo actually has to go out since he’s supposed to be out with Maria. And he finds his time occupied at this kind of shitty smithy which is clearly for low income peasantry and thus. Absolutely NOWHERE he should be spending his time... Which is why he likes it so much. :))) And it’s there that he meets the gruff and burdensome blacksmith who offers no name. It’s fine though. Angelo doesn’t need a name to flirt. And this blacksmithy is cute under all that dirt and grime He Knows It. Unfortunately the Smith doesn’t seem to like the Young Lord at all, which is also fine. Angelo’s certain he can crack him eventually. No one can resist Lord Cadaverini. They go back and forth for months.. Angelo learns that people call the smith Husk... he likes the name. Eventually the man seems less genuinely irritated and more begrudgingly annoyed. Angelo can tell. The smith enjoys his company he just won’t admit it. Especially to himself. Finally one day, Angelo is actually getting on Husks nerves but he can’t even tell. The Lord is a bit oblivious to when people are legitimately mad at him, since he’s so used to mindlessing pushing people’s buttons. What pushes it over the line though, is Angelo asking why Husk is always smithing weapons especially since there's no way there could be that much demand for such a simple low class smithy... yet he’s always working. Husk snaps, although Angelo doesn’t know why, and he sends the lord away.

So! While his siblings have been gallivanting about, making poor examples of the Cadaverini House, Nicholas has been the one thing trying to hold their damn reputation together. Honestly the only reason that the Cadaverini haven't fallen in standing with the other Noble Houses is because the elders have faith in Nicholas to uphold the legacy and their beliefs in what nobility should be. He’s their last bastion of hope. They’d already given up on Angelo, and with each year unwed, they lose faith in Maria as well. In fact, prospects for House Cadaverini Look brighter than ever, since rumors say that Nicholas and the Princess will be wed.

Nick pays no mind to the rumors. Which is a real shame because he is woefully unprepared when Henry comes to inform him that yes, he has talked to King Lucien and he and Charlotte will be wed in December.

You see... Nicholas has not been the perfect son that everyone believes he has. He has a lot of duties for the kingdom; one of which is “maintaining foreign relations” a position that requires him to report directly to the king, making him Quite the Reputable and Important figure…

On paper, Hel is supposed to be fostering positive relations with its neighboring country, Locasta. However, under the surface King Lucien is planning a Coup, and intends to have his brother, Apollyna assassinated. In order to achieve this, Nicholas has been appointed as his Locastan Envoy, and is expected to spend long trips in the other country integrating himself into their Nobility, establishing a close relationship, and eventually learning trade military secrets. So Nick has spent his time trying to get into Count Caius Costello’s good graces. Although of lower rank, he is in charge of one of Locasta’s fiercest regiments. The plan was to use his status as a Lord and future Marques of Cadaverini House to garner a seat at Costello’s table. Then he would endear himself to the Count’s Sister, Salem, and use her as a pathway to receive information... Unfortunately... Things didn’t work out quite as planned.

Salem is smart as a whip, and just as quick and vicious. She pulls Nick off to the side of the stables one day, and before he can defend himself, she has him pinned to the wall with a knife to his throat. It’s almost shameful how easily she reads him, he’s like an open book before her. It’s impressive, but Nicholas still has a mission. So he lies through his teeth and waves his position around as though it were a white flag, and even though she doesn’t seem to believe him at ALL, she lets him go. He has a point after all... Killing someone of his status WOULD be a declaration of war, which is exactly what King Lucian would want. Her hands were tied.... for now. But the moment Nick slipped up, and he would slip up, she’d be there, sword at the ready. And he knew it. And he liked it.

He wouldn’t call it courting.. .that’s too formal. Too normal. Too acceptable. He spends the time in Locasta... pursuing Salem. And he spends his time in Hel missing her company. It’s a miracle his siblings haven’t noticed his lovesick longing, but he supposed that for once they were too busy doing whatever to be prying into his life. And for that he was thankful.

Back in Hel, Angelo has been... Sulking. To put it plainly. Maria’s been off with her new beau.... Nicholas has been off being Stupid Perfect Son Nicholas. And he’s been fucking alone because Husk hates him now and never wants to see him again and he doesn’t even know why. And this house is big and empty and it just makes him lonely upset and mad and lonely. And it’s on one of those lonely days in an empty house that the monotony was broken. Broken by a concerned servant, who requires the assistance of the Lord of the House and since Angelo is the only one there well... that task falls to him. Apparently there is a weaponsmith at the front gate and he is quite adamant that the Lord come see his wares. So Angelo makes his way to the front of the grounds and who does he see but. Husk. The young lord is immediately on guard; the last time they met they didn’t part on good terms after all. He debates just sending the man away but Husk asks that he please hear him out and well.... he quite likes the frump so... he invites him in.

[They make up. They fuck.] Funnily enough, it isn't until they're in bed that Angelo learns the man’s name... Hadrian Cabot... it was a good name. (And thank god his mother was already dead because had she heard of this she might have died again.) But Angelo demands one more thing from him. If he’s going to stay in his life then Hadrian will have to be honest about what set him off that day in the smithy. He doesn’t seem like he wants to share but after looking at Angelo’s face again it seems to break him down a little. He explains his... checkered past.... and the fact that until Angelo he’d always hated Nobles... and in fact he still hates 99% of them. Which makes Angelo laugh, knowing he's the 1%. And he doesn’t fault the smith for that; as a lord he could attest, Nobility, including himself tbh, were all AWFUL people. But then Hadrian tells him something that he can’t just brush off.. He tells him of a plot, an uprising in Hel. People are banding together, they know that King Lucian is power hungry and tyrannical and fear that a war they don’t want is on the horizon. It’s made the people restless and some have decided to lash out before he gets the chance to strike. That’s why he was always crafting weapons. He owed the guy who has become the unofficial leader of the revolution.. they’d worked together in the past and the reason Hadrian lashed out was because he hadn’t wanted to get Angelo involved. Angelo could understand why. He knew what revolution entailed. Heads would roll. Heads like his. He could understand why Hadrian didn’t want to get close to him. Not if he would be partially responsible for his death in the future. But even still something about the story unsettled him. This guy that Hadrian was indebted to... What was his name? Who is leading this revolution?.... Angelo wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. But he had to ask.

LET’S CHECK ON MOLLY HUH??? —

Alright! It seems that for Maria, her lovelife has been sailing far easier than either of her brothers. Alistair is fantastic. He actually engages her, he’s interested in the things she has to say, appreciates her mind instead of her breasts. It’s such a relief after wasting so much time with those bastards in the court. They get along quite well. It’s refreshing. She’d been making trips out to visit him once or twice a week at this point, just glad to have someone outside of her brothers that she could consider an actual friend. ((It’s not like she could just make informal housecalls to see the princess when ever she wanted, even if they were friends)) Someone who she could just be herself around, even if he was just odd. She could tell him her passions about the medical field, and he would in turn talk about his hunting escapades. She learned that although he made a number of coffins for work he also found an unexpected pleasure in the art. It soothed something in him, brought him to peace with death both future present and past. Maria didn’t quite understand it, but she respected it well enough. It was a day like any other, they’d been having tea and Alistair was in the process of explaining ‘taxidermy’ when Angelo burst in. He looked ragged and distressed and he wasn’t breathing right... It set Maria on edge.

His eyes looked so wild, darting back and forth every few seconds to look at Alistair, as if taking his eyes off him for a second would be catastrophic but also desperate to ensure that his sister was unharmed and in one piece. It took a few seconds to realize that between his reedy breathing and panicked gasps he was trying to speak, but it was all rushing together so quickly that it was incomprehensible. Maria immediately went to his side, assuming the worst. Thankfully it seemed that having her in arms reach helped to calm him, if only a little. During all the stress and concern, she hadn’t even noticed the man who followed Angel in, slightly out of breath. But thankfully Alistair did. He immediately took control of the situation, as if he were born to lead. It was a bit unexpected, but not unwanted, although again Maria and Angelo seemed to be out of sync with that thought. He instructed everyone to have a seat, and began to prepare tea for everyone as he tried to explain to Angelo that no one would be able to understand him until he calmed down and that the tea would help. The young lord didn’t seem to agree with him but eventually was cajoled into drinking by his sister and his... beau. He wished he hadn’t.

Within minutes he felt calm. Too calm. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, every blink came slow and heavy, and suddenly the teacup had the weight of an anchor sitting in his hands. He wasn’t tired, it just felt that he was underwater. Every movement came, but it came sluggish like the drip of molasses off a wooden spoon. He wanted to glare, to yell and accuse Alistair for his misdeeds, but the very thought of lifting his head seemed like a monumental task, so very far beyond him. Thankfully, his sister was no fool, and immediately noticed something was wrong. Everyone was just too relaxed for the situation at hand. She turned to confront Alistair but he just responded with the same smile he always did, asking that she refrained from being swept away in her own emotions and that she hear his explanation. She didn’t know if she wanted to, but the sight of her brother, nearly comatose and in the arms of a stranger, left her with little choice now didn’t it? And she didn’t hesitate to point that out.

Thankfully, Alistair didn’t waste time on contrivances, and was quick to explain himself. He explained that while yes, it was coincidence that they happened upon his humble abode that fateful day, it was always part of the plan to “make contact” with the Cadaverini heirs. And yes, he meant Kidnapping. But thankfully he realized that day, there was no need to resort to such methods because Maria was an intelligent woman and surely would see his logic. He had no intention of hurting either her or her brother, he simply needed them as a means to an end, and it just so happened that if she would willingly agree to his cause that would only make things much easier. At that point, he details his entire plan to her; a move some might consider foolish, but when questioned he assured that he held no doubt in his mind that Maria would not betray him. It burned her inside to know that he was right. He explains the role that she and her siblings are to partake in this game of his and that is when she has had enough. She needs to know. Is that all this was to him? A game? Alistair is excited, he can tell by her calm demeanor that he’s already won her over, had he not he may have been in actual danger, and the thought has made him giddy. He’s prancing about the house, making changes to their plans to accommodate their new accomplices when he registers the question. “A game? Why of course not, Dear Maria! I’ve always considered you a good friend.”

She didn’t know if that answer made her feel better.. or worse.

#my writing #royalty au #hazbin hotel #molly hazbin hotel #mollastor #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x husk #informal writing #arackniss x salem #charlie x vaggie #mentioned: charlie x arackniss #ahahah i dont remember how to tag fic on tumblr

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theladyofdeath · 6 years

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Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 2

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Hey, guys. I have surgery planned for Wednesday, so I’m going to post this wonderful (debatable) chapter today. Also, I’ve had a few of you ask about being tagged, and I’m sorry to say that I will no longer be doing tags in my fics. With Castaway, they hardly ever worked and I had a few readers get mad because of it. Instead, I have (and will be) tagging every chapter with “TACMC FNL” for your convenience! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And, as always, i would love to know what you think. :)

Shout out to @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty for helping me with details! <3

Cassian hoped Rhys picked up Alana without a problem.

He had called Velaris Elementary and told them Rhysand Lunasa would be picking her up, although the Lunasas were already on her emergency release form.

And yet, his leg was shaking uncontrollably as he sat in his homeroom classroom to serve his first detention.

In typical Helion fashion, he was late. Even those who ran detention didn’t want to be in detention.

On top of that, their first game was Friday night and Velaris High School’s starting fullback was missing most of practice.

Coach B said he would have to put in extra hours during his afternoon free period to make up for lost time.

Mondays.

He didn’t regret it, though. In fact, every time he thought back to punching Eris in the face, his soul became a little lighter. The dick got what he deserved. Cassian had hoped the news traveled to Mor, he hadn’t seen her since homeroom. She wouldn’t be mad. He wasn’t even sure why she stayed with Eris, after all the shitty things he had done to her. But she was capable of making her own decisions, so Cassian stayed out of it.

Well, mostly. At least on her end.

A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips as the door swung open, and to Cassian’s surprise, it wasn’t Mr. Spellcleaver who walked in.

She was tall, at least she carried herself that way. She wore a heather grey pencil skirt with a white button down and a crimson red scarf, her long golden-brown waves hanging limply down her sides.

But her eyes were what caught Cassian’s attention.

They were like the calm before the storm, lingering over the ocean. Grey-blue, and staring negatively into Cassian’s.

Surely, she couldn’t be in detention. She looked to stuck-up. Too snooty. Too good for that shit.

“Name?” she asked, as she walked to Helion’s desk and sat down.

Cassian looked around the classroom, although they were the only two in there. “Uh, Cassian Nazari? Who the hell are you?”

She looked up from her apparent list, eyes narrowed. “Ms. Archeron. I’ll be overseeing detention, and that sort of language will not be tolerated.”

Cassian blinked. “Archeron? Are you Elain’s sister?”

The girl’s pencil froze from whatever she was writing on her sheet. “Yes.”

“Are you new, too? I didn’t see you today. Are you -“

“I’m not a student here.”

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, leaning back in his chair, as realization hit him. “You’re one of the new aids from the University.”

The aids from Velaris University came every year, although they typically looked older than the girl sitting in front of him. He quirked an eyebrow, which only seemed to annoy her more.

When she didn’t answer, Cassian grinned. “Well, since you’re not a teacher, and apparently we’re going to be spending some time together, don’t you think we should be on a first name basis?”

She put down her pencil and folded her hands on top of the desk. “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? Detention?”

“Are you going to council me, Ms. Archeron?”

The tone in which he spoke her name had her scowling. “No. We can stay quiet, if you wish.”

“Oh, no, I would love to talk to you. How did Elain like her first day?”

She didn’t answer.

“You coming to the game on Friday night?” he tried, again.

“I don’t waste my time at football games.”

“You should,” Cassian said. “If you’re going to be a part of Velaris High –“

“We shouldn’t be speaking,” she interrupted. “This is meant to be punishment, a time for you to do homework.”

Cassian grinned, catching sight of her nametag. Nesta.

“Well, Nesta,” he began, and she scowled at the sound of her name from his lips. “It’s the first day of school. I don’t have homework. And I shouldn’t be punished. My so-called crime is perfectly justified.”

“If you’re trying to get under my skin, it’s not working. Now be quiet.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Cassian asked, not bothering to take a hint. Taking hints when people were annoyed with him was not his style. “You look younger than me. Are you one of those freakishly smart kids that graduated high school at, like, fourteen?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, Nesta’s cheeks began to burn as she turned her attention back to her clipboard.

Cassian chuckled as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He used to get embarrassed of his phone, because it was all he could afford. It wasn’t the latest iPhone, or whatever other smartphone every else had. His model was made ten years ago and only cost twenty dollars a month to keep activated.

Alana okay? He sent to Rhys.

He replied less than a minute later. Yup. She’s sitting by Coach B on the bleachers while we get ready. She had a good day. : ) She’s excited to tell you about it.

Cassian let out a breath. Good. She had a good day. That was a good sign.

He glanced at the clock.

Five minutes.

He had only been in detention for five minutes.

“What’s your name?”

Elain blinked down at the little girl beside her. She hadn’t even realized she was there.

Her tanned skin was kissed by the sun, as if she had spent all Summer playing outdoors, and her long, curly brown hair was just as lovely as her hazel eyes.

“Elain,” she laughed, quietly. “What’s yours?”

“Alana,” she grinned, her two front teeth missing. “I’m five. My brother plays football. Does yours?”

“No,” Elain sighed. “No, I have no brothers. I do have sisters, though. One of them wants to be a teacher, and the other likes to paint.”

“Do you like to paint?” she asked, curiously. “I do.”

“Do you? I’m sure you’re a beautiful painter.”

The young girl smiled again as a tall, blonde girl approached them.

Elain recognized her immediately from a few of her classes.

“Mor!” Alana beamed, jumping to her feet and running into the arms of the blonde.

Mor smiled and brushed back her hair. “Hey, pretty girl. How was school?”

“Great! Are you gonna do cheerleading?”

“Yes,” Mor said, finding Elain. “I see you already met our new cheerleader. Elain?”

“Yep,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing down her gym shorts – a nervous habit. “I, um, have never done this before. Our last school was too small to form a squad, but I’ve always wanted to try it. I’m sorry if I’m awful, but I’ll do my best not to be. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m babbling –“

Mor just laughed, keeping Alana close to her side. “It’s okay. I’m captain, and what I say goes. And I say that you are more than welcome on the squad, and if you’re struggling, I’ll be more than happy to help you in any way I can. There’s no need to be nervous.”

Elain froze. It’s not that she expected Mor to be mean, but…..well, no that was it. And she felt awful for judging.

“Where’s Cass, Mor?” Alana asked, breaking the silence. “He said he was going to get me from school, but he didn’t.”

Mor crouched down to Alana’s height, and brushed a curly black lock behind her ear. “He’ll be here soon. He was naughty today.”

Alana rolled her eyes. “Again?”

Mor chuckled. “Yeah, what can you do? Boys.”

Alana giggled then held out her hand to Elain, which she amusingly shook. “It was nice to meet you, Elain. You will make a fine cheerleader.”

Then, she walked onto the football field and sat down on the bench, by a man that Elain assumed was the coach.

“She sure has a way with words for someone so young,” Elain said.

Mor smiled, wistfully. “Yeah, she does. That girl is special.” Then, as if she noticed Elain’s curious glance, Mor cleared her throat. “Well, come with me. Let me introduce you to the girls. I think you’re going to have fun.”

As they were walking to the sidelines, a tall boy with red hair came up behind them and smacked Mor on the ass. Mor didn’t even look back, she simply rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. That’s Eris. He’s a dick, but I don’t feel like making a scene right now. Not in front of Alana.”

Elain glanced nervously at the boy, with his broad shoulders and throbbing veins. “Does he…..do that kind of stuff to everyone?”

Mor quirked a brow before realizing what she was actually asking. “Oh, no, don’t worry about him. He won’t touch you. He’s my…..my boyfriend.”

Elain caught herself from asking why she stuttered, but she simply nodded her head and continued with the rest of their walk in silence.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” Mor called out once they reached the group that was gathering, placing her hands on her hips. “This is Elain, she is the newest member of our squad. It’s her first time cheering, so I expect you all to be helpful and encouraging.”

To Elain’s surprise, she was greeted with clapping and cheers. They all gave her a smile, except for the one on the end. Noticing where she was looking, Mor chuckled. “That’s Amren. Don’t let her fool you, she’s cheery inside.”

Elain quickly looked away from the small, black-haired female before their eyes could connect. “She doesn’t seem like the….”

“Cheerleader type?” Mor laughed, finishing her question. “No, she doesn’t. But her form is great, and she’s our flyer. She’s into gymnastics, but since Velaris doesn’t offer gymnastics, she joined the squad in hopes to stay in the same line of work. As close as she could get, anyway. Don’t judge too fast, though. She’ll surprise you.”

Elain, panicked, began to tell Mor that she wasn’t trying to judge, but got cut off.

“Mor?”

The two girls spun around, and Elain stopped.

So did the boy who was walking toward them, dressed in football pads and carrying his helmet by the facemask.

Mor’s grin turned wicked as she glanced between Azriel and Elain, as the two stared at one another in timid silence.

Azriel showed no emotion – none except for the crimson patches on his tanned cheeks.

He was in all of Elain’s classes but one, which was yearbook, which she excitedly decided to take thanks to Lucien’s recommendation.

Azriel always sat on the opposite end of the room as she did, but she caught him watching her a few times throughout the day.

And couldn’t stop the tingly sensation that sat in the pit of her stomach when she did.

“Sorry,” Azriel cleared his throat, at last, and looked to Mor as he raked a scarred hand through his dark hair. Elain couldn’t help but stare at the scars, at the way they completely ruined and mutilated his flesh. And yet, she didn’t stare because it was horrifying. She just simply couldn’t look away. “Um, Rhys wants to take us all out for pizza after practice. Wanna come?”

She looked to Azriel, then Elain saw her look further down the field – at Eris. “Yeah, sure, that would be great.”

Azriel looked to Elain, and cleared his throat, again. “Uh, would you like to come?”

“Oh,” Elain stopped, and she knew she was blushing. “No, that’s okay. I – my sisters will be expecting me. We just moved, and we’re still settling in. I don’t want to – no, that’s – I don’t want to impose.”

Azriel’s lips flattened as he pursed them, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else as he tugged on his helmet and jogged to the middle of the field.

Mor turned to Elain and raised her brows. “He was flirting with you.”

“He was?” Elain asked, incredulously. “He kinda looked like he wanted to set me on fire.”

“Trust me, I’ve known Az a long time,” Mor grinned. “He was flirting with you.”

And with that, she turned to the group, and practice began.

Elain tried to focus on what she had to learn, but she couldn’t get his face out of her mind.

And the shadows that seemed to linger over his shoulders.

Feyre sat high up on the bleachers, doodling in her notebook as practices were in full bloom on the field below.

She hated football. Football players were always stuck up and conceited, and she thought it was better to just stay away.

But Elain wanted to cheer, and Feyre supported whatever she did, so it looked like Feyre would be spending quite a bit of time by that damned field.

Nesta plopped down next to Feyre and sighed, forcing her to stop her pencil from moving and look at her sister. “Bad day?”

“No,” Nesta sighed. “No, it was okay. Mr. Collins is making me watch over detentions, though, and it’s just…..strange. I’m supposed to be in charge, but I’m only a year older than the seniors. It feels.....I don’t know. I feel like a child. Like a fake.”

Nesta had graduated early, thanks to her mass knowledge in pretty much every subject. She was halfway through University at nineteen, and Feyre had always admired her for such things.

“Someone already got detention?” Feyre chuckled. “It’s the first day of school.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, one of the football players. Cassian Nazari. And his mouth is filthy. And I swear he was trying to flirt with me, which is extremely inappropriate.”

“You’re only a year older,” Feyre reminded her.

“But I work here,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

Feyre couldn’t help but laugh at Nesta’s fit. “Well, I’m sure he can’t stay in detention forever. Then you can move on.”

Nesta didn’t answer, she simply looked out onto the field where a boy was just now coming out of the locker room. “There he is. The little prick.”

Feyre smirked, but there was nothing little about him. He was huge. Fit. Beautiful, if Feyre had to admit. Even though the fact of his attraction was completely obvious.

She saw him run to number 16, which she recognized as Rhysand, the douche from gym, and slap him on the back before taking his place on the field.

“Wait – why are you scowling?” Nesta asked, genuinely curious.

“Speaking of pricks,” Feyre muttered before shaking her head. “I had a hell of a day.”

“Bad?” Nesta asked, her shoulders becoming tense.

Nesta had a tendency to come off like she didn’t care, although she had come a long way since their mother died. But it was little things like that, like the tensing up of her upper body, that made Feyre remember just how much their elder sister cared.

Nesta did take her and Elain out of their father’s home. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have moved them ninety miles away – to Velaris.

“Not bad,” Feyre sighed. “Just…..I don’t know. New, I guess.”

Nesta nodded, as if she understood but wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sure it will get better though,” Feyre continued. “Looks like Elain is enjoying herself, at least.”

Elain was in the middle of a line of cheerleaders, her blue and black pom-poms up in a high V.

“She deserves it,” Nesta said, eyeing Elain on the field below. “She’s too kind to have lived the life we have so far.”

Feyre agreed. If anyone of them deserved a better life, it was Elain.

Elain had been the one to try and take the spot of “mother” after theirs had passed away, even though she was only a year older than Feyre, and a year younger than Nesta. It was in her blood, the love and care that only people like Elain could show.

Yet, she suffered the same as the rest of them. But she looked happy, with her arms in the air, chanting whatever foolishness she was chanting. And she was smiling.

And that was enough for Feyre, at least for now.

If Elain could find happiness in this starlit hell, perhaps she could, too.

#tacmc fnl #short chapter #i didn't want to make too many scenes tho #sorry #acotar #friday night lights #fanfic #fanfiction

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