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hellsblood · 9 months

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FULL NAME: JESSALYN D'AUBIGNE (ANGELIC NAME IS LUDIVINE)

NICKNAMES: JEZ, MON ANGE, PETITE FLAMME, PRINCESS, QUEEN, BANE OF HEAVEN, THE HEAVENLY FIRE, BLOOD OF THE MORNING STAR

PRONOUNS: SHE/HER

SEXUALITY: DEMISEXUAL, SAPPHIC, POLYAMOROUS

AGE: 23 (SOUL IS 414 YO)

EYE COLOR: HAZEL WITH FLECKS OF EMERALD but they turn to gold when she uses her angelic powers and burning red when anger takes over

HAIR COLOR: EITHER RED OR STRAWBERRY BLONDE

SPECIES: NEPHILIM, HELLION (a.k.a. infernal vampire) READ LORE HERE

PLACE OF RESIDENCE: HELL OR DARK DIMENSION (FORMERLY EARTH)

OCCUPATION: PRINCE OF HELL, KING OF THE DARK DIMENSION

SIRE: SAGE

LANGUAGES: ENGLISH & FRENCH. CELESTIAL, DEMONIC

tw: story contains topics such as abuse, religious trauma, illness, murder and loss

Growing up, Jessalyn never really felt like she belonged. As a baby, she was found in a basket on the steps of a church, with a note signed with a G that said the child has no father. She’s adopted by a very catholic family who affectionately called her their miracle. At the age of 5, she manifested a magic affinity for fire, which scared the hell out of her very religious adoptive parents. Somehow, she ended up being raised by witches who’d heard of the couple planning to exorcise their child. Most witches said she sucked at being a witch. She’d internalized her previous adoptive parents' fear of magic and instead of helping her overcome her traumatic past, they simply decided she was broken and basically made a Cinderella out of her. Over time, her internalized phobia of magic ate away at her immune system. She was gonna die young (17) but a miracle happened in the form of a redhead man with golden eyes who fed her his blood. She asked him who he was and he said I guess I'm a guardian angel. She told her witch family about it. They immediately thought a vampire had corrupted her soul but Jessalyn was adamant it wasn’t the case. She’d felt the man meant no harm. They didn’t believe her. And she never saw that man again.

She’s 21 and graduating from college in a whole other country than the one she grew up in when her life is turned upside down. She quickly finds herself princess of a realm of shadows she’s barely allowed to leave and now has to drink blood to survive. Her first kill (her first love) haunts her and she relies on her sire Sage (whom she later finds out is her father) for guidance and comfort (platonic comfort, no incest!!). Three months later, Sage vanishes, leaving her to tend to his kingdom as Queen Regent. Sage’s disappearance, as well as the manifestation of the first signs of The Apocalypse, plunges the DARK DIMENSION into chaos. To her own people, Jessalyn is no Queen. They see her as a parvenu, a surface girl who doesn’t deserve to sit on the throne. They have no idea that the true blood running into her veins belongs actually to their king.

The fragile Armistice between Hell and the Dark Dimension used to rely solely on the latter’s promise to remain neutral in the everlasting conflict between angels and demons. Although, with Sage’s sudden disappearance, HELL worries he might be collaborating with the Host of HEAVEN and thus violating the terms of the original treaty that was signed nearly a decade ago.

The young kingdom quickly finds itself under the occupation of the Infernal Court and Jessalyn finds herself bound to the underworld and unable to leave these grounds to venture to Earth until… she finds a loophole (she carries a vial of soil from her kingdom on her at all time).

This time, Hell demands the Dark Dimension’s allyship in the upcoming Armageddon. Jessalyn has two options: 1) join Hell’s forces willingly or 2) refuse and watch her kingdom be devoured by hellfire. But Jessalyn knows what awaits her people in the infernal realm and she refuses to let Sage’s dream be reduced to ashes.

THE DARK DIMENSION FINALLY JOINED THE APOCALYPSE CHAT!

If Heaven wins this war, there’s no guarantee of what will happen to all supernatural beings who aren’t considered holy creatures of the Lord. But if Hell triumphs… What is gonna happen to all the people who turned their backs on Lucifer/Satan to live a life of freedom under Sage’s protection? And what about the Earth people? Can the Dark Dimension really side with earthlings to save the world that persecutes them?

MORE ABOUT HER

D’Aubigne is the surname of the witch clan that raised her. The surname of the family that adopted her first was Angelet.

Even though Jessalyn doesn’t think of herself as a queen, she remains loyal to Sage and cares about the fate of her people. She will do everything in her power to ensure the safety of her people and make sure Sage’s dream lives on.

She’s very much aware of Sage being her true father and him being Lucifer/Satan’s son, which makes her Lucifer’s granddaughter. She struggles seeing herself as a good person because of her legacy.

Despite being a second generation nephilim, she is as powerful as a first generation nephilim. Sage originally believed her to be the descendant of the biological child he had 414 years ago but she turns out to possess, by some miracle, the exact same soul as the very child he didn’t get to raise.

She’s fighting the idea that evil is born, which is hard to do when people believe you’re a weapon in a war against Heaven.

She’s an advocate for free will and believes one has the power to forge their own destiny.

She doesn’t know about the prophecy about her yet or that she’d be wanted by Heaven and Hell if they knew who she was.

Favorite flower is the dandelion. Because dandelions are free, wild and you can’t buy them.

She turned out to be one of the best fencers of her team in high school, even though she claims she isn’t much of a fighter. She quickly picked up on it (some ancient angelic fighting reflexes actually kicked in)

She hates fighting and the idea of ever harming someone (again).

She can’t get drunk, at least not with alcohol from the earth plane.

Her blood can heal all creatures, including angels and demons, only when given freely. Otherwise it is like poison to both angels and demons that come in contact with it. It is the HEAVENLY FLAME’s own protection system against those who wish to take that power for themselves.

#a jewel of light / about jessalyn

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illicitivywp · 3 years

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mal de vivre.

The morning that Harry wakes up and you're not sleeping peacefully beside him is the worst of his entire life.

He can sense that you're not there. The air still circulates whiffs of your caramel shampoo and the breeze of your automatic fan that you always insist on leaving on all night still whirs leisurely and tickles the back of his neck.

Regardless, the room is vacant. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that much.

For now, he remains entirely numb. Immune to the flooding sobs and intolerable agony and festering anger, he supposes it's in his best interest to stay like that for a while.

For a few days, at least. Until he can fully process your absence. He's not certain how long it takes the average person to wholly recognise an entire chunk of themselves missing, but he figures he's already suffered enough.

Surely, the universe isn't that cruel.

Your love is delightedly grand, and with its sudden unavailability, he feels so dejectedly vague.

He's clearly not perceiving time correctly, perhaps it's his distant concentration or maybe even his body's method of rejecting life and the wretched torture of its innate malice.

A few times, he's experienced sleep paralysis. The first, horrifying occasion is long-forgotten, when he was seven or so - it happened only after staying up until one in the morning to watch a horror movie that he'd been specifically warned not to watch and a towering vacuum of danger stood solid as stone at the end of his bed.

If it weren't for his fingertips subconsciously tracing featherlight scribes of your name on his forearm, he might reasonably assume he's haunted with the condition once again.

A clattering of paws on hard floorboards injects a little more reality into his thoughts, and he still can't bear, physically, to turn over and greet the sweet puppy you'd snuck home and surprised him with upon his arrival home from work around a year ago, knowing that his acceptance of a familiarly-shaped void is waiting just inches away.

Eventually, and after another chaotic scramble of claws in need of a cut, Chi is bouncing enthusiastically at his side and attempting an ambitious leap onto the mattress. She fails theatrically, landing in a resounding thud on her back and launching back to her feet, completely unaware of her owner's awaiting grief.

Masking his greatest fears with scooping a palm beneath Chi's belly and hauling her upwards to nestle into his chest, the reposition forces him to lay on his back (she's always detested laying on her side, especially when smothered with adoring cuddles) and, like the coward he truly is, his eyes focus adamantly on a random spot of the pale ceiling. With every minute shuffle, it becomes more and more achingly apparent that you're really not here.

And if everything runs correctly, you'll squirm and giggle graciously at his waking before returning his kiss, to his lips, this time, and he'll suggest applying a little moisturiser, like he always does, and you'll love him like you should.

When his eyelids snap open and his head curves breezily to your claimed side of the bed, he's somewhat unsurprised to confirm that his life truly has transformed to a dreadful bundle of tragedy. In your imposing place, is a neatly-made bed and an envelope.

A single, white envelope, stained by the sweet, flowing cursive that could flow only from your touch.

Chi leaps naturally to the spectacle, sniffing curiously at the letter and nudging it around a little, whilst Harry is so unexplainably pained that he's unable to move. Swallowing thickly, he's not certain word-for-word what lies in the confines of this envelope, but he does know it'll confirm your leaving him, and for some strange reason, he's relieved you left an explanation, at least.

A souvenir of you to hang onto forever, along with the millions of other items and memories of yours in his possession.

Carefully removing it from Chi's vicinity and replacing the object of her attention with a random squeaky toy that he'd discovered burrowed beneath his bed a few nights ago, he traces your exquisite handwriting with his fingertip and reads along with inaudible movements of his mouth; For Harry, mon amour.

In that moment, he realises profoundly that he'll never get to request hearing you say different words in your accent again.

The amount of times he implored relentlessly to hear je t'aime and have it accompanied with an endearing kiss is infinite.

Harry, my love,

I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't handle the pain.

Seeing your face cures any anguish I feel, but not this time.

I really, really tried; I know you did, too. I wanted it to work out, I prayed every day that our suffering would magically end and we could return to our love, I hoped that one day I would wake and cuddle you tightly and describe this awful nightmare I'd had.

Possibly, I may write to you in the future; please, don't try to contact me, it won't work and you know it's for the best. My family and close friends know where I am, where I will be, and they also know not to tell you if you ask.

I wish I could kiss all of your heartache away and protect you from all evil in this world, but I feel my presence is detrimental to your recovery.

My love for you is never-ending. Please be okay.

Forgive me and love someone else like you loved me. Let someone else love you like I loved you. Tellement, tellement.

Forever, I'll think of you and how unbelievably content I felt waking up next to you every day for seven-hundred and eighty (? - I'm estimating) mornings straight.

I will never, ever leave our love behind, and I adore you more than I can express. Your strength and resilience are admirable, and you are truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Mon bébé, I miss you terribly.

Toujours, ton amour.

Chi tugs eagerly on her lead at the sight of the familiar entrance to her home, Harry in tow right behind. Sludgy snow muddies his shoes and soaks the hem of his jeans. His puppy's paws are undoubtedly drenched, too, but her fur is protected valiantly by her favourite jacket. He'd purchased it from a specialist store in France a year prior, and, since surprising her with the present upon his shared return, it'd become her primary option during the winter months.

Retrieving a reasonable pile of letters from his designated section, a rapid flick through displays bills, scams and all of the usual junk he usually receives. He offers his elderly neighbour a polite smile and holds open the door with his knee to construct a clear path for her exit.

He grimaces slightly at the teeth-shaped arc of damp dents into his mail - he hadn't particularly considered the repercussions of carrying it that way - and unclips Chi's lead, allowing her to run rampage through his airy apartment. Absently dropping his keys into its small dish of residence and taking a closer inspection at his post to infiltrate any wrong addresses or scams, he selects an apple from his fruit bowl and steals one firm chunk before noticing something peculiar.

Groomed eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he plucks one particular letter from the bunch and stacks it to the top. Perplexed by the sorely familiar curve of the writing scrawled on the front, his head shakes in denial - you wouldn't have, surely.

Discarding of all other mail on his kitchen counter, he's puzzled beyond belief; you'd left with no verbal warning and a letter that, admittedly, had been the source of several bouts of severe depression and, in spite of its awful affects, read dutifully every single day since your disappearance.

Rashly, he wishes you hadn't changed your phone number and email address shortly before leaving so he could possibly contact you regarding this mystery. However, he knows just as well as you clearly foresaw; his topic of discussion wouldn't be only the letter.

Tearing open the corner cautiously, he's incredibly delicate with checking inside the envelope once open to ensure it contains only his presumed note. Reviewing the front with a scouring gaze of disbelief, it really, truly has come from you.

He can't remember how many times he read each postcard that you'd gifted him with at the very beginning of your relationship. You'd recently made the permanent move from France to England, and, in a new country with limited knowledge of the native language, Harry had unintentionally become your beacon of comfort here.

With his fluent French and English, he was the perfect contender for kindly correcting your terminology and educating you on the essential etiquettes of Britain. Within weeks, however, your sweet smile had changed from an enjoyable sight during your frequent coffee shop meetings to something he craved.

He misses reading your silly, awful puns based around your home country, especially his favourite. A laughably unfunny joke paired with a matching scribble of the two of you; what do french fries do when they meet? They ketchup!

Harry,

I feel awful for waiting so long to speak to you again.

Your voice and your hugs. I've imagined them every single day.

I miss my Chi. How is she? I hope she's not missing her maman. Give her a kiss from me.

And the biggest kiss to yourself, because you deserve it, mon tout.

I'm inexplicably sorry for leaving so abruptly; I just couldn't take much more. The reminders were too much. Seeing your inconsolable pain every day was too much.

I'm so, so selfish, but I still believe allowing you to heal without my troubles was the best and easiest path for both of us.

I'm sure you noticed, but I may have stolen one of our pictures. It was your favourite, and that's why I had to choose that one, I suppose. Horrible, again.

I miss your dimples (and irritating you by poking them all the time). I miss your lips, they were so soft. No wonder you always bossed me around with the lip balm - I have my own now, I take it everywhere with me.

It smells like caramel.

Most of all, I miss your love. I've never known someone to love like you do. You were, are, and always will be, incredible.

Have you found someone to love yet?

Do you still think about me? If yes, please don't.

It's not fair of me to appear out of nowhere like this and not allow you a chance to reply. If you wish, post your letter to my maman's house - I'm not there, just to crush any other hope you have, but I'll receive it.

I'll be sorry forever, mon amour.

Sois gentil avec toi-même.

Câlins pour toujours, your baby.

Auriele,

I'm so thankful you decided to reach out again. I've missed you. Tellement, tellement.

Chi is brilliant, still eating everything and constantly in need of a haircut. She does miss you.

My hurt is still prevalent, I've accepted that it always will be. I truly don't believe it can be fixed again, but I'm still trying.

I spent the two weeks after your leaving searching for every single picture in existence of us. I cried so many times, I wish I could tell you that I'm wholly recovered and that you're fully forgiven, but I can't.

I think I counted them all. It's either three-hundred and seventy-seven or one-thousand, one-hundred and two (I have two sticky notes labelled pictures, I'm not sure which is correct.)

No one could ever love me like you do, tu es le meilleur.

I suppose that answers both of your questions.

Thank you for the chance to respond. I was incredibly confused when I received your thoughtful letter. I'm assuming by this one's destination being your maman's house, you're in France? You don't have to answer that. I would understand.

Mon bébé chéri, je t'aime.

Harry x

Harry,

It was the least I could do. I hurt you doubly and you never deserved that.

Tell her I love her. Buy her an ice cream for me (note the two dollars also enclosed in this envelope!)

There aren't enough apologies in the world to properly cover the extent of my mistakes, but I'll continue gathering as many as I can. And send them straight to you.

I also wish you could truthfully claim that you're okay, and I hope, with time, that you will be. It's all you ever deserved, mon chéri. You don't ever have to forgive me. I understand entirely if you hate me.

I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers were both low counts. I loved your face, as superficial as it sounds, but it truly was prettier than anything, and my favourite thing was always surrounding myself with it. Aussi longtemps que je pouvais.

My baby, I only tried my hardest to love you, and I sincerely hope I haven't ruined your idea of love so much that I'm your standard. Please, travel, find people to connect with, fall in love with a place, if not a person.

I bet Chi would love Spain. Australia, maybe? Thailand? Your choice entirely. You always were smarter than me (i.e. I left you - doesn't get much dumber.)

I am in France, feel free to ask any question you want about my current life if you decide to write back - you really don't have to. It's okay. You're still perfect.

Just not my address. It's so selfish of me to hide away from you when you're the one who deserves closure, but I'm not ready to share that information. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Tu me manques. Tu me manques ma maman et mon père. Tu me manques au cœur.

All my love, Auriele x

Every day, his thoughts are plagued with ideas of how to write his next letter. Your previous few communications ran smoothly; you seem incredibly apologetic and, as much as he would've gladly ignored the past tense use of 'love' in your most recent letter, he can't help but realise the difference from your first each time he reads it.

He's not certain why his first letter practically poured from his pen and before he knew it, it was sealed, posted and received. This time, however, he can't even construct a way to greet you.

Has distance and time really weakened your connection that much? His favourite childhood Disney movies would be ashamed.

The heartache you've endured together is insufferable, the bitterness remaining fresh and the misery continuing to roll onwards with him, and yet, you're both still alive. Perhaps, he should be a little more thankful.

He's tested out various support groups over the past few months; they appear to help in the moment, but once he returns home to a completely empty house, - aside from Chi - he realises all of his progress to be entirely fake.

How can he realistically recover from his insurmountable loss in solitude?

An apartment which used to breathe vibrant life and excitement for the future, diminished to nothing but silence.

He might as well have lost his house, too. Every second he spends there, surrounded by reminders of his grief, is draining. Of course, if he were a millionaire, he would've discovered a lovely, one bed flat with wide, open floors and windows. If he were a millionaire, though, maybe none of this agony would've ever happened.

He could’ve fixed it.

Regardless, he didn't, and now he returns home every single day, monotonous and finding solace only in rereading your letters and running through his local park with Chi, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, he hears the faint echo of your melodious voice ringing in his ear; mon doux bébé. For a moment, he believes you may be talking to him, but with a resounding giggle of contentment, you never were.

Within a month, he lost both of his sweet baby girls, and the pain is simply too much to comprehend.

Elle, mon cœur,

Firstly, I apologize for my late reply. This letter was, for some reason, incredibly difficult to write.

You hurt me never. Life hurt me, and it hurt you, too, and I'm sorry it's so cruel.

Chi adored her ice cream - vanilla, your favourite - and said thanks! (complimentary picture attached, for you).

Sympathy and apologies aren't a cure. I've received enough of them to know. I hope you have, too. We might not accept it and it might not heal our pain, but it is nice to know you have people by your side.

Mon amour, I would/could never come close to hatred for you. You are my entire heart, and you own everything within it.

I hope, one day, I can forgive you. I hope you can forgive me. We both made mistakes. We're both accountable, and so is fate. Unfortunately, it wasn't on our side, and we have to welcome that.

Your face is certainly Top Five list of physical attributes, which goes as followed:

1. your lips. I know I complained about them being dry all the time, but I miss them, still.

2. your eyes. Somewhere between the ocean and a cottage filled with flowers, they were paradise.

3. your thighs. I am a man - a broken one, but a man nonetheless - and they are certainly the most family-friendly feature I could think of.

4. your smile. Even on my darkest days, your smile was heaven. I hope you're smiling right now. I wish I could see it.

5. your face? All of the above and everything else. Was that cheating?

I wish I could leave here. I wish I could find a small, tropic island where Chi and I can get tipsy on Virgin Mary's and surf all day, but I feel it wouldn't be fair for both of us to run.

Although, Chi would certainly have a great time in Thailand. She told me so.

Did I mention she misses you? We miss you.

I have more questions than you can imagine. This is only my second letter, however, so I suppose I'll stick to three for now, (sorry for all the lists!)

How are you? Mentally? Physically?

Have you made new friends whilst you've been out there?

Would you ever visit London again?

I miss you forever.

Ton bébé.

Harry x

Harry,

It's more tough to write my letters than you might assume. No need to apologise, I understand.

Life is shit. I thought I had accepted that. I never imagined how evil it could be.

Chi, my baby, looks so pretty. I love her haircut (number 8694743? out of infinite).

I have heard my fair share of sympathy. At first, I felt bitter. They didn't understand what I had suffered, they didn't understand the pain I felt. With time, I realised that, sometimes, sorry is all you need to hear to feel a little better. To feel like you're managing life, at least.

I wish I could believe I deserve it, but I truly don't.

My mistakes seem perpetual. I'm constantly remembering new ones. Things I could've noticed faster, signs that I should've recognised. Yours are nothing. You made no mistakes, mon amour, please believe that. As much as fate has been my least favourite higher power for the past year, I agree about welcoming our own.

I would make a list of my personal favourites of your appearance, but I'd be here all day, and I'm meeting with a friend in an hour (your second question - check).

It wasn't fair for either of us to run. I think it's turned out for the best, however.

I can imagine Chi passed out on the beach. You both deserve a holiday. Go to Scotland, or something, at least. Just away from London.

I miss you both. Much more than I can express.

I'm well. Mentally; it's a struggle, but that's just life, I suppose. Physically; my sickness stopped a while ago. I hope your headaches did, too, but I've been searching for cures for those for a long time.

Yes! I've made quite a few close friends. They all know and love you. I'll tell them you asked.

London holds far too many memories for me to bear. You're the only one I can stand. Maybe one day.

Tellement de câlins.

Auriele.

The second your letter arrives and is read fully three times over, Harry's scrambling to collect his fancy paper and ink pen, thousands of ideas about how to reply brimming in his head.

Pen to paper, however, his mind is entirely blank.

You're inching closer to addressing the subject of your pain, and so is he. So far, the only discussions you've had regarding that difficult topic have ended either in awful arguments or uncontrollable, endless crying and they all occurred before your disappearance.

Since then, you've had ten months and seventeen days shared to mature from and process the situation. Perhaps, if you were to have a conversation about it now, it would be beneficial.

Harry is aware of the solution to his strange writer's block and urges to attempt to fix your hurt, but he's not quite sure if he's ready. Physically forcing himself up from his cluttered desk, he tries not to think of the main event when changing his sloppy t-shirt and joggers to jeans and a jumper; it's February, so the wind is still well and alive but, luckily for Chi and the duration of her walks, the temperatures are beginning to rise.

His destination is barely a thirty minute leisurely stroll through the city away, and he feels shameful to admit that this is his first visit in ten and a half months. Several times, he's gathered his courage to stand on the pavement, surveying the vast area but never making it closer than the protective fences.

This time, though, he's determined to make it. And he will, with je t'aime's and sweet giggles bubbling in his ears.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

Auriele,

Life will continue to surprise us. It may be malicious, but it's also given me you, so I guess there are a few reasons to be grateful.

I think it's more like *8694744 out of infinite, and I'm sure she'll have many more unpleasant trips to the groomers in the future.

You are handling life impeccably, considering all. You deserve showers of recognition for just being here.

No one has ever been more deserving of my love, and no one ever will.

Please, don't blame yourself entirely. Yes, there were signs. Signs that we both should've seen earlier. We knew as much as everyone else. We can't know if things would be different if we'd noticed them, because they're not.

I'm glad you're enjoying life in France. Is it peaceful? Is it too far to ask if you're living with one of your new friends? What're their names, if you don't mind my asking?

If I were to go on holiday right now, Paris would be my first choice.

I'm glad you're feeling better, I hope you continue to improve mentally in the future. I wish you nothing but true happiness.

If you're ever here, I'd be honoured to see you again.

This might surprise you. Before I wrote this letter, I went to visit her.

I haven't since we were there together.

I talked to her for hours about my life and my pain and your letters and your pain and anything I'd love to say to you if I knew how. Meline always was the best listener, no offence to you. She just understands.

I miss her. I miss you. I miss my babies.

Please, send me a picture of you (always topping lists) in your next letter. I need to see you now. I bet you're glowing.

Toujours, Harry x

Harry, mon amour,

I feel as if I should address the end of your letter first, because I certainly wasn't expecting it. I cried a lot. I'm still crying as I write this.

It feels nice to feel.

I've been so numb to it all. I know I should sob every day, think of her every single second. I don't. That may make me an awful person, but I always preferred not to lie. Especially to you. I don't think the gravity has quite hit me yet.

Back to the normal, top to bottom of your letter.

My family is a gift. My parents, you and Meline, specifically. I've never admired anyone more.

I miss Chi. Especially today, for some reason. Send more pictures of her when you next write. (I enclosed an updated picture of me in town, if you hadn't noticed! It was taken last week.)

I had concerns. Concerns that I didn't follow up on. We knew something was wrong, but we did everything we could, right? We found help. We found medicine. Why didn't it work?

How fucking cruel can life possibly be?

It's much quieter than London. The air quality is visibly better. I am, actually. My closest friends are Leon and Aline. I'm living with them!

Paris is about as good a holiday as you can get. If I'm ever near you, whatever country it happens to be in, I'll be sure to see you.

The last part of your letter. I already touched upon it but not nearly enough.

I haven't said, heard or read her name in eleven months. I miss it. I miss your voice. And her laughs. She was so, so lively and enthusiastic for life.

It's so unfair that she didn't get the chance.

And I agree; she always was a fantastic listener. I told her about our issues more than I should've.

I wish I could hear her again. Her name wasn't Meline Risette Styles for nothing. Her laughs were so pretty. I could've listened on repeat.

I did. For a year.

I miss her.

I miss you. I miss your warmth. I miss your heart and your love and your smile and everything about you.

I miss normality.

When we thought things would be okay.

We were wrong, and hindsight, that's okay, too.

We will heal eventually, I trust that life can't take much more away from me.

Tout mon amour, Auriele x

Since that day, Harry's visited Meline every Sunday without fail - it's only been three weeks, but going in the first place was an unimaginable step.

He even combined Chi's walk with the most recent, and each time, entering, staying at and emerging from the cemetery becomes easier.

The first time, he paced through the gates several times before building the bravery to even step inside without running back. His flight or fight instinct had been touchy the whole time, bias towards flight the entire time.

He just wanted to be as far away from the source of his pain as possible.

At the same time, he just wanted his daughter back. Alive and healthy.

Once he'd settled, laid on the ground like a madman next to her grave, he never wanted to leave her again. He even brought her flowers and a little teddy bear from a shop he'd passed on his hurried journey there.

It was well and truly dark by the time he even considered returning home, because he'd rather be with his sweet baby than alone at home.

Now, Chi sniffs inquisitively around at the bundles of flowers placed on surrounding graves whilst Harry converses with his dead child's grave like she was as animated and eager as he remembered.

It's a little questionable for his sanity, but extremely helpful for his own mental health. And he's trying to fix them both.

He just wishes so much that he'd pushed for more tests in the hospital. If he could, he'd reject their diagnosis and prescription of heart medication and an inhaler for when her asthma flared up.

They claimed she had a weakened respiratory system and, subsequently, her heart didn't deal well under stress, mostly due to her premature birth.

They were correct.

However, they were entirely wrong when they sent you all home with a tub of medicine and advice to lower any potential stressors around her.

Harry remembers scoffing to himself; she was one, what could possibly be stressing her that much?

Apparently, a lot of things.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

There's truly nothing better.

Auriele,

I understand completely about any emotion feeling refreshing. For a while, I felt immune to it. I cried and I got angry, but nothing ever really set in.

I'm thankful that I can feel now and it doesn't destroy me.

You're not at all a bad person, or a bad parent. Often, I wish I could forget about her. And not just to remove the pain for a day or two. Also, I appreciate the honesty.

Important things must be talked about first. And while this paragraph isn't quite at the top of my letter, it certainly is my most admiritive.

You're so, so unbelievably beautiful. Even more so, now.

Your eyes are still paradise. That picture is stuck onto the cork board in the kitchen forever.

We did absolutely everything in our power to help our baby. As soon as we noticed an issue, we took her to the hospital. Maybe they accidentally underestimated her condition, maybe they just assumed it'd be treated with that medication.

Either way, we helped her as much as we could. And you were, are, and always will be the most incredible mother.

Meline was lucky, truly. She loved you so much.

As it turns out, life can be our greatest enemy. It's difficult to control and even harder to accept, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

Leon and Aline sound wonderful. I know it's not my place, but tell them I said thank you for being there for you? You don't have to.

I've never known someone deserve a full, healthy life more than our sweet girl, and it's an injustice to steal that opportunity from her at such a young age.

She would've been two next week. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but I'm still trying to handle my feelings about it. I already know her birthday is going to be the worst day since she died.

Meline Risette Styles deserves the world, as do you. Please don't be afraid to take it. You've earned it.

Her name still brings me so much joy; little honey, pleasant little laugh. It was such an apt description, in her short life.

Life can always take more, but it gives things that are so wonderful. Sois optimiste.

Tout mon amour et câlins, Harry x

wattpad:

#harry styles #letters #heartbreak #sad books #harry

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mieteve-minijoma · 5 years

Text

Songfic Day 6: She-Wolf (Remix)

Day 6: A song that makes you want to dance: She-Wolf (Remix) - Shakira ft T-Pain

Betty Cooper is one of only a handful of unmated omega werewolves in Riverdale, where there is an abundance of unmated alphas. When she reluctantly goes to a party at the Pembrooke with Veronica and a fight amongst a few of the Northside alphas breaks out over claiming her, she meets the alpha running the Southside who saves her and helps her escape the chaos.

What does she do when he takes her back to a bar full of Southside werewolves and finds herself becoming more and more attracted to her mysterious saviour? What if she wants him to claim her just as much as he wants her?

*****

“Ronnie, I don’t know if this is a good idea. You know I’m close to my mating cycle and those dudebro alphas, that Archie undoubtedly invited, are gonna smell me a mile away. I'm not trying to start a riot in the middle of the Pembrooke.” Betty bit her lip nervously while she looked at the skimpy dress Veronica picked for her, knowing she probably wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon.

“I know you're worried Bettykins, but just stick close to me and you’ll be fine. My pheromones are strong enough to mask yours. None of those jerks will get near you, I promise.” Veronica tried her best to use her abilities as an alpha to calm Betty, but it never worked on her. They had been best friends since they were in diapers so they were immune to each other's scent at this point.

“Ok fine V, I’ll go. But I swear if you leave me to go canoodle with Archie again, I’m leaving!” Betty raised her hand, her pinky lifted for Veronica to take. She latched on and smiled.

“Deal”

*****

Betty and Veronica had been dancing together for a few hours when they decided to take a break for drinks and to freshen up. Betty looked around to make sure the coast was clear before she wandered towards Veronica's private bathroom on the second floor.

It was more quiet upstairs, the sounds of the party merely a faint thumping when she realized she wasn't alone. She spun around to see none other than Reggie Mantle blocking her path. She looked behind her and past him to see if she could alert Veronica or make it a run for it but she only saw a dark hall leading to the guest bedrooms and the stairs.

“Hey there, mini Coop. I have been trying to get my hands on you all night,” He licked his lips menacingly and she could see his fangs already protruding. She stepped back, hoping to make it to one of the rooms and lock the door before he reached her when a growl from behind Reggie stopped them both.

There, standing in the hall behind Reggie, was Chuck Clayton with his teeth bared and snarling. “Down boy, I already called dibs on this one.” Reggie just laughed and stood taller, posturing.

“Don’t think so Chucky, Cooper here is all mine so you better beat it before I have to show you who the stronger alpha is.” Reggie and Chuck sized each other for a moment and then, without warning, they howled and the fists started flying. Betty wanted to retch at the display in front of her, the overpowering smell of their mixed pheromones making her sick to her stomach.

Betty didn’t want to be claimed by either of them, she was her own person for God’s sake not some prize to be taken at will. She was lost in her thoughts when she registered another scent: the sweet smell of mint mixed with coffee and cigarettes.

She jumped as she felt a hand clamp down on her mouth and crush her to their chest. She felt herself being pulled into a bedroom but she couldn't fight back, the smell of the mysterious stranger so intoxicating that it made her dizzy.

Once the bedroom door was shut and locked she was spun around to come face to face with a pair piercing blue eyes. He motioned for her to keep quiet as he whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I could smell your fear all the way down the hall, I promise I won’t hurt you. Let me get you outta here to somewhere safe, those two will be duking it out another few minutes at least and I know another way out."

Betty could see that he was sincere and simply nodded, following him through a set of french door leading to a balcony. She wasn’t sure how he thought they would be able to get down but she knew she needed to trust him if she was gonna get out of this unmated.

The mysterious stranger leapt over the bannister, gracefully landing on the grass below before he motioned for her to jump down. She took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut before jumping over the bannister as well, his arms catching her effortlessly. She opened her eyes and her breath caught in her throat. Her lips were mere inches away from his, so close in fact that she could feel his breath against her own lips, her heart racing at the proximity.

“Come on Princess, your chariot awaits.” He winked, setting her on her feet and pulling her by the hand to where his motorcycle was parked. She gulped when she saw how sinful he looked on his bike with his leather jacket and dark curls falling into his eyes. She nibbled on her bottom lip while he helped her with his helmet then shakily swung her leg over to position herself behind him on the bike.

Betty knew it was considered rude to smell another wolf without permission but she couldn’t help herself. She had never smelled anyone who came close to smelling the way he did and it was intoxicating. She pressed her nose into his neck gland again and inhaled another deep breath, blushing when she felt him chuckle, his laugh reverberating in his chest.

“Hold on tight baby.”

*****

“So, where are we exactly?” Betty asked nervously, looking around at what was clearly a Southside den full of rough looking wolves.

“This is my domain, Princess. Jughead Jones: Serpent King and Southside’s resident alpha, at your service.” Jughead bowed to kiss her hand, flipping it over to rub his nose against her wrist gland and sniffing. Betty blushed again at the intimate gesture but didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to pull away, something about him excited and intrigued her and she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know everything about him.

“I-I’m Betty. Betty Cooper: plain old nothing omega at your service.” She cringed when she realized the double entendre but he just laughed again, his thumb tracing circles on her wrist as he still held her close to him.

“Trust me Betty, there is nothing plain or old about you. You are magnificent and if anyone will be a servant in this situation, it’s me.” Betty shuttered at the lustful tone of his voice and the look of his blown out pupils. She had never really thought about being mated until right now, standing in front of this man whom she’d just met.

“Let’s test that theory, shall we? Come dance with me.” She whispered in his ear, winking at him before leading him to the dance floor.

#songfic writing challenge 2019 #songfic #song that makes you want to dance #bughead fanfiction #bughead #a/b/o #werewolf #werewolves #alpha/omega #riverdale betty #riverdale jughead #cw riverdale #riverdale #she wolf

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fiery-assassin-arc · 7 years

Text

Not your Rainbow; I'm a Forest Fire.

FINALLY I WROTE THE WHOLE HE EXPLAINS WHAT HE DID PART in Of sHADOWS AN FLAMES. YASSSS, AND WRITING THE OTHER CHAPTER AT NEAR 2 IN THE MORNING. UNTIL I BLACK OUT THAT IS.

Triggers: blood, violence, death mention.

5 pages on my documents... have fun reading peeps.

Tea. Bacon, sausage, potatoes. Fried eggs. French Toast on the side. Butter sliding down into the path of powdered sugar and near the small cup of maple syrup. That is what I am served this very morning in my room. It looks like how it did four months ago, with one small exception:

Christian isn't here.

This sours the taste of food in my mouth, fearing the worst of my precious friend. A part of me also prays for Pomegranate to be okay. She's always been pretty protective, and to avoid any danger should it come to her or me.

My ladies-in-waiting tend to my feet and my wounds. The lacerations on my back can be healed, but it will scar up, much to my anger to wanting them gone for good. At least I have one memory of Outworld with me . . . my whip.

“Where is my father?” I ask Genevieve, watching her face turn back to cleaning my wounds. “And mother?”

“His Royal Highness requests to see you in the throne room.” Ingrid says, moving from my feet. The throne room? Father only asks me there for two things: unless I have gotten into trouble, or he needs help for mom on their anniversary. I think it's their 25th Anniversary coming up . . .

I return to my meal, observing the dress I am supposed to be wearing. It is a dress color of fire and smoke. Black and gray swirling in a vicious wave of fire surrounding the skirt. The bodice is heart-shaped, custom fitted. Backless. “I don't remember this dress in my wardrobe.”

“Your father requested that be made for your return, my princess.” Genevieve explains.

But where are they? Having a meeting with the Council? I thought they would take even a minute out of their day to be by my bedside. Then I remember the kingdom sometimes come first; it's out of our control.

I put my fork down, the shine of my engagement ring killing my appetite. I haven't taken it off for months, even when I felt my fingers lose muscle to support it. Remington is always with me, in spirit.

I still love him.

I roll out of bed, taking my tasks with time. Going towards my rose gold clawfoot tub, I fill it with hot water and that soap that smells like fresh fruit. I remove the nightgown from my body, seeing a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The dark circles are about to fade, and my face is given some more color. I almost look back to normal. My fingers latch on to the edge, steam rising across the bathroom. “I'd like to be left alone, please.” I say.

Scuffling of heels echo in my room before leaving me in the silence. And that is what terrifies me the most. My breathing is the only noise. Christian isn't here to give me a cure. My family is okay. But they're not coming in. I don't hear Pom outside.

I turn off the water and step in the water, feeling every muscle relax from being clenched. My hands float, my skin is scorching, but I love this feeling of home. The scent of home. I light a candle, and sink down in the water.

Just relax, you're home. Nothing is going to happen ever again. I will not be harmed. I will be safe. I will miss Remington, but I will find love again.

I close my eyes. Sigh, pray. And shiver as my eyes open again.

Mia.

“What?” Water fills my throat, and I make the mistake of swallowing it. She looks scared, her violet eyes wide. Her hair is much longer, pretty curls dangling from her shoulders. In a pristine white nightgown.

I push my hands in the water, feeling my chest grow hotter, heart punching me in the ribs. Mia is alive and touching my face with her hands, making me calm.

Light penetrates my eyes as Mia's image vanishes the moment I lift my head above water. I cough and sputter the water, running a hand through my hair. “Mia,” I say, trying to have her come back to me.

“Mia!”

But she's not here. I don't see her anymore. This silence hurts like hell.

I'm running down the stairs to see my father and mother. Excitement pulses through my veins, giving me the sensation I'm flying in my high heels. I missed them so much it gave me an intense heartache. I'm going to see them.

Mom will hug me. Dad will caress my hair and call me his little firebird. The servants are still giving me looks of disbelief, surprised that I am alive. I'm fine. I'm not an illusion. Yet as I walk down the hall, I see our family portraits—of my mother, father, brothers and I—are shrouded in a black curtain.

Strange.

When I knock on the doors to the room, no one answers, but I hear soft snickering. “Papa, are you okay?” No answer. Unlike him. Very unlike him.

I push the doors open, and shiver at the sight before me. He . . . he can't be. No, no, no, no, no. How is he right there.

Remington sits with a leg on top of the arm of the throne, lifting a strawberry from the finest of china to his pink lips. His skin isn't pale and bloody anymore, it is reinvigorated and pure. The thick curls are no longer walnut brown, they are a rich black. They secure the family crown like claws. But his eyes—oh god, his eyes—

They are still the same burning hazel I fell in love with.

I had just gotten to terms with his death months ago, and yet, he's here. Alive. With a heart b e a t.

“Ah,” His voice is slick and warm; honey into hot tea. “They were right all along, you're alive.”

“I—but—b-b-but—I felt you die. You t-t-told me to run—HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE—ImissyouandIloveyou.”

With inhuman speed, he is in front of my face, the strawberry falling to the floor. Two fingers. From his left hand come to curl underneath my chin. “Hm, your shadow tells me you've suffered. Greatly.”

I almost snort in front of him. It was unladylike, he said. “Am I dreaming?”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no.” He makes clicking noises, and puts his thumb on my lips. “You're awake. I'm just surprised you're alive.”

“I was as well; I mean, you perished in front of me—”

“Kano promised me your corpse on a silver platter.” His bottom lip juts out, the pink skin trapped by his white teeth. “Guess I won't be getting a refund since I paid him after the whole . . . attack.”

My blood runs like ice. My heart is stone, my brain malfunctions; flatlines like a heart monitor. He paid Kano to do this? To make me the way I am now. A shell in my body. A killer. I am scarred. My fingers touch the faint scars that are revealed on my back.

“What?”

Remington is still expecting my face, my neck, sliding a hand to my back and presses a hot-and-cold finger to my scar. It takes everything in me not to scar. “I paid him to kill you, sweetheart, if you didn't give me the information I required.”

He pulls away and starts to circle me, darkness sweeping over his features like blush for makeup. “You never did ask what I was doing, going out on trips and such. I admired that you kept your nose out of my work. What I had accomplished, was a nice little bargain with the Emperor in order to be King. At a few measly prices. Location of where the scrolls of your kind were for . . . recreational purposes, in a way.

“Outworld is going out of order, darling. They need to unite with us, and with unions, comes strings, as you know better than most.” He's explaining this as if I'm a child. “And your kingdom had to pay . . . for killing my father.” He pauses for two heartbeats, and grins wildly. “Kidding about the father, by the way.”

I'm still frozen.

“I wanted some piece of immunity should Outworld ever collide in a full-frontal scale war with Earthrealm. My home, safe from harm. The scrolls involving your kind's longevity of life was a crucial piece Emperor Kotal Kahn wanted, or was it D'vorah . . . Anyway, they wanted it so if they can replicate that into Outworld soldiers, oh, their civil war will end with the old Empress, Mileena.”

“I could have asked anyone for where it can be, but I knew it best to ask you. You're the youngest child, vulnerable and sweet; your brothers would have probably told you what they were. But damn it all, you never let it slip.” He claps his hands, and it echoes in the room. I don't hear anything else but his voice.

“So, I had to take matters into my own hands. I hired Kano to be my messenger, of a sort. To scare you, merely, into telling him where it is, so it passes to me. If you didn't keep talking, he'd kill you.” Remington breathes, deep. “Unfortunately for me, he didn't kill you. Again, lost a huge amount. 25 million koins down the drain.” A frown settles as a shape for his mouth. It doesn't suit him.

“One thing I don't understand,” I say, mouth dry like sandpaper.

“And that is?”

“The . . . my family .. .

“The attack on the palace, if you're wondering . . . my doing. I want it to look like your family was slaughtered by the demons. You as well.”

“Yet y-y-you—”

“Theatrics my dear. And the blood you saw? A bag full of raspberry jam.” He runs his tongue over his lips. “Delicious! Your screams were a symphony, my dear. They reminded me of someone, too. Ah, what was her name again?”

Can't. Breathe.

If he says what her name means to me, I am going to explode.

“Mila, no, no. What was it. . .” He snaps his fingers against his temple, wiring his brain to figure it out. “Amelia, or Mia, for short.”

My heart melts the bones from my ribcage and slips on his black shoes in a bloody mess. I'm thinking 8 months ago, when I held her lifeless body in my arms. And I swore, I would find her killer like my girls wanted to do.

I cannot imagine that I've been in love, was going to M A R R Y a murderer. He took my family, my life, my friends, my everything to fulfill his plan.

“When you left and had Kano to be your care, I had a talk with your parents. Oh, Iris, they were so scared of what happened to their children.” A dark cackle escapes him. “A few people in the dungeon, talking to other political officers, I was officially King of Sorai.”

Hot tears slip down my face, letting each piece connect like magnets. How he did it. How he plotted. He killed Mia. He killed my sister. All for being King, for keeping a pact with Kotal Kahn. Not caring for me in the slightest. He is the lowest of all scum.

The emotions inside me melt the icy blood in my veins, pumping, sending wave upon wave of hot energy throughout my core. Hands begin to ball into fists, and I am whispering prayers that I can bring myself to kill him now.

I hate you and I want you to bleed

Goddess of Fire, give me your strength.

Goddess of War, send me your power.

“Such a fool you were.”

I am taking all of the heat from this room and powering it into my flames. If he burns, I will burn with him. And I will take this war higher.

Not lifting the skirts of my dress, I lift my foot high above my head to slam into his sculpted chin. The crystal-beaded shoe box cuts right into his cheek, spraying the air with perfume dots of blood, with pretty diamonds coming from his mouth. I hear them clatter to the tile floor. Teeth.

He groans and stumbles, hand touching his face. He has a bruise forming, and he looks vicious, not, no, NEVER the man I knew. I'm not done here. Red flashes in my eyes.

I don't have time to pounce on my newfound enemy before two pairs of arms grab me from behind. My guards. MY GUARDS ARE HOLDING ME HOSTAGE. “RELEASE ME, NOW!”

“Take her to the dungeons!” Remington burbles, mouth full of blood.

“Don't you do this to me!” I scream against my guards. They pull me away, obeying their new king. I kick and thrash, but it useless. I am still yelling, even as Remington gives me a smile.

He won.

#tw: blood mention #violence #tw: death mention

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