IN ABSOLUTION, THEY WILL BE FREE.
Fate is a tricky thing to manipulate.
. . .
When Zeref dies, the world will be fine again. When he—this insatiable monster with black-felt wings, is no more, Zeref (steady then) will finally sleep. Will breathe. Slowly, quietly, somewhere hidden, deep in a vault of purgatory.
Hell fire and reprisal. He understands loathing better than anyone else.
. . .
Thing without choice,
man with a soul.
Being without delusion,
woman with a vision.
. . .
There is madness in the water, sickness in the trees, and massacres rising at his hands—unrivalled
—Zeref stops.
And then he sees it, senses them:
Big green eyes. Big green cathartic eyes.
That is the first thing he notices about her.
(And he wanders into the thick, distracting forest willingly, knowingly.
—aware that there is no way out)
. . .
She is not plain, rather a beauty, nymphean allure and bedazzling enchantments, he notes.
"You should not be here."
He steps closer (she stands still).
"Leave!"
He can almost touch her (she curls her toes into the grass instinctively)
"I am not afraid of you,"
He is tempted to test her words (she cannot stop him).
"Please," she says confidently, taking small steps forward in his direction, "teach us your magic."
He gives her a small smile. Full of rue and amazement and incomprehension, it quivers on the fine edge of his mouth.
. . .
Mavis is a saint among the garbage, the adamant rubbish.
(and she is going to pay down in hell)
. . .
She smiles.
Small, unsure, but genuine nonetheless.
That much Zeref can tell upon their second chance meeting near the forest meadow ten years later. Her bare feet pound against the grass, kicking up blades of grass with every footstep as the wildflowers mingle between her toes.
Mavis engulfs him in a heart-warming embrace. It is a simple enough gesture—thankfulness, devotion, perhaps the fragile beginnings of love. The arms which are wrapped around him are small, soft even, yet so strong. Never felt he more soothed than in this moment, Zeref realizes.
And only once she is gone does he comprehend how hard it is to come across beings who are genuine.
Without a doubt, he mimics her expression.
(energies are contagious)
. . .
Born they are,
between overwhelming contradictions
and the assertiveness of immortality.
Here is to the brave,
to all the people petrified.
. . .
Mavis never expects it, that he will offer her a companionship. Zeref holds her, almost afraid that if he stops, she will disappear and that this would have all been a dream—or a nightmare. She never dares to think about the specifics, but has an awful, nasty sensation prickling her skin. That this (them) was something like suicide.
But she agrees to stay (for now) because the sound of his voice—when he asks, subtly brimming with loneliness and alluring darkness—just damn near tears her heart apart.
"Mavis," he gasps as he reaches shakily (desperately) for her shoulders, "Stay."
. . .
Continuously—over, and over again, the world rejects him.
Mavis shakes her head.
"I accept you," her voice is soothing and eurythmic, "because we're the same, Zeref."
She consumes his mind, calls out to him like a siren as he is pleading for release and an emollient for all the centuries traversed by burns.
"Let's look for a cure," there's a pause and then, "together."
Fingers touching, hands linking, Mavis thinks that there's no one more beautiful in the world. His lips brush against hers, and Mavis feels herself falling; he tastes like poison and white chocolate, a flavour that when combined causes death (so she is reminded of it).
Love—
places miracles.
without,
means tragedies.
. . .
Fear and fatalism are debilitating enemies.
They plant lethal seeds that only sprout years into the aftermath.
. . .
(fated to meet, destined to part)
Zeref's face is full of despair. Quiet, shocked and almost mournful, he stares down at Mavis. He coughs, resits the sudden inundation of tears, and fights the repulsion rioting in his stomach. Zeref watches, silent and cautious—it's pointless. Mavis is gone. And there will be no love for (—from) him this time around.
Remember: devils don't cry, and devils don't feel.
. . .
In the daily maze of flesh and rage,
she received
a tender touch,
and became:
Pandora (with her 666 hands)
"I've lost control, please save me from myself"
. . .
Someday the world will end. Someday, he will expunge it of disease, of rot, joyless laughs and enduring betrayals. Promises. Half-broken, yet-unrealized. All of it, gone. The world is rotten, wicked in decay. But he will make it all right.
The world begs to be killed.
One by one, he will oblige.
Someday.
. . .
Fire is an invitation for provocation.
Blood slides down her arm and soaks the soft material of her dress, but yet, even though pain fluctuates on her face, the defiant stance, tense body and angry crease on her forehead indicates that she isn't about to go down without a fight.
And Zeref looks at her cruelly and beautifully and full of the world's ugly.
"What is it that you want, Mavis?"
–dramatic pause (cause and effect)–
"Our deaths."
(young but exhausted, a woman who carries the weight of the world on delicate pearl-wings)
. . .
Frantic, she hits her hands against his chest. A single tear slides down his face at her antics, followed by another one, until soon a steady stream of salty tears flows down his cheeks, relinquishing the sadness and sorrow that has been held inside him for centuries. At the same time the girl with divine, green eyes lets out a heart-wrenching wail, followed by a series of overt tears. He can taste her rage. He can taste her sadness. Bitter and icy like metal-coated almonds, it claws at him, aiming directly for his organs. She is unyielding in her interrogation, demanding why he did what he did: do you know how many people have died? Because of you—
"Because you loved me. All because I hesitated in my feeli—"
Calmly, he grips her thin shoulders. For a moment, he thinks her eyes reveal fear (distrust) but he banishes the unpleasant notion.
Mavis would never fear him.
"I know that no one is capable of loving me. I've realised that much over the past couple of hundred years."
"That is not true," she smiles sorrowfully, "You made me the happiest."
Paralyzed, Zeref gasps as her arms encompass him, pulling herself closer and closer until she fits perfectly against his naked chest. She inhales the acrid scent of blood, mingled with his familiar smell of wet leaves and freshly cut grass.
"It will always be you."
And then, her mouth descends upon his. Only this time, there is no gentleness or patience (no precautions and restraint left to squander).
They can demolish their guards this one night and pretend that they aren't evil mage and first guild master:
A boy and a girl. A girl and a boy.
Zeref, she whispers.
Mavis, he breathes.
So the saying goes.
Home.
. . .
They took all the blame,
searching for purity.
They put an end to all—
floating like two leaves in August.
exactly where they want to be.
. . .
(in the end, it is him and her)
In the middle of August, when all the flowers are blooming and dying and perpetuating at the same time, she is feeling sentimental, Mio goes down—
Down the street and does not look back. Does not toss her head and smile and laugh (as her guild-members do) and instead, there is a desperation rising in her eyes. Her legs are moving on their own, and her hands are shaking. And she is serendipitous, and like all the beginning-of-summers before, Mio walks.
Slow and careful.
And meets him at the end.
"I thought you would come," she smiles.
And this is when her throat chokes up, and his fingers come (rough, competent, way too tangled). And soon, she's caught in this too-tight, too-warm (and real) embrace.
A/N: Zeref and Mavis are one of my most favourites ships (because I just love these damn tragic stories). You will find some IAMX references in here, because I listened to them while writing this (especially Insomnia). This isn't proofread, still hope you like it!